I flung my head back, confident it would hurt him much more than it would hurt me. The headbutt landed with a satisfying thud. Then, like I have done a thousand times before, I bent at the knees, dropping myself from his grip, and closed my right elbow like a vice under his arm, locking him in place. His own momentum kept him moving forward as I straightened my knees and threw him over my shoulder. It was a beautiful throw and he landed flat on his back with an oooomph that knocked the wind out of him.

I stood, looking down at Jack. He looked less attractive lying there winded and gasping, nose bleeding from the headbutt.

‘My profession?’ I asked in a voice very different from the one I’d used just a minute ago. ‘I’m a cop. And you’re under arrest.’ I pulled handcuffs from my jacket pocket. Using my boot, I rolled him over so he was face down, then grabbed his right hand and bent his arm up behind his back so it was near his shoulder blades.

‘Ahhh!’ Jack yelped in pain.

I half-knelt beside him and jammed my right knee against his ribcage and my left knee in the middle of his back, holding his hand in place with both of mine. ‘Now move your left hand behind your back,’ I ordered.

‘Fuck you!’ Jack said, his voice muffled by the dirt.

I pushed his right hand a fraction higher.

Jack screamed again. ‘Okay, okay,’ he gasped, struggling to manoeuvre his left hand behind him. I eased off a bit to let him.

I got the cuffs on and clicked them in place. Tight.

Once he was cuffed, I kept hold of his right hand, ready to nudge it into the pain position if he didn’t cooperate. I could see the block shape of a wallet in his back pocket. With my free hand, I pinched the edge of it and wrenched it free. Opened it. Driver’s licence. Truck licence. The usual. I placed it on the ground next to him. The other pocket had the phone. Screen locked, requiring a passcode. Keys. Once his pockets were empty, I patted him down for weapons. Nothing on his upper body. Since I was still leaning on his back, I ordered him to bend one leg up at a time. Socks and ankles clear.

Finally, I let go of his hand and stood up.

Jack had stopped struggling. ‘But how … ?’ His voice was raspy.

‘I suspected you the moment you “came to my rescue”. Exactly like an offender we’re looking for in a series of drug-facilitated sexual assaults.’

He tried to turn his head to look up at me.

‘I swapped the glass you bought me with one I bought myself. I suspect a tox screen on your glass will confirm my suspicions.’

‘Where’s your backup?’ he grunted, struggling against the handcuffs.