There is no mood so good it cannot be ruined by encountering an angry man with a crowbar in an alley. Especially if you know this man has reason to wish you harm.

Barty learned this first-hand on his way home from the shops. The alley in question was usually empty. Occasionally, there were teens smoking and minding their own business. Once, Barty had seen a cat. The angry man with the crowbar – whose name was Kieran – was an equally unique scenario.

Kieran was facing the other way when Barty stepped into the alley. Barty could have backed away, gone the long way home. But he wasn’t big on kicking the can down the road. If Kieran was determined to confront him, he might as well get it over with.

He cleared his throat, and Kieran spun.

“Afternoon,” Barty said. “Nice crowbar. New, is it? I’m jealous.”

Kieran was a hulk of a man. Like Jack Reacher without the moral compass. Or the brain. Barty did have a brain. In stature, he was less Jack Reacher than Mary Poppins. Still, as Kieran stomped towards him, Barty did not retreat. Did not even flinch. Displaying fear in the presence of people like Kieran was tantamount to putting your hand in a shark tank. And then slicing open your palm.

“There you are, you piece of shit.”

Kieran only ever spoke in a growl. It was a pity he wasn’t theatrically inclined, or he could have auditioned for a role in The Lion King musical.

“Here I am,” said Barty. “Have you been waiting long? Sorry if I kept you.”

Kieran slammed the crowbar into his open palm.

“What?” said Barty. “No small talk?”

He stepped to the side and placed his bags against the graffitied wall, right beneath a racial slur and an image of a Pikachu wearing wizard’s robes. When he returned to the centre of the alley, Kieran burst out laughing.

“What, you going to fight me?”

“I’m not much into fighting,” said Barty. “I thought we’d chat.”

“Nah, you’ll listen.”

“I’m good at that.”

“Shut up.”

Barty mimed zipping his lips.

“I’ll make this simple: my wife doesn’t leave me.”

Barty let that statement linger, then unzipped his lips. “Sorry, I know that was meant to be simple. Probably I’m the problem, but I do have follow-up questions.”

“My wife doesn’t leave me.”

“Perfect, that’s answered them. It was an emphasis issue.”

“She stays with me,” he said. “You’ll make sure of it.”

“Right, and how would I accomplish that?”

“Do what you did before.” He jabbed his skull. “Mess with her mind.”

“I never did that.”

“Bullshit.”

Barty shrugged. Hard to argue with an expletive.

“We were happy,” said Kieran.

“Well, you were. I surmise that if I refuse to um” – he tapped his skull – “You’ll assault me with the crowbar?”

“Wrong.”

“Darn. I hate being wrong.”

Kieran lumbered forward, stopping only five paces away. “You get a pounding either way. You don’t convince Lauren to stay with me, I’ll kill you.”

“Okay.” Barty pretended to consider Kieran’s proposal. “It’s clear now. I get the offer. There’s still a problem.”

Kieran didn’t want to respond. Couldn’t help himself.

“What problem?”

“Credibility.”

Kieran stared. Barty stared back. When Kieran took another step, almost close enough to swing an arm and remove Barty’s face with the bar, Barty did not give an inch of ground. He put his hands in his pockets and held Kieran’s gaze.

“What?” said Kieran.

“Credibility,” Barty repeated. “See, I’ve spent the last few weeks looking into you. You know I know about the affairs, but it’s more than that. I’m a thorough guy. I know about your run-ins with the police, the bar fights, and the muggings. I know about the ones you think no one but you know about. Round the back of Tesco last Sunday night, for example.”

Kieran paled.

“Yeah,” said Barty. “How old do you reckon that kid was? Seventeen? And terrified of you. You scarpered pretty quick when the headlights came on, though. Sorry to put you off like that.”

Kieran took a step back. Perhaps realising this, he overcompensated by taking two forward. There were less than a couple of feet between them now.

“I line up your victims in my head.” Barty tapped his skull again. “Know what I see? A load of men and women much smaller than you. I guess I fit that bill. Something else your victims have in common: you scare them. That’s where they and I diverge. See, I’m not frightened of you. Not one bit.”

“Sure about that?” Kieran placed the crowbar on Barty’s shoulder. The metal was cool against his neck.

“You tell me,” said Barty. “Look me in the eye. Am I afraid of you?”

Kieran did as asked. Barty saw the moment he came to regret the decision.

“You’re not a killer, Kieran. You’re a bully, and I ascribe to the theory that most bullies are cowards.”

“I ain’t no coward, don’t you fucking call me a coward, don’t you test me.”

“Testing you is exactly what I’m doing. Because I have the measure of you. You like to hurt people but are petrified of getting hurt.” Barty paused, read the bully’s confused expression, and offered, “It means very scared.”

The crowbar trembled as Kieran’s grip tightened. His skin purpled.

“You need to—”

“No,” Barty cut in.

“What?”

“I will not be advising Lauren to stay with you. I’ll continue to do what I’ve always done with Lauren and countless others like her: listen when she talks and offer advice when she asks. Unlike you, I’ll never mess with her head.”

“You think she’ll screw you if you get her to leave me?”

“I don’t sleep with my clients. But enough about me. I won’t do as you’ve asked. Down to you what happens next. My hands are in my pockets. You could swing that bar and take me out. Once I was on the ground, caving in my skull would be no trouble. I doubt you’d do it. Like I said, I don’t think you’re a killer. Whether I died or not, you’d go to prison. If I survived, I’d make sure of it. Dead, I wouldn’t have to. You think you could clean up the evidence and dispose of my body? No chance. Look at where we are. The second you drag me from this alley – either end – you’re in view of about a hundred windows. The question isn’t if anyone will see you. It’s how many will.”

With an inarticulate roar, Kieran yanked the bar away from Barty’s shoulder and held it high over his head as if in preparation to bring it down upon Barty’s skull. Barty didn’t even look up. He kept his eyes on Kieran’s face.

“You said you weren’t a coward. In prison, you’d get the chance to prove it. Lot of guys in there waiting for a big fellow like you to test themselves against. They wouldn’t be as small as those you’re used to bruising. That won’t be a problem, will it? Because you’re not a coward.”

Like a statue of a sword-carrying knight charging into battle, Kieran kept the bar high but did not move. Barty waited for a five count, then turned his back to Kieran, collecting his shopping from the ground. When he turned back, the bar hung limp at Kieran’s side. His eyes looked empty, lost.

“I have to be getting on,” Barty said. “When I next see Lauren, I’ll continue to do my job. That means answering her questions. It doesn’t mean persuading her to steer clear of you, though I hope she makes that decision.”

Still holding the bags, he came to stand opposite Kieran, closer than they had yet been, and looked up into the bully’s face.

“I’d like to make one more thing clear. Should anything happen to her, should you lay one meaty hand on her that she doesn’t want there, I’ll make it my life’s work to ensure you go to prison. Okay, big man?”

Kieran said nothing for several seconds. Barty waited until a pitiful whisper slipped between the bully’s lips.

“She’s mine.”

“No,” said Barty. “She’s not.”

He walked past the lumbering man with the crowbar and went home.