‘And I got a bloody beer bottle in the face.’
‘Nasty.’ A sympathetic look drifted across Dom’s face. ‘Sorry, mate.’
‘And then I got bloody arrested!’ Carlyle gestured off to his left where their sergeant was pacing backwards and forwards, doing his Napoleon act in front of a bunch of suitably unimpressed constables. ‘Sodding Charlie Ross had to bail me out.’
‘That was good of him.’
‘I suppose,’ Carlyle admitted grudgingly.
‘Look at it this way,’ Dom grinned, ‘at least you got to see what we do from the other side. Think of it as a learning experience, a training exercise. Now you have first-hand experience of what it’s like to be on the receiving end of some police hospitality.’
‘Like that makes me feel better.’
‘Come on, lighten up. At least you weren’t found dead in your cell.’
‘That’s-’
A rumble of discontent went through the nearby ranks, followed by a cry of ‘WATCH OUT!’
Carlyle looked up to see another half-brick hurtling through the air, this one coming directly towards his head. Taking a step backwards, he closed his eyes, ducked and half-turned away.
Then there was a sickening crack.
The rest was darkness.