Chameleon's Shadow

Jackson shifted her gaze to Acland. ‘Is that right?’

Acland ran a finger under his eyepatch and massaged the damaged nerves in his empty socket. ‘Near enough.’

‘How near?’

‘I had a reason.’

She waited for him to go on and, when he didn’t, she said, ‘I hope it was a good one, my friend, because you’re lucky you can still see. If Rashid Mansoor was any kind of fighter, he’d have glassed your other eye and you’d be blind.’

The arrival of the police put an end to the exchange. Still enraged, and mopping his bloody nose, Mansoor gave his name and accused Acland of calling him racist names and trying to kill him. Acland merely gave his name. A migraine was thudding in his head and Jackson wasn’t alone in noticing how pale he was. An officer asked if either man needed medical treatment, but both said no. Mansoor was too intent on holding the floor and Acland too drained to move.

Excitable anger raised the Pakistani’s voice to a high-pitched squeak which was difficult to understand, so the officer in charge cut him short and turned to Jackson for an explanation. She described accurately what she’d seen when she came out but couldn’t say who’d started it because she’d been in the kitchen at the time. Her partner, Daisy, a shapely blonde with a deep cleavage, was no better informed. She’d been serving a customer at the other end of the bar and only realized a fight had broken out when the shouting began. The brokers, glancing surreptitiously at their watches, said the first they knew about it was their friend hitting the floor with blood on his face and Acland saying he didn’t like murderers.

The officer in charge shifted his attention back to the two men. ‘All right, gentlemen, what was this about? Which of you spoke first?’

Acland stared at the floor.

‘I did,’ Mansoor said defensively, ‘but I was perfectly courteous. I asked this person if he’d mind moving to the empty stool next to him to make room for the rest of us. He didn’t even bother to answer, just grabbed me round the neck and punched me.’

‘And that’s all you said?’

The Pakistani hesitated. ‘I had to repeat it. He failed to hear me the first time, so I tapped him on the shoulder and asked him again.’ He remembered the words he’d used. Are you deaf? ‘I could only see one side of his face,’ he finished lamely.

The officer frowned. ‘What difference does that make?’

‘I wouldn’t have spoken to him if I’d realized he was –’ Mansoor gave an awkward shrug as he sought for an appropriate expression – ‘well, that he’d been in an accident . . . had surgery . . . whatever. You know.’

‘Not really. You’re talking gobbledygook as far as I’m concerned. What were these racist names he called you?’

‘He said I was a murderer and an ignorant Paki.’

‘And what did you call him?’

‘A maniac.’

The policeman turned to Acland. ‘Is there anything you want to say?’

‘No.’

The man eyed him for a moment, then looked enquiringly at Jackson. ‘Either this one’s had too much to drink or he needs a doctor. He’s green to the gills.’

‘He took a kicking from Rashid’s friends . . . so unless Rashid sees it differently I’d say they’re about even in the assault stakes.’

The policeman looked at the Pakistani and nodded when he shook his head. ‘What about you, Jackson? It’s your property. Do you want me to arrest the whole lot for criminal damage and take them back to the station –’ there was a glint of amusement in his eye, as if they’d been down this road before – ‘or give them a warning and throw them out? I can’t make an exception of Captain Kidd here.’

‘What kind of choice is that?’ she said sourly. ‘I’ll lose my business if word gets out that I handed a sick man to you lot . . . even worse if the punters have to clamber over him to reach the front door.’

The officer grinned. ‘I’m guessing he’ll look a lot grimmer if you make me drag him down to the station . . . and it’ll make your job harder.’

‘Mm.’ She took the empty ice bucket from the bar and placed it on the brokers’ table. ‘Five quid each for the aggro you’ve given me, and I’ll let you go . . . but it’s fifty quid to you two jerks,’ she said, aiming her index fingers at Acland and Mansoor. ‘I’m damned if Daisy and me are going to wipe up after you, so you either pay for an agency cleaner or get down on your knees and scrub up the blood yourselves.’

The brokers produced fivers with indecent haste and made a beeline for the exit before anyone could rewrite the rules. ‘That’s my kind of justice,’ said Jackson, passing the ice bucket to Daisy and winking at the policeman. ‘Instant compensation for the victims and no official time wasted on paperwork.’ She rubbed her thumb and forefinger under Mansoor’s nose. ‘OK, my little Muslim friend, it’s your turn. Ante up.’

Mansoor took out his wallet with bad grace. ‘What about him?’

‘Oh, he’ll pay, don’t you worry about that.’ She took the Pakistani’s money. ‘But, first, I’m going to do you a favour and keep him alive, otherwise you’ll be down at the police station answering questions about murder.’ She stooped over Acland. ‘Where are you hurting?’

He continued to stare at the floor. ‘Head,’ he muttered through clenched teeth, holding back the bile that rose in his throat with every eye movement. ‘Migraine.’

‘Have you had a migraine before? Do you recognize the symptoms?’