Bliss took a beat or two to settle himself. How far did he want to take this? And to what purpose? Perhaps this was the moment he had been building towards. He eased out a long breath, a fine mist briefly lying between them. ‘You think because you have thirty years on me and you pump your body full of steroids that you’d kick my arse? That kind of complacency can be dangerous.’
‘You reckon?’
‘I do. Besides, I don’t think you have it in you. I reckon you’re only brave when it comes to hitting women and children.’
‘I did all right against your mate. Or didn’t that wanker you had following me tell you about the pasting I gave him?’
‘Yeah, he told me. Told me it was no big deal, either. Reckons you’re a bit soft. You suckered him, otherwise things would have gone the other way. Like I said, women and children are more your mark.’
Watson’s shoulders tensed. His fingers flexed. He was teetering on the edge, and Bliss was glad of it. He recalled Emily accusing him of goading the man, and had known all along that she was right.
The finger came up one more time. ‘You need to get the fuck out of here, old-timer. And I mean right this second. If you don’t, I’ll have you. I swear I will. You come at me as a man and not a cop, and I’ll beat the shit out of you.’
The sensible thing remained for Bliss to get back into his car and drive away; any victory Watson took from it would be a hollow one. Only he wanted to see how far this bully would go. The man had an inch on him as well as three decades and a few kilos of heavy muscle, but Bliss could tell he was no brawler. The man didn’t set himself right. His stance was weak, leaving him vulnerable.
Watson would expect him to back off, so instead Bliss moved in close. His opponent would need to put distance between the two of them if he intended to take a proper swing. Bliss realised he’d left himself open should the doorman decide to use brute strength rather than throw a punch, but he believed in his assessment of the man. If he was wrong… it didn’t bear thinking about.
‘I’m right here, Neil,’ he said. ‘Still in your face. And you know what? I’m enjoying myself. You were right. I am harassing you, and nobody is going to say I didn’t deserve whatever you decide to dish out. You have all the advantages, but I’ll still let you take the first shot.’
Bliss knew his Sun Tzu; these were the perfect circumstances to wait, allow his enemy to move first. If he’d read Watson correctly, the man would opt instead to make a lame excuse and walk away – provided he hadn’t taken a recent hit of his drug of choice, in which case Bliss would be screwed.
Watson’s hands clenched. He shifted from foot to foot, but still his feet were too close together and in line with each other. If he went for it and Bliss slipped the punch, which would be slow and predictable, he’d immediately become unbalanced and topple forward. That would hand the advantage to Bliss, and he had only a split second to decide how far he wanted to go. In his current mood, the thought of taking it to extremes did not deter him. He thought Watson would back off, but a large part of him wanted it to go the other way.
Unlike his opponent, Bliss had slipped naturally into the right position to both repel an attack and respond swiftly with his own. His last fight had ended up a panting, wheezing mess on a muddy embankment; he was out of shape and had the stamina for probably no more than a minute of the kind of physical exertion trading blows with somebody entailed. Even if he won, he’d almost certainly break knuckles, tear ligaments and pull muscles. And yet still he egged Watson on.
‘Come on, big man,’ he said. ‘If you need some encouragement, pretend I’m a small kid you can batter to death. We both know that’s more your style.’
Anger erupted in Watson’s eyes, but rapidly diminished. He had managed to reel in the momentary outrage, and Bliss assumed the man had come to his senses. Even if he had the heart to tackle Bliss, his was a no-win situation. Whatever the provocation, attacking a police officer would forever condemn him and land him in the kind of trouble he’d thus far managed to avoid.
‘You haven’t heard the last of me,’ Watson muttered softly. ‘I do you out here in the open and that’s me finished. But keep both eyes open in the shadows from now on, Bliss. And one eye open when you sleep.’
Empty threats. Bliss had heard it all before, and he knew the difference between a meaningless gesture and genuine intent. He planted a wide grin on his face and got back into his car. As he drove past Watson he winked and gave the man a wave, the further insult not necessary but nonetheless satisfying. Applying pressure was the sole intention of this campaign Bliss had decided to wage against the man.
As he turned the corner he caught sight of two women exiting the club through a set of double doors. He recognised both. He pulled up by the kerb and powered down the passenger window. ‘Fancy seeing you two here,’ he said. ‘You want a lift home?’
Marta Lsenko said she was only walking her friend to the taxi rank, and from there she was headed to O’Neill’s bar and restaurant to meet somebody. A somewhat sheepish-looking Yeva Savchuk accepted his offer. Bliss asked for her address,
