17
‘What happened to you, Mr. Hardy?’
Slim rubbed his eyes. ‘I think I got hit by a car.’
‘Are you sure? Do need me to call someone?’
Slim shook his head, wincing at the ache in his neck. He remembered trying to walk through a punch as he might once have done during a brawl back in his army days, but it had proven as stupid an idea as it felt now with a hangover carving out the inside of his skull.
Only a doctor could say whether the punch had caused more damage than the tabletop that had arrested his fall, but now both eyes were bordered by an eerily symmetrical crescent of purple bruising, while the split lip caused by a second assailant seemed to exist solely to prevent him smiling at the absurdity of his situation.
‘I’d also like to ask that if you’re planning to stay out late th
