I go hunting him in the centre. I know Mickey’s haunts and, working my way through them one by one, I find him on number three: The ‘Dancing Oyster’ bar.
Mickey’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but the fact is, I rather like him. He’s a source of useful information, of the kind that no internet search will throw up. And he’s uncomplicated company. The price of beer or two will buy as much of his attention as you could wish for. A third beer means an amicable parting.
Certainly, I don’t wish him harm.
However, in this specific case, it’s important to ensure it looks as though I do.
Lurking in the shadows for a few minutes, I pick my moment. Centred in his usual crowd of gossips and scandalmongers, I wait until he drifts a little from the swarm, then move in.
Bullying in from beh
