Mel McGrath - The Guilty Party

Bo is working out his next move when a bloke built like a Viking steps from the chill-out tent. Bo watches as the Viking’s eyes flit from the girl to Dex and back again, sees the guy’s prey instinct kick in and feels himself freeze. This isn’t going to end well for Dex. A pressure ridge builds up at the back of Bo’s skull. Fight or flight? He has no idea. His head is such a jangle of clips and samples and dubbed-over noise. Any case, it’s not good. It is the very opposite of good, whatever the fuck that might be. He thinks for a moment but nothing comes. Words are the absolute least of all his worries right now. Oh crap. The Viking has swivelled on his heels and he’s striding over to Dex and the girl. What follows is a moment of intense conversation, if you can call it that. Dex is waving his hands and the woman is shouting and the Viking’s body language suggests he isn’t having any of it. This thing is ready to blow.

Bo’s fighting spirit, if that’s what it was, has suddenly drained out of him, the pressure in the skull replaced by a whorl of bees and a dry swelling in his throat. That guy is an Alp. Bo watches him move in and give Dex a shove, thinking, strike that, this guy isn’t any old Alp, he’s the Matterhorn, he’s Mont Fucking Blanc. He watches as if in slow-mo as Dex stumbles backwards but then gets his bearings and begins to come at the big bloke with a raised fist. The situation is beyond finessing. No way is Bo going to take on some Nordic gorilla just because his friend has decided to be a shite monkey. Did Dex seen him? Bo doesn’t think so. He could just slip away and no one will be any the wiser. Sorry, mate, but you know, you did bring this on yourself. Plausible deniability. Been doing a lot of that lately. Not great but a whole lot better than the alternative. Angling his body away from Dex, he lowers his head, digs his hands in his pockets and strolls casually away, taking the roundabout route back to the girls, shaking his head and muttering to himself. For fucketty fuck’s fucking fuck-sake .

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