Watters cursed. He had been lucky so far, but in a crowd made up of people on the fringes between legitimacy and illegality, it had been odds-on that somebody would recognise him as a policeman.
“Hold him,” Smith ordered as Watters feinted left and dashed for the door. He knew that remaining in such a volatile environment would be tantamount to suicide, or at best, a severe beating. He had seen what the Mincer was capable of and had no desire to be the next victim.
The crowd closed on Watters, getting in each other"s way in their hurry to block his escape.
“Get the peeler!”
“Kill the snooping bastard!”
“Hold him, lads!”
Dodging left and right, Watters ducked under the arms of a slow-moving monster, jabbed a sharp elbow into the beer-belly of another man and reached the door, just as
