Brown drags his headset off. The WhatsApp call clicks off.

He’s pulled it off. The scoop. A one-on-one with chief

provocateur himself. Pinches himself. Trembling

with trepidation and the thrill of it. Must be discreet.

They simultaneously think. Skin won’t want to be seen

with one not of his type. A journo and an immigrant

to boot. Brown likewise should not publicly be seen

to fraternize with the likes of Skin. Still. Think of the kudos

and the dough. He thinks. Think of the beating

he’s going to be getting. Skin thinks.

*

Skin nevertheless is nervous about the meet. He fears

some migrant trick. He speed-dials Tec. Muscle.

Just stand there looking tough. Hand inside jacket

on the handle of a gun. Tec’s drunk. Wants more.

Action. The Reichstag fire. Too soon. Down boy. Skinhead replies.

*

Skin’s twitching. His muscled arms and neck a mess

of tramlines and ink. Lights up. The sharply exhaled

smoke exaggeratedly white against the coldness

of the night. He runs a clammy palm over his shaven

head. Checks for the blade. Not fully comfortable with doing this

offline, without a mob of trolls to keep his back.

Cop seems OK. Skin thinks. But never can be sure.

Hands shake. Tec’s nervous with excitement and a little fear.

A slight sadistic glint in Skin’s smile. Noticing it.

Not warm. Journo has got cold feet—this guy wishes the likes

of me locked up or worse and says so every night. He thinks.

Skulking in the malodorous shadows round the bins.

Kicks one by accident. Tec jumps out of his skin. Skin turns

in a flash, tool drawn, blade flicked. He dashes

at the dark man in the shadow. Brown screams.

Sphinx flings her mighty sable body through the air,

falls on Skin’s back and grips. Twists his head round

so they are face to face. Grins one last bloody Hullo

into his simpering face before she chomps it off. Spits. Skin

‘s screaming and rushing round. Sphinx puts a swift stop to the noise

with sharpened claw. Pauses to feast a little

on still pumping heart and lungs. Looks round to check

no other cats are after her food. Journo has scarpered.

Tec’s fallen on his failing knees. Drags himself up

fast as he can. Slips on the blood. Sphinx slobbers over him.

Drooling saliva and blood. Spares him for now. Tec pulls

himself together. Flees off along the side street

Brown has fled along. For both are sore afraid.