Ken Peitai gets away with murder.

Will spun around, bringing the Palm Thrummer up. The one in the cloat was there, but there was no sign of his friend.

‘Cloat’ wasn’t holding a P-750, what he had was even older than that: about as long as the man’s arm, all rust patches and visible wiring. It looked more likely to blow up in Cloat’s face than do Will any damage…Probably a decoy: something to distract him.

A nuclear family strobed into life at the side of the path, the rain rippling through their holographic bodies as they launched into a song and dance about having pizza for tea. Someone must have set off the advertipod’s sensor.

Jacket-and-Scarf came out of nowhere, swinging a thick metal rod. Will didn’t have time to duck-it slammed into his forehead. Ringing in his ears, bright lights flashing inside his skull. He stumbled and fell, face thudding into the wet tarmac path.

Get up. GET-UP!

An animated dinosaur joined the musical number, telling everyone that on Monday nights kids ate for free.

Will forced himself to his knees, the world roaring in his ears as it span. Jacket-and-Scarf took a run up and kicked him in the ribs, hard enough to send him sprawling across the rain-sodden grass, through the blue triceratops and into the middle of the advert-mushrooms and peppers and chunks of cloned meat swirling all around him, making his skin flicker and glow.

Will coughed up blood. Something inside him was broken. Every breath was a sharp, stabbing pain.

This didn’t make any sense. Why were they playing with him? Didn’t they know how dangerous it was? Didn’t they understand?

‘Ha, lookit him: now he’s a pizza topping! Whit a fukin’ jessie!’

How could they not understand? Will tightened his grip on the Thrummer. It was time to explain it to them.

Jacket-and-Scarf dropped the metal rod and pulled a knife. It was huge, a proper kitchen job: six inches long and three inches wide, tapering to a point. Not the sort of blade he’d been expecting. It glittered as Jacket-and-Scarf stepped through the dancing children and grabbed Will by the throat. ‘Time tae play “ah’ve nae face”!’

Up close Jacket-and-Scarf looked like someone’s niece, hardly old enough to be out of school. She drew the knife back, held it there for a fraction of a second then lashed forward.

The Thrummer burred in Will’s hand.

Jacket-and-Scarf didn’t scream, she just sat back on her haunches, staring at the stump of her left arm-severed just below the elbow-pumping out bright-red, arterial mist into the rain.

A happy dinosaur skipped past.

‘Fukin hell!’ Cloat aimed his antique weapon at Will’s head and pulled the trigger. It clunked.

‘No’ again!’ He smacked his hand against the power unit, trying to get something more deadly than a dull whine out of it. ‘Work, ye fuckin’ piece o’shit!’ Cloat backed off, slapping and swearing as Will struggled to his feet. His ribs ached, blood trickled down his face, gumming up his eyes. He rubbed a hand across them. Blinked. Staggered through a small holographic child.

Sparks leapt from the exposed wiring on Cloat’s gun when they came into contact with the rain, and the whine changed to a throaty growl.

Suddenly it roared, digging a chunk out of the ground by his feet. Cloat screamed, scrabbled back a couple of steps. Then grinned at Will, eyes wide and bloodshot.

‘Yer fuckin’ dead! Ye hear me? Yer dead!’ He yanked the barrel up and the whole thing went off like Hogmanay. One moment he was standing there and the next he was lumpy rain. Will covered his eyes and waited for the bigger bits to stop falling from the sky.

Jacket-and-Scarf was shivering, clutching her left arm, staring at where it came to an abrupt end.

The pizza song and dance routine reached its big finale, and then it was gone-leaving them in darkness and silence.

‘You’ve got two choices,’ said Will, spitting out a mouthful of blood. ‘Either you tell me who sent you and what your orders were, or I kill you.’

She looked up at him, face waxy, lips going purple. ‘I…I…My arm! A’ve nae arm!’

Will planted his foot on her chest and shoved till she was flat on her back. ‘Let’s try it again!’ He was shouting now, the adrenaline burn making his voice tremble. ‘You and your friend the smear, were sent here to kill me. Who was it? Who sent you? It was Peitai, wasn’t it?’

‘Ma arm!’

Will dropped to his knees, straddling her chest, and pressed the Thrummer against her pale cheek.

‘It’ll be your head next, understand?’ He slapped her hard across the face. ‘Understand?’ Another slap. ‘WHO’S HE WORKING FOR?’

‘We only wanted some cash! A couple o’ cards, some credits! Just enough to get oan wi! We wouldnae’ve touched yer girlfriend! We wouldnae!’ She sobbed. ‘Please…Ah that stuff Malk wis sayin wis just tae scare ye. We wouldnae’ve done it. We just wanted a bitta dosh fer H! Ye didnae haf tae take ma arm!’

‘I’ll take your whole head you snivelling piece of-’

There was a roar above him and a sudden downdraft of hot air. All around them the park jumped into eye-searing focus as landing lights flooded the area, the downpour whipped into a hurricane by the Dragonfly’s engines.

A voice buzzed in Will’s earpiece, crackling with static.

‘This is Echo Two Seven, we show landing zone secure.’

The cavalry had arrived.

Will looked down at Jacket-and-Scarf. Two more minutes and he’d have got the truth out of her, even if he’d had to take every single one of her bloody limbs off. She wouldn’t admit anything now there were witnesses. Even if she made it as far as the Tin, Peitai would find a way to get her out. That or silence her for good.

Will placed the Thrummer against her temple. Maybe he’d save them the trouble.

The holographic advert flickered back to the start: Mum, Dad, and two-point-four children launching into their song and dance again. ‘If you’re hungry as can be-need to feed your family…’

Someone tapped Will on the shoulder. ‘It’s OK, sir, we’ve got her now.’

He didn’t have to look to know it was one of the Dragon-fly’s pickup team. They wouldn’t like him blowing Jacket-and-Scarf’s head off like this, but they wouldn’t say anything about it. They’d close ranks. Delete the footage from the gunship and their helmet-cams. He’d been one of them, riding the wire for almost three and a half years before making the grade as a Network Agent and they knew it. The team protected its own.

A new voice: ‘Mr Hunter? Sir?’ Will caught a flash of neon-pink trouser leg.

Fuck.

‘Sir, are you OK?’

Too late.

He couldn’t execute the one-armed bandit while DS Cameron was watching. She wouldn’t understand. She still believed in the rules.

‘You can let go of her now, sir.’

He closed his eyes and powered down the Thrummer.

‘You’re bleeding…’ She helped him to his feet, holding him upright while he hissed breath through his clenched teeth. Definitely a broken rib. Probably two.

‘I’ve had better days.’ Will watched someone spray Jacket-and-Scarf’s stump with skinpaint. She’d go to hospital overnight for observation; Ken Peitai would make all the charges disappear; it only took a week to grow a new arm; couple of hours in surgery; and she’d be back on the streets.

Will should have killed her when he had the chance.

‘Looks like you put up quite a struggle.’ Jo pointed at the chunks of Cloat littering the sodden grass.

The dinosaur reappeared, singing, ‘On Monday bring your fa-mil-eee, cos kids under twelve eat for free!’ Will pointed his Thrummer at the advertipod and reduced the emitters to dust.

Jo stared at him. ‘Not a big fan of pizza then?’

‘The dead one had an old S-Nine-Eighty. Looked like it fell off the back of a museum. Blew up in his hands.’

‘Long black cloat?’

Will nodded.