‘Shit.’ Ben clattered the bottom of the cue down onto the floor and looked up to see Des shaking his head.

‘It’s all right. These two still have to clear up,’ Des said, not sounding entirely convincing. He walked over to the drinks table and picked up his full pint glass, taking a sip from the top and then looking over at the other two players. He narrowed his eyes and spoke menacingly. ‘We’ll see if pretty boy’s got any balls now, won’t we?’

Des and Ben’s opponents looked at each other and then one of them reached out to take the cue from Ben. He settled over the table before comfortably potting the red and then turning around and sinking the black. His friend replaced the black ball as Ben nervously walked around the table. He was a similar build and shape to his friend – short and hunched – but without the menacing demeanour Des had. He scuffed his feet as he shuffled, carefully watching each shot.

The yellow, green and brown balls all followed into the pockets and the man with the cue settled down to line up the simple blue. On the side of the table were four twenty-pound notes and two tens. Before he could crouch properly over the table to take his shot, he moved the money to one side.

‘Oi,’ Ben said. ‘You’ve not won yet.’

The man looked back at him. ‘I was only moving it.’

Des was still by the drinks table, pint in hand. He mumbled something but none of the other three could hear exactly what it was. The man with the cue gently rolled the blue into the pocket, leaving himself on for a straight pink.

‘Two more,’ the man’s friend said excitedly. Ben gritted his teeth but said nothing.

The pink was hammered straight into the centre of the pocket but the white rolled slightly past the spot where the black was situated. The man with the cue crouched over the cue ball then stood up again. ‘Do you reckon it’ll go?’ he said to his friend.

‘Probably. Just be careful not to pot the white.’

Des walked over to the table and nudged the man holding the cue with his hip. ‘Tough shot that, sonny. Tough, tough shot. Fifty quid at stake too. There’s a lot of pressure on this.’

Ben joined in. ‘Aye. Not easy, that. Looks to me as if the white’s going to go in if you take it on. Might be better just playing a safety? Lot of money at stake.’ Des nodded along with his friend’s assessment.

The man crouched over the table and set himself, pulling back the cue and softly hitting through the ball. The black rolled towards the table and bounced off both jaws before dropping. The white was heading for the centre pocket, gliding almost in slow motion, before colliding first with the top jaw, then the bottom, and rolling safely into the centre of the table.

‘Yesssss!’ The man dropped the cue onto the table and snatched up the handful of money.

‘Get in,’ his friend said, walking quickly around the table.

Des slammed his half-full glass on to the table, a few drops splashing out of the top and on to the playing surface. ‘Double or quits?’

The two men were dividing up the cash. One of them turned back towards Des and Ben. ‘Sorry, guys, we’ve gotta get back. I’ve got work tomorrow.’

Des picked the glass back up and downed the rest of the drink in one before throwing it on the floor where it smashed. The other two men had put their winnings in their respective pockets and turned to walk away when the shattering of the glass made them both turn around.

‘Are you . . .’ one of them went to say but Des cut them off.

‘Do you really think you’re going to walk out of here with my money?’

The two men looked at each other, suddenly realising their beaten opponents weren’t having them on. ‘Sorry, man,’ the taller of the two replied. ‘Maybe play another night, yeah? Win your money back then?’

Ben spoke next. ‘Do we look like a pair of mugs to you?’

The two men were walking backwards but Ben and Des took a deliberate step forwards almost as one, Des picking the snooker cue up from the table. ‘No . . . no . . .’ one of the men stammered. ‘Seriously, you can have your money back, it’s okay.’

He motioned to reach into his pocket but Des reacted too quickly. He swung the cue forwards with the force breaking the wood in two and the sickening sound of wood on skull echoing around the near-empty room. The second man stumbled backwards over a chair and Ben was on him in a flash.

From the bar area, the server’s voice was shouting. ‘Hey, stop . . .’

Des kicked the body on the ground and shouted over towards the barman. ‘Do you want some too?’ The man had lifted the hinged part of the bar and was halfway out from his position but stopped moving as Des shouted. He took a step backwards and turned away.

Des kicked the grounded man again as Ben took care of the second person. He shouted as his fists swung down on the man’s face. ‘Do. You. Think. I’m. A. Fucking. Mug?’ Each word was punctuated by a swing of the fist but neither of the two grounded men fought back.

Des crouched over the first person, rifling through the man’s pockets, taking a mobile phone, wallet and the cash before putting all the items into his own pockets. ‘Oi, Webbo, leave him,’ he shouted towards Ben. ‘Don’t wanna kill the prick.’

Ben’s eyes were wide and raging but his friend’s voice froze him. He stopped throwing punches and used the floored man’s own shirt to wipe his bloodied knuckles on, then went through the victim’s pockets, also removing a phone, wallet and cash.

The two men stood up and walked over towards the bar area. The only noise was their footsteps and the faint whimper of one of the men on the ground. Des made his way to the barman, who was now facing the two men, eyes bulging with terror.

Des tapped him firmly but with an open-hand on his cheek. ‘So then, Mario, what happened in here tonight? Made a bit of a mess of the place, haven’t you?’

The man whimpered. ‘Please . . .’

‘I asked you a question, Mario. What happened in here tonight?’ He used his thumb and index finger to cup the man’s face and forcibly turn it to face him.

‘Nothing . . .’

‘That’s right, nothing. Now get that mop out and clean this place up.’ Des released the man and turned back to Ben. ‘Let’s go.’

The two men banged open the double doors to leave the club and walked down the stone steps that led outside. They didn’t say a word to each other as they exited the building into the night and started walking down the middle of the road.

It wasn’t a long journey home but Des had enjoyed one of the best nights he’d had in ages. They walked for a few hundred yards until they reached a junction. Des moved over towards a street light and uttered a quiet, ‘hey’ to his friend to indicate for him to do the same.

He stood in a position where there was enough brightness from the lamp that he could see what he was doing but so he wasn’t directly under it. ‘Do you wanna take the phones?’ he asked, pulling the mobile he had taken from the club out of his pocket and offering it to Ben. His friend took it and Des added: ‘How much did he have in his pocket?’

Ben pulled the other man’s wallet out from his own pocket, replacing it with the phone. ‘I dunno, you take this and I’ll . . .’

He stopped talking as they heard footsteps from the path next to them. There was a man about to walk past them, hands in pockets. Ben was going to wait for him to pass before finishing his sentence. He turned away slightly from the unwanted interrupter as they drew level but suddenly felt a huge pain in his neck. He thought he heard shouting but for some reason his eyes weren’t focusing. He started to reach up to where the pain was coming from but felt himself falling backwards, still struggling to see clearly. All of a sudden there was a man’s face in front of him. He thought he vaguely recognised the person’s features but then he felt another burst of pain and all he could see was black.