Where Sleeping Pigs lie

Carefully, deliberately, I leaned forward and stubbed my cigarette out on the back of the neck of the fat man. The skin sizzled as though melting and opened around and closed around the butt so that when I pulled my fingers away, it stayed there as if in a plate of food. I stepped back and waited for the onslaught thinking: “I’ll get one good hard kick in his bollocks and then make a run for it”. But the fat man didn’t turn. He didn’t even flinch. Terrifyingly, the burn seemed to have had no effect on him whatsoever. Carefully, cautiously, I edged around him until I came into an exact line with the piggy profile resting heavily on the pork-sausage fingered hands. His eyelids were slack and there was a dribble of gob hanging from his lower lip.

He was insensible.

Clerkenwell Kid

In fact, he was dead.