The Nostradamus prophecies

7

Bale didn’t like barmen. They were an obnoxious species, living off the weakness of others. Still. In the interests of information-gathering he was prepared to make allowances. He slipped the stolen ID back inside his pocket. ‘So the gypsy attacked him with a glass?’

‘Yes. I’ve never seen anything like it. He just came in, leaking sweat and made a beeline for the American. Smashed up a glass and ground his hand in it.’

‘The American’s?’

‘No. That was the odd thing. The gypsy ground his own hand in it. Only then did he attack the American.’

‘With the glass?’

‘No. No. He took the American’s hand and did the same thing with it as he’d done with his own. Then he forced the American’s hand on to his forehead. Blood all over the place.’

‘And that was it?’

‘Yes.’

‘He didn’t say anything?’

‘Well, he was shouting all the time. ‘Remember these words. Remember them.’’

‘What words?’

‘Ah. Well. There you have me. It sounded like Sam, moi, et Chris. Perhaps they’re brothers?’

Bale suppressed a triumphant smile. He nodded his head sagely. ‘Brothers. Yes.’