Page 66 of The Killer’s Mark

Poe sighed. The truth was, he’d had his first beer with his dad when he was thirteen. And Esmerée had saved him. He’d grabbed the triad’s nuts, but he’d had no plan B. ‘OK, one beer,’ he said. ‘But I’m choosing it for you.’

‘All right, now you’re talking, old-timer!’ She put her hand in the air, palm out. Said, ‘Up top.’

‘I’m not doing that, Esmerée.’

The bug-eyed waiter came over. Poe looked at the drinks menu and said, ‘We’ll have a couple of Nanny States, please.’ Nanny State was one of BrewDog’s alcohol-free beers. He figured Esmerée didn’t need to know that.

‘I must ask you to leave, sir,’ the waiter said.

‘Why?’

‘The owner doesn’t want you conducting your … meetings here.’

‘That’s what you thought that was? A meeting? Did you not see the tears running down that idiot’s face? The snot on his chin? The police taking him out in handcuffs. That’s because it wasn’t a meeting; I almost twisted his balls off.’

‘You touched his balls?’ Esmerée said. ‘What the hell’s wrong with you, man?’

‘The trick is to pull and twist.’

The waiter held his ground. ‘You need to leave now, sir.’

‘I don’t want to be one of those people,’ Poe said. ‘But I’d like to see the manager, please.’

After the waiter muttered something unintelligible, Esmerée said, ‘Never took you for a Karen, Poe.’

‘I don’t know what that means.’

‘It’s slang for entitled middle-class women in the good old US of A. They’re always bitching about shit and asking to see the manager.’

‘Why Karen?’

‘What am I, Wikipedia?’

Esmerée was showing Poe a very funny video of a ‘Karen’ completely losing it when she was asked to wear a COVID mask in Walmart when the waiter returned. An old Chinese man was with him. The manager. He had that ‘I’m not taking your shit’ look. He also looked as though he could kill you with a pair of chopsticks.

‘You leave,’ he said. ‘This is nice restaurant. Family restaurant. Don’t want your bloody triad shit here.’

‘As I told your waiter, we were not meeting with those people,’ Poe said. ‘I was having lunch with my daughter when those morons just sat down beside us. They made threats, so I told Esmerée to run and call the police. Until you said triad, I had no idea that was what they were.’

It was clear the old man thought Poe was talking out of his arse. Which, to be fair, he was. Poe removed a business card and handed it to the old man.

‘Gumshoes? You taking bloody piss?’

‘No.’

‘You on a case or bloody what, Philip Marlowe?’

‘I’m looking for someone.’

‘You not find him bloody here. This is nice family restaurant.’

‘We weren’t looking for him here,’ Poe said. ‘We only popped in for some crispy duck.’

‘Who you look for?’

‘Kai Jin. He used to be an artist, but I think he’s a tattooist now. I’m told he’s from Newcastle. That his mother might still live here.’

The old man stiffened. He tried to hide it, but Poe had been doing his job too long. The old man had recognised the name.