Three o’clock in the morning. Kiril was sitting beside the door.

‘So, who are we visiting?’ Kiril said.

‘John Tollinger.’

‘John Tollinger.’ Kiril put his hands on his knees. He blew out his cheeks. ‘OK. I have heard of him.’

‘He doesn’t die.’

‘Everyone dies.’

‘I’ve fought him. Nothing stops him, he just heals. Broken bones, I’ve seen him stabbed, in the chest, and he kept going.’

Kiril nodded slowly. ‘Stabbed. With a knife.’

‘A big fucking knife. Straight through the heart.’

‘And he didn’t die?’

‘He laughed.’

‘OK.’ Kiril looked at me, the side of his mouth slid sideways. ‘Just the one knife?’

~