Vlad's head was dizzy and he smelt the blood oozing so neatly from the two neat holes in her neck.. His nostrils flared as he bent forward and started to suck.. WHAM Val staggered back, and turned, to see, just behind him, a small, grizzled man with steelo eyebrows and a loud voice.

Fists, legs flying , thumps, Val was enjoying this, practising his Mud-Cat-Do on the puny, pissed poet. He floored him with a snap kick to the endives, and was just about to grab Magenta and run, when he heard a strange, plucking sound. There, coming closer to the balcony, was that strange, well dressed man with the American accent and the banjo.

Vlad felt a wave of nausea rush through him, quivering up and down his spine, vibrating into his very adnoids... NOT the banjo! he cried, and raced, out of the pub and into the darkened night.