Exton

I move to stick his finger back in place, then pause. "Hell, it may be too far gone already, you know? If the blood's clotted, it's too late." I start tossing the finger in the air, snapping at it like a piece of popcorn, and he cracks.

Within ten minutes we know his name, rank, serial number, shoe size, IQ and where he buys his BVDs. When I stick his finger back in place - thoughtfully kept viable by the anticoagulants in vamp saliva - he faints.

I turn to Keon. "I think Pandora's got some fine Guinness behind the bar... or would you prefer Glenfiddich?"