That was exactly ten years ago. This time round, the King simply used his fists. Inside ninety seconds, the brawny security guards were sprawled on the tile floor of the washroom, unconscious and bloody. He’d saved Sanchez’s ass once again. With a combination of speed, skill and brute force, the King had disarmed and knocked out the two security guards, Sandy and Tyrone. Sanchez had stayed in the stall with his eyes closed through most of the assault, although he had already conjured up an exaggerated version of events to tell everyone when he got back to the Tapioca. The important thing was that Elvis had done the job, and done it in style. When the noise of the fight finally came to an end, Sanchez opened one eye and then the other. Elvis was standing just outside the stall with his back to him. The security guards were splayed across the floor, in the pool of blood still seeping out from stall two. It was hard to tell whether any of the blood staining their black suits was their own.
