The locksmith who found himself holding a baton

There wasn’t much to it, in truth. It was all in the timing, all in the wrist. Not much difference, really.

The music was a bit of a distraction, yes, but if you concentrated on the bloke with the pierced nose and the large pipe-like thing you could mostly tune it out. Poor chap, he’d started shifting in his seat, and sweat was beading on his brow – but they all had their crosses to bear. It was for the common good. He’d explain to him later, once he knew how he’d ended up on this stage, inside all this racket.