It all happened so fast I could only stand there and gape, though the whole world seemed to slide into a wobbly kind of agonizing slow motion I could do nothing about. Instead, as though encased in the thick and gooey passage of time, trapped and forced to observe in horror rather than have any ability to intervene in the unfolding drama, I watched Crew's follow through, Geoffrey falling back from the blow, a stream of blood flying in tiny droplets through the air, shining bright red in a ray of emerging sunlight streaming through the coffee shop door. The Patterson accountant hit the floor and seemed to bounce, eyes huge, mouth gaping open, while Crew drew back, shoulders wide, fists at his sides, looking for a moment like some kind of avenging superhero.