As he slips between the two buildings on his way to the back of the shop he notices her. She’s unmistakable with her deep-chestnut hair, even if it is pulled back into a stern ponytail this morning. He stops to watch her. She’s not kitted out for the office this morning. Good girl. She has sense. He steps behind the corner so that he can watch her without being seen. A good figure for a woman her age, slender about the waist with a curve to her backside. He sighs. In a past life perhaps, when he was still himself, perhaps she would have let him take her out to dinner. She was a classy bird for sure, not one you could fob off with a drink at the local pub and a tray of chips afterwards. No, not her. She seems determined this morning, more so than on other mornings, like she was on some kind of mission. He could just imagine her in combats, firing at the enemy through the sights on her rifle. A flash of memory assaults him and he’s back on the front, hiding behind the dusty rubble of a bombed-out breezeblock shack, a teetering stack of rubble someone had once called home. He points the rifle then ... He shakes his head, forcing himself out of his reverie, but his fingers pull on the imaginary trigger nevertheless.
His stomach grumbles and he darts to the back of the pizza shop before she reaches him. Just a couple of bread buns, that’s all he would take. He wasn’t a thief, but he had to eat. The thud of her determined footsteps reaches him as he breaks the glass of the back door and opens the latch. What would she think to her visitor he wondered?
The sun shines a soft warmth on her cheeks and forehead as Clarissa walks past the patisserie. She looks longingly into the dark shop whilst simultaneously wishing she’d worn a hat—the lines across her forehead were already deep enough! The shelves, usually crammed full with prettily displayed pastries is empty. Just the white and grease-stained doilies from yesterday’s trading. The next time she passes and it’s open, she’s going to treat herself to one of those swirls with the pecans on top. Minute on the lips, Clarissa! Oh, shut up, mother. She takes a quicker stride. The faster she walks, the sooner she’ll be home, and the tighter her buttocks would be. She laughs. Always a silver lining! Such a shame the elegant patisserie was sat next to the pizza shop. It wasn’t even one of the trendy, authentic Italian ones, just an untidy takeaway with stark tiles and a blue light to kill the flies that swarmed around the rotating kebab.
Another stride and she’s at the foot of the steps. She runs up and pushes through half, expecting the doors to jar against her arm. It swings open. Well, must be business as usual then. She steps inside the cool lobby and looks to the receptionist’s desk. Cedric isn’t in his usual position and there are no lights to brighten the foyer. The building is oddly quiet, but what did she expect? With all the electricity off, it’s doubtful that many of the staff will turn up today. She wouldn’t have come in either if it wasn’t for the memory stick and the rest of the paperwork. However, the building was open, so there must be at least a security officer somewhere.
She takes the stairs and begins to walk the several flights to her office. As she gets closer to her door, she hears footsteps. Must be Cedric doing his rounds, or perhaps one of her colleagues has come in after all. As she reaches the landing the footsteps seem to be coming from the floor above. She stops for a moment and listens to the familiar click clack of heels. Melody! A stone sinks in her belly. What if she’s been snooping in her office and seen the papers? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d taken credit for her work. Trust her to be here when no one else has bothered. Well, that’s why she was Director, that plus the fact that she had no children. She sighs. Once you had kids, that was it. They had to come first. She’d made enough sacrifices as far as the girls were concerned—becoming a 24/7 company man, or woman, just hadn’t been worth losing more time with them.
She takes a step forward and opens the door to her office. There it is! The tip of the memory stick is tucked next to the leg of the desk, nicely camouflaged. It must have dropped to the floor in the blackout when she was fumbling and stuffing the papers into her briefcase. But the missing papers? She groans. Melody must have been in and taken them! She takes a step forward to retrieve the memory stick then freezes as the sound of movement catches her attention. The hairs on her neck prickle, someone is behind her.
She makes a slow turn and a man, massive as he looms over her, eyes her with an emotionless face. Light shines through the window and glints on the bright blond of his hair and the leather of his jacket creaks as he raises his hand. Startled, she has no chance to escape and he brings it down hard across her cheek. The force of his slap sends her reeling and she lands with a thud against the edge of the desk. The pain is instant and biting as the corner sinks into her buttock.
“The memory stick and the laptop, Clarissa. Where are they?” he demands as she slides to the floor in pain.
Although his English is good, there’s a lilt to his words. She stares at him through her pain. How does he know?
“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” she lies.
He lunges for her again, grabs the lapel of her jacket and throws her to the floor. Her head bangs against the desk and her fingers knock the memory stick a little further under. As he grabs the back of her jacket she grasps the stick.
“In the drawer!” she says with a grunt.
He throws her to the wall. She grunts in pain. “Please! Stop!”
As he stares at her, unmoved by her pain, she knows that he has no intention of letting her live.
“Which drawer?” he asks.
He’s Russian! Her bowels feel suddenly loose. “The top left.”
He bends to the desk and pulls. The drawer is locked. He turns to her with dispassion. “It’s locked!”
“I have the key!” she gasps and pushes herself up, forcing the queasy sensation in her bowels down. She wasn’t ready to die.
He lurches at her with threat and she raises her arm to fend him off.
“I have it in my pocket.” She reaches inside her jacket and slips the memory stick in the inner pocket whilst pulling out the can of Mace. “Here,” she says and sprays it directly into his eyes. He shouts and turns his head away and stumbles. In that second, she makes her move. Raising her leg, and with all the force she can muster, she kicks at his buttocks. Unbalanced the man falls forward. Before his head hits the desk, she turns and runs for the door, unclicking the latch as she pulls it open. She slams it shut. Locking the door will give her a few seconds advantage but not much more.
“Clarissa?” a voice calls from the stairwell above.
Ignoring the questioning woman, Clarissa runs down the stairs. She has to get outside before he can catch up. The sound of crashing and lumbering footsteps sounds behind her as she stumbles to the landing at the bottom of the flight and hurls herself, using the bannister for support, around to the next set of steps.
Melody shouts again and then grunts as a door slams. Heart racing, she sprints to the final landing then runs down the stairs. As she nears the bottom her foot slips and she stumbles. Grasping the bannister, she keeps her balance and jumps the final steps to the foyer and bursts out into the sunshine.
Thud!
He’s behind her!
Heart pounding, she runs down the wide concrete steps and darts to the left. If she can get to where there are people she can scream for help. A jumble of cars blocks the road ahead. She runs out into the road and makes her way to the cars. As she slips between a white van and a black Mercedes she turns to look and stops with a jolt. At the bottom of the steps is the unmistakable blond in a crumpled heap. He lies sprawled on the path, immobile. Leaning over him is another man. Hat pulled low over his hair, bulky jacket worn over grimy jeans, she recognises him: the homeless man who sleeps in the doorway of the building across the street. She’s seen him a few times when she’s been early to the office, before they’d had a chance to move him on, he’s been there in the evenings too. How many times has she thought of giving him some cash to get himself a drink then changed her mind, stuffed her hands into her pockets and walked
on? As she stands, he lifts his head and waves. Confused, she waves back. He gives a final kick to the blond man lying prone on the floor then steps towards her. Was he coming to speak to her? Should she wait?
She stands rooted to the spot as he approaches, his pace quickening with each stride. As he reaches her he nods. “Walk with me,” he commands with a firm, but not aggressive voice. She instinctively obeys. “Down here. We’ll cut across Gilmore Street, and through the backstreets. It won’t be as easy for him to find you then.”
“Why …” She falters as questions flood her brain. He seems determined to move as quickly as possible along the road then breaks into a run.
Breath coming hard she follows him to the next street. Looking back as they take the corner, the road is clear and she breathes a sigh of relief.
“Stop! Just for a second.”
He slows to match her pace. “Keep going. We can stop just up here.”
As he slips between two buildings he checks the road. “All clear. I think we lost him.”
“Thank you!” she says staring at the back of his head.
He turns and nods with a grim smile. Though the hat is pulled low, and his beard is full, she can see that he’s a good-looking man, broad-shouldered and strong. What was he doing on the streets?
“I think he would have …”
“Killed you?”
“Well …” Her legs tremble. “Yes,” she gasps with the realisation of the danger she had been in. She staggers and he catches her elbow, holding her up. Leaning against the wall, her heart pounds as nausea overwhelms her.
“You OK?” he asks.
“Sorry!”
“No, it’s OK. Take all the time you need.”
She leans into him and waits for the trembling to subside, then takes a breath and stands tall. “Thank you! Again.”
“It’s the shock. Don’t worry. We should get you home.”
“We?”
“You don’t think I’m going to let you walk home on your own, do you?”
“Well, I-”
“Listen, the streets are getting bad-”
“I know—getting here was … difficult!”
“And that man, he’s a professional.”
“Professional?”
“Yeah. He’s been in your office since this morning,” he says leaning out to look down the road. He pulls back in. “Still clear,” he smiles. His eyes are a dark hazel, and the skin around them crinkles though he remains serious.
“He was Russian,” Bill says.
“Russian!” Clarissa repeats as her legs tremble again. Perhaps she wasn’t up to this job after all. “How did they know?” she blurts and regrets it instantly.
“Know?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’ve got a serious problem if the Russians are sending out their hitmen to pay you a visit.”
“Hitman? Oh … I’m sorry,” she says unable to keep the tremble out of her voice. “It’s not something I can discuss.”
“Oh. You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Company policy.”
“Sure. Right. I get it, but you should know that the brunette was plying him with coffee.”
Clarissa’s heart races and a stone seems to drop in her stomach as she realises the implications. Melody knew! Her mind reels. There’s too much to take in.
“Russians? How do you know?” It was all just so far-fetched.
“I watched him, and I just know.”
“And how do you know he’s Russian?”
“Well, he was swearing pretty heavily,” he laughs.
“You speak Russian?”
“Yep.”
Clarissa’s confusion deepens.
“How?”
“I know a few languages,” he replies with an air of evasion.
“OK,” she replies not pressing him.
“Shall we?” he asks gesturing to the alleyway’s entrance.
“Yes, thank you. It’s not far, about a forty-five-minute walk, although given the chaos-”
“Could take longer?”
“Yes, sorry!”
“Please,” he laughs. “Stop saying sorry. This is the most interesting day I’ve had in a while.”
“Hah!” she laughs, warming to him despite her confusion and his dishevelled appearance. “This way,” she says leading him out of the entrance her heart still hammering in her chest.
Chapter 21
As they work through the streets, Jessie senses the tension. They’ve passed multiple shops with large groups of angry shoppers outside and at least two where the windows have been broken and the contents ransacked. A dog wanders across the road in the distance and a cyclist whirs past, helmet firmly on his head as he weaves through the cars littered along the road.
“So weird how they’re all just stopped like that.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of like a still from a film.”
“How much further is it, Jessie?”
“About half an hour. We’re nearly there.”
A flash of blue appears ahead and a tall man runs across the street, darting away from one of the cars parked further up the road. His hoodie bags about his skinny frame as he runs, the ragged grey cut-offs flapping about his knees. Beneath his arm is a laptop.
“He’s just stolen that!”
“Maybe.”
“Well, if he hasn’t why’s he running?”
“I don’t know,” Jessie replies with exasperation. Today has been full of people running and shouting, taking what doesn’t belong to them. She’s becoming jaded by it all.
As the man darts away, the door of the house opposite the car crashes open. A man leans out, checks left then right then runs to his gate. “Stop him!” he shouts jabbing his fist towards the running man. The flash of blue disappears into a side street. “He’s got my laptop. Stop!” he shouts again then takes off down the road.
“Should we help?”
“No! It’s taken us long enough to get here. I need to make sure my sister is safe.”
“Stupid to leave your laptop in the car and not lock it anyway,” Clare says in support.
“Uhuh!” Jessie replies. The incident barely touches her. She’s determined to get home and hunger is making her cranky. She reaches into her bag and pulls out some of the roots they’d harvested this morning. She offers them around then bites down. They’re nutty, although a little fibrous. She takes a sip of water as she strides forward.
The thud of running feet behind catches her attention. Whoever it is, is coming up fast. As she turns to face the noise a man grabs for her backpack. She twists away from him and clutches hard at the strap as his fingers close round the handle at the top. Her bottle falls from her hands and sprays across the floor. She’s jerked round as he yanks at the bag. She grasps the straps tighter as she’s pulled forward.
“Hey!” There’s no way she’s going to let this loser take her bag! “Get off!”
He yanks at the bag again and she twists on her heels forcing herself upright. As he turns to face her he raises his fist then slams it down. She blocks his arm with her own. The pain through her forearm is immediate, but she follows the block with a hard kick to his belly. He grunts in pain as her foot kicks into the soft flesh above his groin and relaxes his grip on her bag. As he grimaces in pain she chops at his throat with a sharp jab of the side of her hand. He chokes and stares at her as he gags. That’s right! Choke. She raises her arm again in threat. He doesn’t cower. Scowling, he riles to her. Not had enough? Just wait. “Come on then,” she goads. “Let’s see how you fight girls!”
His eyes flicker with a moment’s uncertainty and then derision. He grunts and raises his fists in a boxing stance. Staring into the bright blue of his eyes, she waits for him to move. Within seconds, he shuffles then kicks his leg out aiming between her legs. Jessie steps to the side and slams her hand against his leg forcing his kick off track. As he falters she lifts her leg and stamps against the back of his knee, forcing all her weight onto the bac
k of his calf below the joint. He sinks towards the ground. With the advantage, Jessie does not let up. She’s going to show this cretin that he’s picked on the wrong girl this time. Elbows as sharp points she drives them into his back in rapid succession then slams the side of her hand against his neck. Doubled over he staggers and she kicks with ferocity at the softest part of his backside. He yells in pain. As he lurches forward she aims her boot again and kicks. Bullseye! Straight to his arsehole and, from his screams, she’s caught his balls too.
“Yeah! You’d better get out of here if you ever want to take another shit!”
Alex snorts next to her. “Hell, Jessie!” he laughs as the man hobbles away then falls to the ground. “You’ve got some choice words!”
“Well,” she replies. “He deserves it. He made me so angry—the way he looked at me.”
“Remind me never to look at you funny!” he laughs.
“You were on fire, Jessie,” Clare says as she stands next to them. “I nearly wet myself when you kicked him up the backside.”
“Hit ‘em where it hurts,” she laughs.
“You did that! Look at him—he can barely walk,” she says as the man struggles back to his feet. He glares back at them and Jessie makes a threatening step towards him. He cowers then scrambles away.
“This day is going from bad to worse,” Jessie sighs and slips the rucksack back over her shoulders. “Let’s go!” she says with renewed determination. “I just want to get home.”
Ahead, the kerb widens and tables sit stacked with upturned chairs outside a cafe.
“I know we need to get to the house, Jessie, but I need to sit down,” Clare says as they draw close to the chairs. “Can we just stop and sit down at that café? Just for a minute?”
“OK,” she agrees. “I could do with a few minutes to recharge, but keep your wits about you,” she says hyper-alert after the attack. She checks up and down the street. A curtain twitches from above a Chinese takeaway and she locks eyes for a moment with a child. Another appears and both sit behind the safety of the glass watching the scene below. Along the street a group of men are walking towards them and on the other side of the road a woman is forcing a pushchair up the steps of a doorway whilst another couple walk hand-in-hand. It could almost be a normal day if it weren’t for the cars stalled in the road. Relieved at the normality but weary, Jessie rests her legs on an extra chair and leans back in her seat. The children smile at her then wave, and she returns the gesture. Sweet kids! Behind, the group of men chatter and laugh as they approach. A clatter of chairs and then scraping of metal tells her they’ve decided to sit too.
Days of Fire Page 14
