to one of the people who arrived at his door,
“Take her next door.” Rough hands helped me to a crouching position
and I was half-dragged, half-carried to the main office where I was
unceremoniously dumped behind Daniel’s desk before being abandoned.
I hunched up against a wall and cowered there for some minutes,
painfully picking shards of glass out of my hands and quietly
bleeding over Daniel’s clothes and the floor. I hoped nobody
minded. I didn’t know if blood came out of wool-blend carpet.
I’d decided by
then that I was going to get the hell out of this place the second
I could and would never look back. I stood up, a bit shakily to be
honest, and cautiously moved towards the stairs, not wanting to
attract any attention. I would mail the clothes back to Daniel when
I’d washed them. Then I remembered – my handbag was still in
Heller’s office. I couldn’t leave without it. It contained my
almost empty purse, house keys and my return bus ticket. Fuck!
Fuck! Fuckity-fuck! I sidled over to his office door and
guardedly peered around, spying my handbag lying on the floor,
half-hidden under the lounge where it had landed after Heller had
crash-tackled me.
Heller stood
with two other gigantic men, his arms crossed, listening and
nodding while they conversed heatedly. They were intently examining
the projectile, a crudely fashioned solid metal sphere, like a
small cannon ball. It had found a resting spot in the exact place I
had been sitting only moments before it had burst through the
window. I stared at the ball in horror. If I hadn’t stood up in a
huff to leave, it would probably have smashed directly into me!
Bile rose in my throat and it was a battle to choke it back down
again.
“They’re long
gone,” commented Heller with detachment, glancing out of the broken
window down to the road. “Must have used some kind of catapult or
mini-cannon.”
“It’s those
fuckers from Select Security. We all know it,” spat one of the
other men angrily.
“They won’t be
happy until they kill one of us. I’m sick of those bastards,
Heller. It’s time for pay-back,” growled the other man.
“Check the
footage from the cameras out the front. You might be able to make
out a number plate,” Heller directed one of the men, his calm voice
a foil to the other men’s fury.
None of my
business , I told myself, just concentrate on getting out of
here . I warily edged around the door towards the lounge. My
shoes crunched loudly on the broken glass scattered on the carpet
and the three men immediately stopped talking and swung around in
unison to stare at me. I stood frozen in mid-step, eyes wide with
apprehension, blood gently dripping onto the carpet.
“Just getting
my bag,” I babbled nervously, helpfully pointing at it where it
nestled tantalizingly out of reach. “Then I’ll be off. I promise
I’ll mail Daniel back the clothes. Don’t worry about my suit.”
My glance
moved from one man to the other. I blinked rapidly. Twins! But like
no twins I’d ever seen before. The two men with Heller were built
like tanks and completely identical, down to the same suit. They
had the whole 1950s London gangster-look happening, doubles for
Ronnie and Reggie Kray. Imposingly tall and broad-shouldered, their
dark pinstriped tailored suits stretched tightly across their
chests. Their craggy, acne-scarred faces were carved out of stone
and topped by black, slicked-back quiffs. They had matching cold,
flat, unfriendly dark gray eyes and fleshy small grim mouths, and
one man had broken his nose at some point in his life. One of them
by himself would have been intimidating. Together, they scared the
absolute hell out of me. My immediate instinct was to turn and
flee, which I reminded myself, was exactly what I was trying to do
at that very moment.
“Who the hell
are you and why are you wearing one of our uniforms?” the
broken-nosed one demanded in a hostile, gravelly voice. He glanced
at Heller. “You need me to
“Take her next door.” Rough hands helped me to a crouching position
and I was half-dragged, half-carried to the main office where I was
unceremoniously dumped behind Daniel’s desk before being abandoned.
I hunched up against a wall and cowered there for some minutes,
painfully picking shards of glass out of my hands and quietly
bleeding over Daniel’s clothes and the floor. I hoped nobody
minded. I didn’t know if blood came out of wool-blend carpet.
I’d decided by
then that I was going to get the hell out of this place the second
I could and would never look back. I stood up, a bit shakily to be
honest, and cautiously moved towards the stairs, not wanting to
attract any attention. I would mail the clothes back to Daniel when
I’d washed them. Then I remembered – my handbag was still in
Heller’s office. I couldn’t leave without it. It contained my
almost empty purse, house keys and my return bus ticket. Fuck!
Fuck! Fuckity-fuck! I sidled over to his office door and
guardedly peered around, spying my handbag lying on the floor,
half-hidden under the lounge where it had landed after Heller had
crash-tackled me.
Heller stood
with two other gigantic men, his arms crossed, listening and
nodding while they conversed heatedly. They were intently examining
the projectile, a crudely fashioned solid metal sphere, like a
small cannon ball. It had found a resting spot in the exact place I
had been sitting only moments before it had burst through the
window. I stared at the ball in horror. If I hadn’t stood up in a
huff to leave, it would probably have smashed directly into me!
Bile rose in my throat and it was a battle to choke it back down
again.
“They’re long
gone,” commented Heller with detachment, glancing out of the broken
window down to the road. “Must have used some kind of catapult or
mini-cannon.”
“It’s those
fuckers from Select Security. We all know it,” spat one of the
other men angrily.
“They won’t be
happy until they kill one of us. I’m sick of those bastards,
Heller. It’s time for pay-back,” growled the other man.
“Check the
footage from the cameras out the front. You might be able to make
out a number plate,” Heller directed one of the men, his calm voice
a foil to the other men’s fury.
None of my
business , I told myself, just concentrate on getting out of
here . I warily edged around the door towards the lounge. My
shoes crunched loudly on the broken glass scattered on the carpet
and the three men immediately stopped talking and swung around in
unison to stare at me. I stood frozen in mid-step, eyes wide with
apprehension, blood gently dripping onto the carpet.
“Just getting
my bag,” I babbled nervously, helpfully pointing at it where it
nestled tantalizingly out of reach. “Then I’ll be off. I promise
I’ll mail Daniel back the clothes. Don’t worry about my suit.”
My glance
moved from one man to the other. I blinked rapidly. Twins! But like
no twins I’d ever seen before. The two men with Heller were built
like tanks and completely identical, down to the same suit. They
had the whole 1950s London gangster-look happening, doubles for
Ronnie and Reggie Kray. Imposingly tall and broad-shouldered, their
dark pinstriped tailored suits stretched tightly across their
chests. Their craggy, acne-scarred faces were carved out of stone
and topped by black, slicked-back quiffs. They had matching cold,
flat, unfriendly dark gray eyes and fleshy small grim mouths, and
one man had broken his nose at some point in his life. One of them
by himself would have been intimidating. Together, they scared the
absolute hell out of me. My immediate instinct was to turn and
flee, which I reminded myself, was exactly what I was trying to do
at that very moment.
“Who the hell
are you and why are you wearing one of our uniforms?” the
broken-nosed one demanded in a hostile, gravelly voice. He glanced
at Heller. “You need me to
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