Chapter five

Did I mention that the little green eyed, auburn haired girl is tied and bound and a thick white piece of electrical tape is pressed over her mouth? If I didn’t then I apologise but I’ve done so now. My first impulse was to remove her bindings but a loud noise – either a car backfiring or a gun firing – caused me to spin around, my left hand rising up to that part of my chest behind which my heart is now beating more rapidly.

I see nothing but the dark street. But after a moment I hear the loud CRACKSHOT sound again. I’m still unable to decide whether it’s a car or a gun but I lean towards a car if only because statistically that is what it is more likely to be.

And then I see a car – a dilapidated old banger really – turn into the street. It stops. Only one headlight working, and that hardly above a dim flicker. I feel as if I’m in a scene from a western at high noon – if 3am is the new noon and the London backstreets are the new American West.

It’s just sitting there, it’s engine low and sickly sounding. And then the CRACKSHOT sound again as the engine splutters aloud. I’m sorry if it’s a cliche, I really am but statistically it was always more likely to be a car backfiring. I know guns are becoming a more common feature of English cities – or should I say “less rare” for they are not yet a common feature of our cities.

A door in one of the houses across the street flies open and a man comes out. He seems cross and judging from his bedroom appearance I can’t say I’m all that surprised. He sees me and heads straight over.

“Are you aware what time it is? There are people trying to sleep,” he said.

“Not me making the racket my old chum,” I said.

“What in god’s name –” he begins but doesn’t finish. Uh oh. He is looking behind me, into the taxi’s trunk. Straight at the trussed-up little girl.

“Let me explain,” I said. But he is in no mood to listen to me, jumping immediately to a conclusion and refusing to budge from it. He’s a big man, bigger than me by quite some distance, but all us men have a weakness and though it pains me and makes my eyes water to have to confess to exploiting that weakness it really was the only thing I could do. Oh I could have fled but only a guilty man flees. So I took my course of action, wincing as I did so and almost feeling the pain as much as he did so. Certainly I was in sympathy with him. I uttered a non-vocal apology, lifted the child out of the trunk and deposited her in the back of the taxi on the rear seat. I will have to free her from her bindings and gag later.

“I really am sorry,” I said, as I got in behind the wheel of the taxi and drove away. The old banger was no longer on my mind, which is unfortunate for it was tailing me.

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