The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1191 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I didn’t actually see what happened, except little glimpses of the action in windows as I passed. I took the advice from Jim to run like a rabbit, and sprinted away as fast as I could on rather rubbery legs. Moments later, I heard like a pattering noise followed by ricochets and glass shattering. Then a boom, followed few seconds later by another boom, then another. The sound of tyres screaming, another boom and crash. One more boom and then a loud bang which shattered glass in windows all round me and endangered me as much as the bullets had.

I stopped and turned round. The scene before me was of total devastation. Most of the windows in the buildings on the street were broken, there was glass everywhere. A large car had smashed into a building and exploded, setting light to the building. I looked for Jim and it took me a moment to see him, he was lying in the middle of the road with two men holding rifles standing over him.

I ran towards the three of them, hoping they were his friends from the Marines. One saw me coming, picked up the handgun and made off into a building. The other waited until I got to them. “Good man the major,” then ran off like his friend had done.

I looked down at Jim, he was hit about three times, in the leg, chest and abdomen. The blood was pooling in the road about him. Sirens and footsteps sounded all round me. I felt for a pulse he had none. Common sense told me I should have legged it like his two colleagues but it has never been my driving force, which might explain why I have such an interesting life.

I knelt with my hands on either side of his head. “Okay, Jim, ignore the noise just focus on me. I suspect you might be in a strange place, possibly even a dark one. Listen to my voice, look for the light–a blue one–come towards it, let my voice and the light guide you back to me. C’mon, Jim, get your arse back here and now.

Someone threw a coat over him while I continued talking him back to his body, I felt his chances were quite slim although I was pouring the light into him it felt as if it was falling into a bottomless pit.

I kept at my task, a fire engine arrived and had to negotiate its way past us, then another came and they began fighting the fire, water began to run everywhere.

Two paramedics came up to me, “Where’s the light coming from?” asked one of them. “C’mon, luv, out the way let’s see if we can help your friend–though judging by the blood, it don’t look good.”

I glared at him and yelled like a banshee–they both stepped back and someone called them to assist another who’d been hurt by the glass–did I tell you it was everywhere?

I felt Jim start to breathe and poured more energy into him, another ambulance arrived and this time I got up and let them take over. They put up a drip and slapped on a couple of dressings to slow the bleeding, although I knew the wounds were much smaller than they’d been initially.

I picked up my bag and walked away, thankfully in all the confusion no one challenged me, despite the fact I had blood on my trousers and shoes. I walked back to the Porsche and got in–then I burst into tears and for several minutes cried and sobbed. I wiped my eyes, grateful that I hadn’t worn any makeup, and started the car.

It took me a little while to find my way back to the motorway and once there I drove as fast as the speed limit permitted. No one tried to stop me although I saw several police cars during my journey.

I got home pulled into the drive and continued until I got to the empty garage which had previously held a sit and ride lawnmower amongst other things. Simon had cleared it with the intention of putting his Jaguar in there. I parked the Porsche in there instead.

Simon, Tom and Trish came out to see who’d driven in. “Where’s Jim?” asked Si.

“He got shot, the gangsters got him.”

“He’s dead?”

“He wasn’t when I left him, but the London hospitals may have finished the job by now–he was hit three times.”

“Three times?” Simon gasped, “You’re okay?”

“Yeah, he pushed me away and dealt with the attack himself.”

“What happened?”

“We went to a bank and were walking down the road when this big limo which was waiting for us, came at us firing some sort of machine gun. Jim stood there and fired back, with this huge handgun thing he had. I was busy running the other way. He must have hit the driver or something because the car swerved into a building and exploded.”

“Bloody hell,” said Trish, “I always miss out on the action.”

“Ye’re supposd tae be a lassie, no a commando,” her grandfather chastised her.

“Aww, Gramps, I’m sure I coulda helped.”

“Sure ye cood, gettin’ thae way.”

Trish gave me a hug and I noticed the rest of the brood emerging from the house.

“I s’pose tae polis’ll be alang tae speak wi’ ye presently?”

“I don’t care, Daddy, I’ll tell them what I saw–nothing.”

“Is that blood?” asked Jenny looking at my trousers.

“Yes, Jim’s blood.”

“C’mon, go and change and I’ll pop them in the wash for you.”

By the time the police arrived I’d showered and dressed, had a cup of tea and even dried my hair. My clothes were drying in the tumble drier along with some of the children’s that Jenny had used to make up the load. The stains looked as if they had washed out from the black material.

The woman Inspector accompanied by a colleague from the Met force sat in my lounge drinking my tea and asking me questions.

“What happened?” asked the man.

“I didn’t see it, Jim pushed me away and told me to run. I did.”

“What happened to his gun?”

“I didn’t know he had one, I didn’t see it.”

“Someone shot the driver and the passenger with a very large calibre weapon, literally blew them in half.”

“I didn’t see it, sorry, I was too busy trying to dodge bullets and glass.”

“You drove his car?”

“Yes, I wanted to get home–I was scared.”

“You left the scene of an incident even though you knew the police wanted to talk to you?”

“I left because I was scared, so would you be if someone had tried to machine gun you.”

“I’d have stayed to speak to the police,” said the sexist twit from London.

“Before or after you changed your trousers–because believe me, you’d have crapped yourself.” I snapped back at him and I saw the woman Inspector smirk.

“I’ve been involved in incidents where firearms have been used, you know?” he tried to assert himself and his now damaged ego.

“So have I, and I still get frightened, because anyone who isn’t is either already dead or brain damaged.”

“So you don’t know who was involved?”

“When we drove up to London, a big black car tried to ram us on the motorway, I presume it was the same one which tried to run us down or shoot us afterwards.”

“How did they know where you were?”

“How do I know? You’re the detective.”

“Witnesses say they saw you come out of a bank?”

“Yes, my family own one, I called in a branch to try and speak with my husband to tell him I might be out all day, as Jim was taking me to lunch.”

“I see, you weren’t having an affair with Mr Beck, were you?”

I burst out laughing, “No, you moron, gay men don’t do with women, do they?”

“He’s gay?” the copper seemed quite taken aback.

“Yeah, so what?”

“One of my sergeants will be disappointed,” he sighed.

“I think I was, but I employed him for help in getting this gang off my back. He did a very good job, but might have paid a very high price for it.”

“Who helped him round up all the gangsters?”

“How would I know? He told me to stay indoors and keep the family in as well.”

“I get a feeling that you’re not telling me the complete truth, Lady Cameron.”

“I got the impression you were devoid of any feelings save for male superiority.” At this jibe the woman inspector snorted and had to pretend she was sneezing.

“If I think you’ve been withholding evidence, I shall be back with a warrant.”

“If you do, you’ll meet my charming but extremely efficient barrister, who seems to bring about more early retirements than government policy does.”

“Was that a threat?”

“From you? Yes it could have been–can I list that as police brutality? I have a witness, or is it more sexist twaddle?”

“We may need to speak with you again, Lady Cameron,” said the woman inspector, her eyes sparkling.

“But of course, Inspector.” They left, her smirking and him fuming at my impertinence. Impertinence indeed–he’s lucky I talk to the lower classes, next time it might be through the butler–now where’s he gone, Jeeves?