The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1514 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I decided that on no account would I assist in him assaulting or killing Simon, I would die first. However, as the shock of my visitor passed, I began to think desperately how I might escape.

He’d told me I couldn’t talk–so that precluded trying to con him or play games with him. If I could cause him to fire his gun, preferably without me being in front of it, then it was possible that help might arrive.

His problem was that I assumed he was going to kill me anyway, so I had nothing to lose except my life, which wasn’t likely to last very much longer anyway. I was therefore a great deal more dangerous than he thought. If I could get the gun away from him and stop him from getting near my neck or throat, I might just survive this.

I began to look for weapons I could use, in my bag I had a multi-tool, one of those things with pliers and screwdrivers and a knife blade. My Blackberry was also in my bag. My bag was on the foot well of the passenger side having slid off the seat when I came into the car park.

If I couldn’t somehow disrupt his attempt, then the bottom line was accelerate like hell and emergency stop or actually hit something. He wasn’t wearing a belt, so he could end up flying through the windscreen, though with my luck, he’d probably smack his head on mine and kill me. See, those adverts for wearing rear belts did have an effect–on me at any rate. How useful it would be was yet to be determined.

I felt a dribble of sweat run down my back and I was sure my bra cups were sticking to my breasts, my whole top felt damp and sticking to me. Oh well, it showed my autonomic system worked.

My phone rang and we both jumped–that he didn’t shoot me either meant his reflexes were better than mine or the safety was on. The Blackberry rang again.

“Who’s that calling you?” said the voice from behind.

I glanced at the clock on the dash, it was after half past seven. “It’s probably my husband.”

“Answer it, but don’t try nothin’.”

“I have a gun in my back–although I believe these seats have a metal plate in them to protect the spines of the passengers.”

“Ain’t gonna stop a slug.”

For a second I thought he was talking about molluscs, then realised he meant bullet. Of course it wouldn’t–it was purely a figment of my imagination–but it was casting doubt and making him have to rethink his plan.

All this time my phone was ringing. “Answer it, bitch.”

“I can’t reach it with the seat belt on.”

“Undo it then, but no tricks.”

“You have a gun or have you forgotten that?”

“Don’t get cute with me.”

I undid the belt and let it reel back. I leant forward and picked up my bag, which was zipped up. I sat back up and undid the zip. My fingers were sweaty. I hoped his were. Of course, by now the ringing stopped.

“D’you want me to see who it was?”

“Yeah, hold it up where I can see it.”

Which I did with my left hand, whilst my right hand was extracting my multi-tool from my handbag which was still on my lap. I unlocked the key pad and it showed Simon had called. “Would you like me to call him back?”

“No, he’ll call again if you’re to meet him.”

“Probably,” I agreed. I put the Blackberry down on the armrest between the two front seats. With two hands, I eased out the blade from the tool, my sweaty fingers making it more difficult.

The phone rang and vibrated and again we both started, I went to pick it up and fumbled it on to the passenger seat. He leant forward to grab it and I turned quickly and stabbed him in the face–actually catching him in the eye. At the same time I pushed the seat back and opened the door, rolling out onto the ground and round the next car.

I heard the door open and he screamed at me, I was rolling under a 4x4 and probably making my clothes very dirty. He was still screaming at me and he fired at something. I heard more voices and screams. I hoped he hadn’t shot anyone else by mistake; but at least help would arrive now.

Another shot was fired and he was ranting that he was going to kill me. I suppose now he had reasonable grounds for doing so, I was lying on the cold concrete shivering and trying not to make any noise.

I saw him stagger past the car, blood dripping as he went, he was still shouting abuse and presumably in pain. I heard male voices shout, “Armed police, freeze.”

For a moment nothing happened, and it felt like minutes. Then a single shot rang out followed by two automatic weapons firing a burst and his legs buckled and he fell face down onto the ground, blood spraying from his face as it crunched against the concrete.

I stayed where I was. The only thing more dangerous than a criminal with a gun was a copper with one. Sirens sounded from everywhere and a police car screamed into the car park and feet jumped out. They began searching and it wasn’t long before a face and machine gun were pointed under the car. “You, out and keep your hands where I can see them.”

“I’m not armed,” I said and wriggled out slowly from under the rusty car which had hidden me.

Again it seemed like hours before I was allowed up and allowed to relate what happened. I led them back to my car–there was blood inside it, but less than I’d expected and the multi-tool lay on the floor in the rear, the blade still projecting and covered in the red stuff.

Thankfully my Blackberry wasn’t bloody, and the police allowed me to call Simon to let him know what was happening. Then they went and collected him from the exit and brought him and James up to the car park. Once I saw Simon, I just lost it and dissolved into tears in his arms. It was quite some time before I was coherent again.

The car was a crime scene, and we were taken away to the police station at Heathrow to make statements. James they let go after about an hour. Simon and I were kept until eleven o’clock. We were both dozing in the chairs by then.

Henry sent a driver round to collect us. To say he was miffed with us for not telling him where Simon was, at the same time he told us he would be pleased to see the evidence Simon had with him at the enquiry meeting the next morning.

We stayed at Hampstead that night, neither of us sleeping very well despite our tiredness. I kept waking up thinking there was a gun pointed at me, which meant I sat up whimpering and all sweaty and this woke Simon each time.

At one point I went and washed because I felt so sweaty, and it helped because I did finally sleep. James came and collected me after breakfast. My tummy was full of wind so I had to eat something and Mrs Jameson told me she wouldn’t let me go until I’d had some porridge and a bacon sandwich, washed down with two cups of tea.

I said my goodbyes to everyone, wished Simon good luck and left with James in his Boxster. Once my tummy stopped rumbling I settled down for the ride home.

“That was pretty quick thinking with that hoodlum, yesterday.”

“It was high risk, but it worked, sadly he had to die.”

“If he hadn’t, Cathy, you would have.”

I shuddered, “Let’s talk about something else,” I said changing the subject. “How’s your love life?” I asked and he nearly swerved under a bus we were overtaking.