life suddenly, smashing their bottles on the counter as if they’d
finally decided that I was bluffing too, then made for the door. I was going to
have to take the guy’s ear off to prove that I wasn’t. It was going to get
messy after all...
I placed the machete against the side of
the biker’s head then looked up in astonishment as the Somalian rose up from
behind the counter breaking the stand-off, one hand raised to his bloodied
face, the other waving a Smith and Wesson that he’d obviously had stashed
somewhere and had managed to retrieve.
‘You all go now, or I, I, shoot you up,’
he shouted in broken English.
‘Fuck you!’ the girl said dismissively.
The Somalian cocked the hammer and
pointed the revolver in her direction. Everyone froze again.
‘Do it!’ the manager shouted again, blood
running down his neck in a steady stream soaking the collar of his shirt a rich
claret.
The toxic hyenas backed off. I let go of
the rope so Blackie could haul himself up and stagger over to the door,
coughing.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ he croaked,
clutching his throat. ‘We’ll come back to finish our business another time...’
The Somalian pointed the revolver at each
of them in turn as they scrambled out. Seconds later they’d mounted their bikes
and had started them up so that their engines chugged loudly, eager for more
throttle.
Finally, in a plume of grit and snow they
sped off in a roar, whooping and cursing as they went until they reached the
highway and rode out of sight. I lowered the machete and breathed a sigh of
relief, then looked over at the Somalian who was now holding a blood-soaked
towel to his battered face.
‘You okay?’ I said clocking his injuries,
‘or do you need taking to hospital?’
‘I’m okay,’ he murmured, ‘just a graze.’
‘You’ve got more balls than the lot of
them put together, brother. You sure you’re alright?’
‘Yes, I think so...Can I get you
something to eat or drink?’
I laughed at the absurdity of the
question.
‘No, all I need is some bloody sleep. You
close up and get yourself home now before those freaks come back, okay?’
He nodded lamely. I turned and strolled
back to the truck, hoping that that would be the end to the evening’s entertainment,
that the bikers wouldn’t return with more of their friends later to even the
score. There was a lot of footwork to do in the morning too, and if Olivia had
gone on some romantic road trip with Ethan, which it looked like she may have,
she could be anywhere in the damned States right now. Every lost hour was
crucial…
I turned again as I neared the rig, then
watched as the restaurant guy tried to bring the shutters down over the
steamed-up windows of the diner with his one free hand. The Somalian was
struggling, that much was clear. I placed my hand on the icy handle of the
truck, clicked it open then thought better of it. The guy probably needed
stitches. And he certainly wasn’t in a fit enough state to drive home, let
alone close up the joint.
I cursed, then headed back in double-time
as a flurry of snow started to come down again. I was going to have to drive
him to the nearest hospital or he was going to bleed to death in the damned
parking lot.
I berated myself for having taken the job
on, then for having developed a conscience. It was going to be another long
long night again, then another long day tomorrow, and I was going to be
jet-lagged, and pretty damned irritable as a
result.
I placed a hand on the Somalian’s
shoulder as he fumbled with some keys to lock the doors then eyed his head
wound as he lowered the towel. The cut on his head looked deep. The one above
his eye like it needed stitches.
‘Come on, I’ll take you to the nearest
hospital. Just tell me where I need to go, okay?’
He offered a defiant smile then fainted
suddenly. I grabbed him instinctively to stop him falling to the ground then
held him vertical until his eyelids had fluttered open
finally decided that I was bluffing too, then made for the door. I was going to
have to take the guy’s ear off to prove that I wasn’t. It was going to get
messy after all...
I placed the machete against the side of
the biker’s head then looked up in astonishment as the Somalian rose up from
behind the counter breaking the stand-off, one hand raised to his bloodied
face, the other waving a Smith and Wesson that he’d obviously had stashed
somewhere and had managed to retrieve.
‘You all go now, or I, I, shoot you up,’
he shouted in broken English.
‘Fuck you!’ the girl said dismissively.
The Somalian cocked the hammer and
pointed the revolver in her direction. Everyone froze again.
‘Do it!’ the manager shouted again, blood
running down his neck in a steady stream soaking the collar of his shirt a rich
claret.
The toxic hyenas backed off. I let go of
the rope so Blackie could haul himself up and stagger over to the door,
coughing.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ he croaked,
clutching his throat. ‘We’ll come back to finish our business another time...’
The Somalian pointed the revolver at each
of them in turn as they scrambled out. Seconds later they’d mounted their bikes
and had started them up so that their engines chugged loudly, eager for more
throttle.
Finally, in a plume of grit and snow they
sped off in a roar, whooping and cursing as they went until they reached the
highway and rode out of sight. I lowered the machete and breathed a sigh of
relief, then looked over at the Somalian who was now holding a blood-soaked
towel to his battered face.
‘You okay?’ I said clocking his injuries,
‘or do you need taking to hospital?’
‘I’m okay,’ he murmured, ‘just a graze.’
‘You’ve got more balls than the lot of
them put together, brother. You sure you’re alright?’
‘Yes, I think so...Can I get you
something to eat or drink?’
I laughed at the absurdity of the
question.
‘No, all I need is some bloody sleep. You
close up and get yourself home now before those freaks come back, okay?’
He nodded lamely. I turned and strolled
back to the truck, hoping that that would be the end to the evening’s entertainment,
that the bikers wouldn’t return with more of their friends later to even the
score. There was a lot of footwork to do in the morning too, and if Olivia had
gone on some romantic road trip with Ethan, which it looked like she may have,
she could be anywhere in the damned States right now. Every lost hour was
crucial…
I turned again as I neared the rig, then
watched as the restaurant guy tried to bring the shutters down over the
steamed-up windows of the diner with his one free hand. The Somalian was
struggling, that much was clear. I placed my hand on the icy handle of the
truck, clicked it open then thought better of it. The guy probably needed
stitches. And he certainly wasn’t in a fit enough state to drive home, let
alone close up the joint.
I cursed, then headed back in double-time
as a flurry of snow started to come down again. I was going to have to drive
him to the nearest hospital or he was going to bleed to death in the damned
parking lot.
I berated myself for having taken the job
on, then for having developed a conscience. It was going to be another long
long night again, then another long day tomorrow, and I was going to be
jet-lagged, and pretty damned irritable as a
result.
I placed a hand on the Somalian’s
shoulder as he fumbled with some keys to lock the doors then eyed his head
wound as he lowered the towel. The cut on his head looked deep. The one above
his eye like it needed stitches.
‘Come on, I’ll take you to the nearest
hospital. Just tell me where I need to go, okay?’
He offered a defiant smile then fainted
suddenly. I grabbed him instinctively to stop him falling to the ground then
held him vertical until his eyelids had fluttered open
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