Read Online Faces in the Rain by Roland Perry - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Roland Perry
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pointing at my mutilated vehicle.
As the train pulled away I saw the Fiat another eighty metres away. One of the occupants was standing, with both hands raised to his face. He had binoculars fixed on the train windows. I slumped back in my seat. When the train was well beyond the Fiat, I looked up. It was being driven off at speed. A woman was standing at the end of the carriage. Two young men carrying beer cans were annoying her. She stepped towards me with the two louts, both no older than eighteen, close at heel. She sat in my cubicle and sucked in breath when she saw the gun. I fumbled it into a coat pocket, but it was too big to be hidden.
âItâs OK,â I said, âyou in trouble?â
The woman was too afraid to speak. She nodded. The louts were standing nearby, hovering oblivious of me. I stood up.
âLeave this woman alone,â I said. They were not even tipsy, just fired up enough to do a little train molestation, which five times out ten led to rape. They noticed my hand on the weapon which protruded from my coat pocket. Their manner changed. They retreated to the end of the carriage.
âGet off at the next stop!â I shouted. They were trying to open the door and jump out before the station appeared. My hands were shaking. The woman stared. She was about twenty, plump and dark-haired, with a Cleopatra fringe over her round, pretty face.
âThank you,â she whispered nervously, still unsure if she had jumped from the frying pan into the fire.
âI thought you were one of those train guards,â she said. I coughed and laughed with a dash of hysteria. She laughed uncertainly at first and then more heartily.
The train pulled in at South Yarra station. About a dozen commuters got on the city-bound train. I watchedthe faces, even of women, although I didnât think the attackers in the Fiat would have had time to reach South Yarra.
The train pulled out.
How would the attackers react? It would be better for them to speed into the cityâs Flinders Street station and meet the train there. With luck they could beat it in. I had to get off before Flinders Street, and there was only one other stop, at Richmond opposite the football ground of the same name.
I waited for the train to stop. No one was getting off. I dashed for the door at the last second, only to see a figure doing the same thing in the next carriage. I tried to get back on. Too late. I dashed between waiting commuters and down steps.
Get the gun out. Get it out!!
I ran past station guards who shouted after me. I kept going and glanced over my shoulder to see three guards tackling the person who had been chasing me. That gave me a vital few seconds break, but I was running straight towards the Fiat. It had pulled up on Brunton Avenue opposite the Richmond ground.
Cochard, the big Frenchman, was getting out of the vehicle. I dashed over the road and fired over the top of the car. He took evasive action across the front seat, and by the time he had recovered I was sprinting into the darkened MCG carpark towards that stadium.
The Fiat was in pursuit and the occupants were searching for an entrance to the carpark.
Theyâre going to run me down! Stop. Get your breath. Assess your position.
I could see them removing a wooden barrier to the carpark as I stumbled on. They had the lights on high beam. From the shouts and roar of the carâs gear shift,I guessed they had spotted me. I jumped a turnstile into the stadium and dashed up stairs to the top of the Olympic Stand. I could see the Fiat careering round aimlessly. It stopped after a minute and both attackers got out and ran towards the stadium directly beneath me.
I hurried along a corridor, trying doors. One opened into a kitchen and catering area. I slammed it shut, rammed home a bolt, and stayed motionless. My heart had never pounded so hard and it burned.
After twenty minutes I heard the familiar whine of the Fiat and ventured out. It was
As the train pulled away I saw the Fiat another eighty metres away. One of the occupants was standing, with both hands raised to his face. He had binoculars fixed on the train windows. I slumped back in my seat. When the train was well beyond the Fiat, I looked up. It was being driven off at speed. A woman was standing at the end of the carriage. Two young men carrying beer cans were annoying her. She stepped towards me with the two louts, both no older than eighteen, close at heel. She sat in my cubicle and sucked in breath when she saw the gun. I fumbled it into a coat pocket, but it was too big to be hidden.
âItâs OK,â I said, âyou in trouble?â
The woman was too afraid to speak. She nodded. The louts were standing nearby, hovering oblivious of me. I stood up.
âLeave this woman alone,â I said. They were not even tipsy, just fired up enough to do a little train molestation, which five times out ten led to rape. They noticed my hand on the weapon which protruded from my coat pocket. Their manner changed. They retreated to the end of the carriage.
âGet off at the next stop!â I shouted. They were trying to open the door and jump out before the station appeared. My hands were shaking. The woman stared. She was about twenty, plump and dark-haired, with a Cleopatra fringe over her round, pretty face.
âThank you,â she whispered nervously, still unsure if she had jumped from the frying pan into the fire.
âI thought you were one of those train guards,â she said. I coughed and laughed with a dash of hysteria. She laughed uncertainly at first and then more heartily.
The train pulled in at South Yarra station. About a dozen commuters got on the city-bound train. I watchedthe faces, even of women, although I didnât think the attackers in the Fiat would have had time to reach South Yarra.
The train pulled out.
How would the attackers react? It would be better for them to speed into the cityâs Flinders Street station and meet the train there. With luck they could beat it in. I had to get off before Flinders Street, and there was only one other stop, at Richmond opposite the football ground of the same name.
I waited for the train to stop. No one was getting off. I dashed for the door at the last second, only to see a figure doing the same thing in the next carriage. I tried to get back on. Too late. I dashed between waiting commuters and down steps.
Get the gun out. Get it out!!
I ran past station guards who shouted after me. I kept going and glanced over my shoulder to see three guards tackling the person who had been chasing me. That gave me a vital few seconds break, but I was running straight towards the Fiat. It had pulled up on Brunton Avenue opposite the Richmond ground.
Cochard, the big Frenchman, was getting out of the vehicle. I dashed over the road and fired over the top of the car. He took evasive action across the front seat, and by the time he had recovered I was sprinting into the darkened MCG carpark towards that stadium.
The Fiat was in pursuit and the occupants were searching for an entrance to the carpark.
Theyâre going to run me down! Stop. Get your breath. Assess your position.
I could see them removing a wooden barrier to the carpark as I stumbled on. They had the lights on high beam. From the shouts and roar of the carâs gear shift,I guessed they had spotted me. I jumped a turnstile into the stadium and dashed up stairs to the top of the Olympic Stand. I could see the Fiat careering round aimlessly. It stopped after a minute and both attackers got out and ran towards the stadium directly beneath me.
I hurried along a corridor, trying doors. One opened into a kitchen and catering area. I slammed it shut, rammed home a bolt, and stayed motionless. My heart had never pounded so hard and it burned.
After twenty minutes I heard the familiar whine of the Fiat and ventured out. It was
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