Skill taught me to always appraise and calculate what placed in front of you is the unforeseen.
Consider the circumstances and recognise the consequences.
Measure the gain and plot for that reason.
If I punched the Sergeant, I opened a can of worms. If I didn't, there was no chance of getting out of the police station.
I whacked him with both hands clasped together.
Pulled the punch, but his legs still crumpled. He hit the floor as a puppet with their strings cut.
I removed the keys hanging off the trouser belt and got the handcuffs undone. A commotion began outside the door. Smee, accompanied by the two non-English speaking special constables, unlocked the door, and burst into the cell.
I should never hit a woman, but she held a taser. Pointing straight at me. She pressed the trigger. With just enough time, I turned her hands towards her chest. Shaking as if having an epileptic fit as the current went through the body.
The first energy can peak around 30,000 to 50,000 volts. This is only to start the arc. With a spark formed, the dynamism drops to 1200. The amperage is insignificant, which makes it as safe as possible for the police to use.
Smee fell to the floor as one special stepped forward, ready to land a blow. My basic training came back without thinking.
I crouched so that the constable's punch missed, balled my fist, and landed a fast low uppercut square in the groin.
He folded forwards, as the second policeman crowded into the room. I spun and smashed the sole of a foot against the door. With as much speed and power I could muster.
The constable got nailed between door and jamb. Trapped his shoulders. Enough to expel a grunt. Send the gun spinning out of a hand to fall into the cell. I dived for it and scooped it up by the barrel.
Swinging round, still crouched, a quick step approached from behind. The butt of the automatic hit the diving constable somewhere on the face. Couldn't be sure where, but sounded a four-pound axe sinking into the trunk of a timber.
He was unconscious before reaching me, but he struck me. A chopper doesn't stop a falling tree. Only a moment to push him away. I changed the grip to the butt of the pistol. That was enough for the other constable. Still protecting his manhood with his hand.
As he came forward, I stepped aside and wrapped my left arm around his throat. I crunched him in the back of the neck with my right forearm. On impact, I felt the backbone shatter and the body go slack.
I clamped my palms over his ears. Twisted the head one way and then the other. The spinal cord severed, and I let him fall to the floor.
I looked over towards the Sergeant, who was now-moaning. With a long, bleeding cut above the left eye, and tomorrow a duck's egg bruise forming.
With nobody else to stop me, I was soon out on the street. It was raining hard.
Two automobiles parked by the kerb. Both police cars. The keys I took from Fitzgerald were still in my possession.
I disabled the other vehicle by firing a shot from the retrieved gun at the nearside front tyre, and it settled with a heavy bump.
I started the BMW, released the handbrake, and gunned the motor that the rear tyres spun and whined on the loose gravel before getting traction.
The automobile leapt forward as if fitted with a rocket assisted engine. When I'd straightened it up and timed a fast look in the mirror, I was a hundred yards off from the police station.
I glimpsed Fitzgerald and Smee running out onto the road, staring after the BMW, before a sharp angled bend came sweeping towards me. A quick variation to the right. A four-wheel drift. The back-end decelerating. Another twist of the to the left. Speeding up, I was away from the centre of Cape Ore and heading in the direction of the shingle spit.