49
They skipped two or three cars and came straight at me. At least that appeared to be their intention. But they skirted the Jaguar. Headed for a car to the left.
Leaning across the passenger seat, I checked the glove compartment.
Nothing except an opened packet of cigarettes, a disposable lighter and motor insurance documents.
I lit the cigarette. The fumes tasted marvellous. Twice in fourteen years. I inhaled, taking another lungful.
The two coppers returned. Play-acting the role.
I stepped out of the automobile. Being trapped within the confines of an E-Type might make it impossible to avoid being killed.
Took a third pull, and held the fag as a sentry does between the sum and forefinger, fist hooded around it. Continued taking quick, deep pulls. The end of the cigarette's temperature rose to a thousand degrees. Lengthened to a point. I rotated the grip, as if studying the glowing tip while thinking, until the ash pointed straight ahead.
"This is your car?" One of the law enforcement officers asked. Accented and nervous.
"What of it?"
"Just answer the question, sir."
"Why?"
The constable stepped forward, and I jammed the cigarette into his eye. The guy screamed. Dancing to the left, I caught the other copper with a forearm smash to the throat as he reached for a gun hidden in his tunic. Hit the first officer with an elbow. He collapsed. I snatched the revolver by the barrel and swung straight backwards at his companion. Felt skull bones explode under the butt.
I gripped him by the ears and smashed his face onto the bonnet of the Jaguar once, twice, three times.
"Hey!"
I turned to a young fellow, climbed out of one of the other cars. Walked in my direction. His girlfriend got out, but remained by the passenger door.
"Be careful, Josh," she shouted.
"What are you doing, mate?"
"Carrying out a citizen's arrest," I said.
"Can you do that?"
He hesitated. Unsure where this was leading.
"Yes, if they are Spetsnaz posing as local police."
"What did you say?"
"Russian special forces." I turned over, the one I hadn't disarmed. "When have you seen the Suffolk Constabulary bearing GSh- semi-automatic pistol?"
"A what?"
He looked frightened.
"This is a standard sidearm. It has an eighteen round magazine and bullets that pierce body armour."
"Fucking hell," he stated, and then held up his hand. "Sorry. Didn't mean to swear."
I smiled.
"That's okay," I replied. "Now, will you do me a favour?"
"Of course. If I can."
"Have you got a mobile phone?"
He nodded and looked at me as if I just landed from Mars.
"I want you to ring Cape Ore, police station," I said. "Ask for Sergeant Fitzgerald and tell him what you saw happen here. Do not speak to anyone else. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Inform him I'm going to visit Clarissa. She's not safe."
Concern showed in his face.
"Don't worry."
I climbed back into the car when the darkening cumulus sky reached its final ominous indigo colour, and the rain fell even heavier.
It came with violence, and I then looked at my watch. With the gloomy cloud obscuring the heavens from the horizon, evening arrived before its moment. The cars passing with headlights on trying to penetrate the torrent. I started the engine.
I intended to wait until it was dark. By this point, Mr Peter Smith might do a song and dance. Accompanied by colourful language, when he discovered someone stole his car.
The glove compartment unveiled the name on the top of the insurance document. I didn't think he'd be still windsurfing in this weather. The machine-gun symphony of the heavy rain drumming on the roof deafened me.
I headed back towards Cape Ore. The waves are a mosaic of green. Made so glorious by their watery-crown splashes. Their movement is in so many directions, yet to my soul, the entire scene was this soothing motion picture.
These moments passed as photographs, each morphing into the next. For in this time of rain, sky, and sea became one.
These drops are only torrent until they reach the expanse. Then they become part of the saline, moving with the crests. Enthralled by the patterns, countless swells overlapping in choreographed chaos.
Evaporating from her salty peaks returns as pure water from above, sending flawless tremors ever outward.
It came as if requested.
To bring freshness to our weariness. Remind something connected to our world when she reaches out for us. I follow the meandering coastal road.
The downpour offers the North Sea a piece and ocean-lace. Each watery gift, softer than the patter on the car roof, makes motions, conforming. I wonder if this was how humanity thought to conjure song and dance by hearing the natural rhythms of nature. Upon the route, the pouring is enriching the hue.
Thirty minutes later, I arrived.
Approaching from the west. I could see a quick lane illuminated by security lamps. Leading from the institution site, and then the hospital itself, modern and well-lit. It was dark on the far side. Difficult to make out, except for high fencing.
In the darkness, the trees could pass for elaborate Halloween silhouettes. I parked the car on the side of the road. I lost my movements during the black night.
The colours of the grass surrounding the building remained in my mind.
A fragrance.
The turf silver, between the shadows, stretching out as if yawning.
Soon, the timbers blended into the blackness, and their silhouettes against the sky grew less pronounced. As the view disappears, sounds emerge. Simple leaves or twigs breaking dominates the focus of my attention.
The half of the hospital closest to me entailed five buildings, angular except for one on the end. Four cylindrical lifts, side by side. Two of them in unison. Cylinders finished in glass and steel. Anyone could look at them.
We saw each other as I focused on the elevator.
Dressed in a nurse's uniform, although she wasn't a nurse.
She was Mia Malkova.