“I - I don’t know him. He’s just a mechanic. He works here and has nothing to do with any of this. Please.” If he got hurt, it would be all her fault. Why had she insisted on waiting inside with him?
Reuben raised a sceptical eyebrow. He took out his coin, tossed and caught it then checked the result. He nodded again to Pinky who, holding the mechanic by the scruff of his neck, drove a fist into his stomach.
“No!” screamed Elora as she watched the man double over. Pinky pulled him back up straight and she could see pain on the poor boy’s face as he struggled to draw in breath.
“Please, Reuben. I’ll come quietly - leave him alone.”
Reuben grinned, his dark eyes sparkling menacingly. He was enjoying this.
“You could have done that last night. What do you think, Pinky?”
“Think this ugly sod’s got a nice big boil that needs bursting,” he replied as he smashed a fist into the boy’s face.
Elora could feel the thud of the punch from where she stood. It was amazing the mechanic was still conscious.
“Reckon that’s popped it, laughed Pinky, his tattooed face beginning to look positively demented.
The other man, Kitch, joined in the laughter and went to roll down the shutter door. Elora felt dread in the pit of her stomach. They were going to kill him. They wouldn’t leave any witnesses. A sense of helpless fury overcame her. In truth, she had killed the boy by coming here.
Reuben took out his phone and put the phone to his ear. Elora guessed he was calling Silk.
“I’ve found the girl ... Unit 27b, Chadwell Heath Industrial Estate ... No - Just a mechanic ... I’ll ask.” He held the phone away and his gaze locked with hers.
“Why here? Were you meeting anybody?”
Elora was silent. Realising that she wasn’t going to reply, Reuben nodded at Pinky who immediately landed another brutal blow in the boy’s ribs.
“Shadojak. I was supposed to meet a man called Shadojak,” she blurted out, not wanting to look at the mechanic, but feeling that she owed it to him to at least witness his suffering.
“Some guy called Shadojak,” Reuben relayed.
Elora couldn’t hear what was being said at the other end of the line but saw the frown that crept upon Reuben’s face.
“Understood,” he said before hanging up. Then he turned to Kitch. “Keep her quiet.”
She flinched as Kitch came behind her, snaked one arm about her waist and the other over her shoulder, placing a hand over her mouth. His foul body odour and onion breath reeking from him.
“What’s up boss?” Kitch asked Reuben, who had wandered over to Pinky.
“This Shadojak. He’s trouble. He’s got Silk’s knickers in a right twist.”
“Don’t matter. We can take him. Isn’t nobody better than me in a fight. And you’re one nasty piece of work yourself,” Pinky grinned, but Elora saw the doubt on Reuben’s face.
“Whoever he is, he’s got Silk worried. And if Silk’s worried, we need to be careful, that’s all. He’ll be here in a few minutes; we’ve just got to hold the fort until he arrives.”
“And this ugly git?” Pinky asked, shaking the boy.
Reuben shrugged and grinning, took out the silver coin and flicked it in the air.
“Heads or tails, heads or tails?” he said, levelling his gun first at the boy’s head then at his groin. “Heads or tails?”
Elora saw the panic in the mechanic’s eyes and prayed that he wouldn’t suffer any more. But she refused to look away.
Bray slowed his breathing, weighing up the options and probable outcomes until he found the right course of action.
The girl Elora was certainly a strange one and not at all what he was expecting. From the small time he’d had to study her, she seemed genuine, but there was something about her he couldn’t fathom. The strange violet eyes indicated she wasn’t Earth-born, but she didn’t seem of the other world either. It was clear she was stressed and frightened - and that was before this ugly trio walked in.
He watched the silver coin spin end over end as it ascended while he took in every detail of the scene around him. The big man called Pinky was behind him and a little to the right, one hand gripping his collar, the other weakly grasping his wrist. Currently his attention was on the coin. Bray judged the man’s weight and posture and guessed that he was undisciplined and ill-trained in close combat. He would be easy to deal with.
Reuben to his front, less than two feet away, had the gun trained on him, but was constantly shifting position, aiming first at his head, then his groin. His grip on the weapon was loose, wrist weak and although he was the leader and mildly more intelligent than Pinky, he also allowed his attention to be distracted by the glinting silver coin.
Kitch, the final one of the three, was out of reach behind the girl. Clearly he was no brighter than Pinky. But he’d need to be dealt with too, before he hurt the girl.
The silver coin reached its zenith and began to descend as Bray chose his next move. He closed his eyes and held his breath, running through the sequence in his mind.
His body had already adopted an offensive stance with feet firmly planted shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent and arms hovering above his waist; hands slack and ready to snap into fists. The oversized boiler suit hid his intentions from the untrained thugs, even though they probably wouldn’t have noticed his preparedness if it was spelt out for them - all they could see was a scared boy facing an inescapable death. Surprise was the best weapon in his arsenal, but not the only one.
Snapping his eyes open, Bray launched himself into action.
Dropping low, he shifted his weight onto the right foot while kicking back with his left. He felt his boot drive through Pinky’s kneecap, snapping bone and cartilage and bending the man’s leg backwards as if he was double-jointed. In the same fluid movement, he reversed the grip on his wrist, twisting his own so that he now grasped Pinky’s. Forcing it down and under him - then stepping back, snapped his hand forwards. As the bigger man was flung over his shoulder, Bray gave a final sharp twist. A wet, popping sound indicating that he’d dislocated the thug’s shoulder.
Before Pinky’s body hit the ground, Bray’s left arm was already descending on Reuben’s gun. Grasping his hand, he twisted the 9 mm Sigsaur to the left, forcing the barrel down. All the time keeping his eyes firmly locked on Reuben, who had barely begun to register what was happening. Feeling for Reuben’s trigger finger, he forced him to fire the gun before his own middle finger found the magazine release catch and flicked it, releasing the clip before another round could be chambered.
The thunderclap sound of the fired gun coincided with the sound of Pinky’s body slamming face-first into the floor. Bray saw Reuben’s eyes widen, his brain only just beginning to take in what was going on.
With his free hand, Bray caught the falling coin, closing his fingers over it and feeling the Queen’s face press into his palm.
“Heads,” he informed Reuben, with a wink. Then brought his forehead down into the man’s face, feeling the satisfying crunch of cartilage and bone. Reuben’s unconscious body crashed against the roller door and slid to the floor, mouth hanging slack as if forming a question, he wouldn’t be getting an answer to.
