As a man used to having to calculate odds for a living, he decided to err on the side of caution. He lashed at the killer’s head with his fists and tried to pummel his kidneys. Still though the man continued to try and break free. Where the hell were the police when you needed them? Or at least a passerby who might help. Probably running in the opposite direction, if they had any sense. Exactly what he should have done.
The killer was ever more desperate and Tom realised he’d made a grave error in letting his head stray too close to the killer’s. He saw the head butt coming but, interlocked as he was, he could move very little and felt the full force of the blow on the bridge of his nose. As he saw the killer intended to deliver a repeat blow, he decided it was better to roll away and make for where he’d heard the gun fall.
He hadn’t anticipated how groggy his head felt and once he moved his weight off the killer, it was him who was quickest to rise to his feet. Tom was on the receiving end of a vicious kick that connected with his knee and halted his attempt to get to his feet. The killer was smirking as he moved in to deliver a further kick, when suddenly the crisp night air was shattered by what Tom knew intellectually was a shot but didn’t understand who was doing the firing. A second bullet passed close to him but just as he was about to dive for cover, he realised he was not the intended victim. The killer beside him fell to the ground clutching at his stomach. Tom spun around to see the woman standing there with pistol levelled at the man on the ground.
“Don’t you fucking move,” she screamed hysterically in an American accent.
Tom glanced at the body on the floor and though no expert on the matter, it appeared to him there was no chance of the killer moving, with the amount of blood that was gushing from his middle. Tom looked back at the woman who was shaking and seemed in a state of real shock. Gently he walked towards her and took the gun from her hand.
In the distance he could at last hear the sound of an approaching police siren. He felt an icy cold envelop his body as the adrenalin rush subsided and the chill wind combined with the shock to make him feel very weak. He also had the metal taste of blood running down from his nose, via his top lip and into his mouth. He wiped away the blood on his sleeve and walked over and checked the condition of the first man he’d tackled, who was showing no obvious signs of life. He felt for a pulse and quickly found one.
He glanced again at the wounded man who was clutching at his stomach and moaning. Tom had no intention of going any nearer to check on his welfare. Frankly he hoped he was in a lot of pain. He took a few steps back and watched both of them, fully prepared to use the gun he was holding if necessary.
The woman came up to his side. He put his arm around her shoulder, in theory to comfort her but needing the support just as much himself. He looked closely at her for the first time. She was wearing a long purple coat that shouted out quality and designer. Her head was wrapped in a furry hat of the type he associated with Russians in cold winters. Or at least they wore them in Doctor Zhivago. The hat covered her forehead and framed her face. She had high cheekbones that gave her a slightly oriental look or was it Slavonic. Striking green eyes shone out from perfect skin. Dark brown hair fell to her shoulders.
His first thought was that not only was she beautiful but also slightly familiar. Then the evening produced yet another seismic shock, when he recognized who he was comforting. There was hardly a person on the planet that wouldn’t recognize Melanie Adams. Her face regularly adorned the front covers of glossy magazines and her latest film, where she once again played the sexy love interest, was still breaking box office records. He gave a weak smile of support and wondered what the hell had happened to his quiet night out, as a police car screeched to a halt nearby. Two uniformed officers jumped from the car pointing guns at him and shouting instructions.
“Drop the weapon and get down on the ground,” the first policeman commanded.
Tom glanced back at the killers to see which of them still had a gun.
“Put the weapon down and get on the ground,” the policeman repeated.
This time Tom realised the instructions were being shouted at him. He remembered the gun in his hand and suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Christ the bloody fools think I’m dangerous. He extended his arm sideways and gently placed the gun on the ground.
“Move away Miss,” the second policeman barked.
Tom first knelt and then prostrated himself on the cold hard ground. He’d seen it done in films but never thought he’d be doing it himself.
“Don’t be so stupid,” Melanie screamed at the policemen. “He saved my life. It’s them you need to arrest.” She pointed at the two injured men.
The policemen moved forward. The first one carefully picked up the gun. The second was warily inspecting the bodies that now littered the ground.
“It was me who called you,” Tom explained, turning his head sideways to meet the gaze of the policeman. He could hear the second policeman in
