My business was to aim the Glock at Charlie White’s head in a threatening manner, while using the linoleum knife in my other hand to cut the rear guard’s seat belt, in two places, slash, slash, and then to lean in and launch a kind of backhand elbow to the far side of the guy’s head, so he ended up falling out, and then to shuffle sideways and do it all again, to the guard in the front, slash, slash, the elbow, the guy falling out, and then to turn and kick the back seat guy, in the head, and the front seat guy, the same, to keep them out of action on the ground, and then to hustle back to the Ford, and move it out the way, and jump out again, and turn, by which time I was into the fourth second, and they were out of their car.
But I had to fire anyway. All part of the plan. But not at their tyres. The angle was wrong. The bullet would have bounced off, literally. Tyres can be freakishly strong. Best way to disable a modern automobile is to fire through the grille. Under the hood. All kinds of wires there, and computer chips, and sensors.
Which is what I did. Four rounds, spaced but fast, crouched wide around my armoured door, bang-bang-bang-bang, which set the four guys back a step, which gave me time to lunge forwards and slam my front door shut, and to hurdle the guys on the ground, and to shuffle and pivot and dump myself down next to Charlie, and to haul my rear door shut, while Nice in the front hit the gas, having used her own Glock and her own knife on the short guy, and the Rolls-Royce surged forward like a tidal wave and howled down the street. The four guys ran after us for half a block, just like the movies, and then they stopped, and watched us go.
FORTY-SEVEN
THE ROLLS-ROYCE FELT exactly like it should, given the things people like to say. It was very hushed, and it was very smooth. The rear bench was built like an armchair in an officers’ club. It was deep, and wide, and soft. Next to me Charlie White was still belted in. His body was facing front, but his head was turned, and he was staring at me. A strand of his hair had fallen out of place. Up close his nose was like most of an avocado pear. But overall he looked exactly like a gang boss. He was full of power and strength and confidence.
I said, ‘Are you armed, Charlie?’
He said, ‘Kid, you know you just signed your own death warrant, right? Please tell me you’re clear about that. No one does what you just did.’
‘But?’
‘But nothing.’
I said, ‘There’s always something, Charlie.’
‘Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?’
‘So much I should cut my losses and shoot you in the head and walk away while I still can?’
He said, ‘You could do that. Or you could get a stay of execution just long enough to get out of town. That’s what I’m offering. But I only ask once, and I take your first answer, so you’d better put your thinking cap on, kid, about what comes next, about how hard it’s going to be, and how hard it’s going to be every day for the rest of your life.’
‘What do you want us to do in exchange for that?’
‘Get out of my car.’
‘Wrong answer, Charlie. My question was, are you armed?’
‘I’m on my way to a memorial service. Of course I’m not armed.’
‘Is that an elaborate courtesy?’
‘What?’
‘Do you have a portable phone in your pocket?’
‘Do I look like the kind of man who makes his own telephone calls?’
I said, ‘Strictly speaking, you were on your way to a memorial service. Now you’re on your way someplace else. I’m going to have to tape your wrists. No way around that. And it would be better for me if I taped your mouth, too. But to be frank with you, Charlie, I’m concerned how well you breathe through that nose.’
‘You’re concerned what?’
‘You could suffocate if I taped your mouth.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my nose.’
‘Good to know. That’s settled, then.’
He said, ‘Exactly what is it you’re trying to do here?’
I said, ‘Don’t worry about it. You’re just collateral damage.’
‘From what? I have a right to know.’
From the front seat Casey Nice said, ‘No, Mr White, you do not. As a matter of fact you have no rights at all. Legislation is not on your side. Your associate Joseph Green is harbouring men who would be called terrorists by any court in the world.’
‘I don’t know anything about Joey harbouring anybody.’
‘He has guests.’
‘Friends of his, I expect.’
‘You’re responsible for what he does.’
‘He hasn’t done anything.’
I said, ‘But he will,’ and Nice slowed the car, and took the turn for Chigwell.