The Trespass(53)

“He’s out,” he called to Farrell. But Farrell was already moving through the smoke towards the gaping hole in the wall that had previously supported Dracup’s front door. The apartment was a chaos of brick fragments and mortar; flame licked lazily up the blackened woodwork of the bathroom doorframe, exposing vulnerable electrics beneath stricken plaster.

Coughing and hacking they burst into the air. Dracup’s car was moving. Potzner clipped off a couple of shots, but Farrell laid a restraining arm on his shoulder. “Forget it. He’s out of here.” A small crowd had begun to gather, their shocked expressions accusatory and fearful. How should they engage with these two strangers who appeared to be responsible for what had just occurred? Questions began to fly from the crowd, some of concern, some openly hostile. “You all right?” “What’s your game, mate?”

Potzner waved them away with his pistol, as if swatting a swarm of irritating flies. Farrell moved amongst them. “It’s all over, folks. Nothing to see.” He flapped his open wallet at them. “Police business. Now move on. Move on.” He turned to Potzner. “You okay, sir?”

Potzner made a quick examination. His right foot squelched in its shoe; there was no pain. That would come later. He sat on what remained of the doorstep and inspected the damage. A jagged tear criss-crossed his leather upper. His fingers probed the gash and came away red. He cursed under his breath, then a little louder for the benefit of one woman who remained staring, mouth open, with shopping spilling from a supermarket carrier onto the rubble-strewn pavement. That hit the button. She fled, trailing her bargains behind her.

“I’m fine, Farrell. Just hunky-D.”

“He was packing some serious kit, sir.” Farrell helped Potzner struggle upright. “Kinda caught me out there.”

“Yeah. I guess that about covers it.” Potzner winced as he tested his full weight on the foot. Damnation. He’d need to get it seen to.

“Shall I call a paramedic, sir?”

“An ambulance, Farrell, an ambulance. This is England, not LA.”

“Right. An ambulance.”

“No. I do not want an ambulance. Just get a fix on that car, and get after Dracup. He can’t be far away. And get me to ER – I’ll direct you to the hospital.”

Farrell allowed himself a small grin. “Sir, I believe the Brits call it ‘Casualty’.”





Three hours later Potzner emerged from the hospital. He’d been lucky. Superficial damage only; five stitches, no broken bones. Hurt like hell though. He popped one of the prescribed pills and called a minicab. He watched the passing trade in broken humanity, raw materials for some junior doctor. Potzner hated hospitals; he’d spent enough time in their sterile embrace, heard the whispered conversations, the fearful encouragements, the bravery of the terminally ill. He was glad when the cab arrived. Sitting in the back he checked the time. Time to be an encourager yourself, Jim. He tapped the shortcut key and waited.

“Hello?”

She sounded okay. He knew the signs. Today was a good day. “Hi. It’s me.”

“Well, hi yourself. How’s it going?”

“Had a little trouble earlier but I’m better now.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

Potzner flexed his toes and regretted the movement. He suppressed an exclamation. “Honey, you know the rules.” He tried to inject a light-heartedness into his voice but she was too perceptive, knew him too well.

“You’re hurt, aren’t you, Jim?”

“It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”

Her voice was warm with concern. “Jim. You shouldn’t be doing this stuff any more. It’s time to let the youngsters take the risks. Are you really okay?”

“Yeah. Really. It’s just a cut on my foot. You can hardly see it. But what about you? You sound pretty good.” He bit his lip. Keep it up, Jim boy.

“Well, you know. Some days up, some down. Today is good so far. I’ve done some housework. Mary’s in later so she can finish up.”

“That’s great. But you’ve gotta take it steady. Conserve your energy, right? Your body needs all its energy for healing.”

There was a small sound, almost a sigh on the other end. “Jim. We both know there’s no healing. Only the time we’ve been given.”

“I’m not letting that time go, babe. I’m working on it, believe me. I’m on the case. Soon we’ll be able to –”

“Hush, Jim. Just tell me when you’re coming home. I miss you.”

He gritted his teeth. “I miss you too.”

“Jim – I – I want us to be together – you know – while – while we can.” Her voice faltered a little.