“Can I help?”
“No. Stay put.” He pointed his finger at her with emphasis.
After rummaging around in the boot looking for the jack and spanner, he disappeared from view, crouched down by the wheel.
Leah closed her eyes, resting her head on the back of the seat and feeling useless.
The door opened on the opposite side, not the side Rick was working on. An arm reached into the car, grabbed hold of her elbow and yanked her hard.
Leah screeched. Now there were two hands, not Rick’s, dragging her across the smooth leather seat towards the door. The man had hairy hands with thick sausage fingers, his breath smelt of stale tobacco and onions. She twisted, trying to kick at him with her feet, but he was strong, far more powerful than Leah. Her long hair became his next target, and using it like a leash, he pulled her out of the car door. She slapped at his hands as they fisted about her hair, making her eyes water with the pain. It was to
no avail; he continued to manhandle her.
She recognised him, one of the men who had followed her after her shopping trip. His face cast in shadows under a cap, she could see the little moustache above his lip.
“Rick!” she hollered. As she cried out, she caught sight of Rick, practically leaping over the bonnet of the car. He had something in his hand—a handgun, a six-shooter pistol. Now Leah understood why he wouldn’t let her touch the glove box.
Rick pointed the barrel of the gun at the man. “Let her go!” he shouted.
Her assailant gave a small shrug, released Leah and lifted his hands up, waving them at Rick. He said something in Italian and Rick hissed a reply at him in the same language. Glancing around, Leah spotted the dark car, parked on the street nearby. They had been followed. The nail had been deliberate, guessed Leah, a ploy to slow them down, distract and force Rick to stop the car. It was a trap.
Where were the other two men?
Leah backed away. Rick signalled for her to come and stand behind him. Rather than walk close by the other man, she opted to manoeuvre behind the back of the car. Eyes on Rick and the gun in his hand, she didn’t notice the obstacles at her feet. She tripped over the jack, crashing down onto the ground.
“Leah!” called out Rick, alarmed.
There were sounds of a scuffle coming from the other side of the vehicle. Leah scrambled to her feet, peeping her head over the roof of the car. The two other men had jumped Rick from behind; her fall had caused him to lose his concentration. The gun, thrown out of his hand, had vanished from sight. She watched, horrified, as Rick began to fight off his attackers. He wasn’t ineffectual or incapable; his natural strength augmented by adrenaline and fear had made him retaliate fiercely. He swung his fists, kicked and twisted his body about to avoid the counter blows.
He had been in the cadets, had been given training in unarmed combat, boxing too. However, he was fighting off three men and the odds were stacked against him even with his pugilistic skills.
Where was the gun?
Leah hunted around for a substitute weapon. Her handbag, slung about her body, an expensive fashion accessory, had a deep pocket. Grabbing a handful of rubble, she stuffed the stones into the handbag, weighing it down. Scurrying around the car, she ran up to one of assailants, swinging her handbag around and aimed for his head as if it were a tennis ball.
The blow landed spot on and he fell backwards, clutching his scalp. She continued to swing, trying to avoid hitting Rick, who was weakening rapidly. His face had gone pale, his frame collapsing in as if he had no energy.
She tried a different tactic. Swinging the handbag upwards, she caught another man between the legs. He howled, clutching at his groin, and fell to his knees. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the other man, the one she had struck about the head, crawling towards the car, hand outstretched as if reaching for the something.
The gun. Having fallen out of Rick’s hand, it had landed underneath the car. Leah stamped her stiletto heel on the back of the crawling man’s hand, gouging and twisting. His other hand grabbed her ankle, jerking it, and she began to stumble backwards.
Leah hit the ground with a hard thump, knocking the air out of her lungs. Fear had kept her going, but now her nervous state was becoming a hindrance. She sensed they were on the losing side. Rick couldn’t fight off three men and she had no might in her muscles to help him.
In the distance, there were sirens, the ‘nee-nah’ sounds growing steadily louder. Leah prayed the police were coming to them. About them were other buildings, perhaps occupied. Somebody had summoned help.
The three Italian men froze, two on the ground, one grappling with the exhausted Rick. They listened and the sirens came closer, then the blue flashing lights could be seen at the bottom of the road. Two police cars.
Shouting incomprehensible words at the others in his own tongue, the man accosting Rick let him go, and Leah watched her lover slump to the ground. The two injured men picked themselves off the ground, clutching their wounds, and scrambled towards their car.
Leah paid no attention to the flight of the men as her eyes were on Rick. She could see no obvious injuries nor blood, yet he was incapacitated. Crawling towards him, she could hear the problem before she touched him. His breath rasped and wheezed, the familiar pant of an asthma attack, except this one far more serious than previous ones.
His lips had gone a bluish colour, his eyes half open and mouth gaping, sucking air into his inflamed windpipe.
“It’s alright, Rick,” said Leah, putting his head on her lap. “I’m safe. The police are here.”
Looking across, she saw the police cars had barricaded the black car in and it had no way to escape. One man had legged it with a constable in hot pursuit; the other two had been caught, wrestled to the ground with batons.
“Help!” she called out. “Please help. He needs an ambulance!”