Hoodie walked a short way to a few scruffy trees, under which he’d parked his car. Even in the poor light it stood out and I recognised it as the top of the line two-door coupé Mercedes, the one with a cowling like a fighter jet. All white, powerful, and sleek. And costing a small fortune.
He opened the trunk, removed something small from it which he stuffed inside his jacket, then took out a rectangular package. After locking the car again, he came back and gave the package to Joe, who opened the top and looked inside. The other man said something that sounded like a question or a demand. Joe nodded and turned, raised his arm and pointed.
Straight at me.
Instinctively I moved to the side, away from the window, and my heart stopped. I prayed that the light from the table lamp behind me hadn’t given me away. I reached back and switched it off. Very cautiously, I looked out again. Joe was fondling the package – that’s the only word for it really – and Hoodie was gone.
It was a safe bet that he was coming for me.
I had to get away from here. Fast. I stumbled across the room in the dark and out the door. Down the creaky stairs. At the bottom I went to the door that led into the foyer, put my hand on it, started to push it open. Glimpsed the hooded figure walking toward me, head down. Too late.
Up the stairs again and back into my room. Switched on the light. Turned the key in the lock. Stared at the flimsy panels in the door. One good kick and he’ll be in.
The door opened inward and I needed to barricade it somehow. There was a rubber wedge on the floor and I jammed it tight under the door. Ran to the closet in the corner, found a triangular-shaped dustpan and wedged it into the side of the door that opened. Went back to the closet and grabbed a floor brush. Thank God it was ancient too and made of wood. I jammed it under the door handle. Far too long. No time to think. I made a quick estimate, pushed the wooden handle under the foot of the bed and pulled upwards until the handle broke in two. This time the length was right. I jammed the sharp, broken end of the wooden pole deep into the carpet and the brush end tight under the door handle.
Better, but still not good enough. Did I hear the creak of the stairs?
I put the bed on its end and shoved it against the door then added a set of drawers and the nightstand. It would hold for a while, delay him a few minutes if I was lucky. And he wouldn’t want to make too much noise to alert the people down below in the restaurant that something was wrong.
Now I just had to get out by another escape route. Which meant the window.
I pulled back the drapes and hauled up the blind. Joe was gone. The single pane opened outwards and I pushed it back all the way to the wall. Outside, beneath the window, was open ground beside the road. A drainpipe would have been good. There’s always one in the movies but there was none here.
Someone was pushing on the door, discovering it wouldn’t open. Putting his shoulder to it. I saw it open a crack, close again, then open a little wider . . .
I went legs first out the window. Holding on to the bottom of the casing I dangled in the air, felt the full weight of my body pulling on my arms. Heard the door give a crack. I let go.
My feet hit the dry, hard ground and my knees buckled. I fell to one side, rolled and lay on my back. No injuries. There were bushes right behind me. I crawled under them, feeling the pluck of sharp barbs on my back.
My breathing returned to normal as I tried to figure out my next move. I was safe here; no one could possibly see me. Unsure what to do, I stayed exactly where I was.
Minutes passed; ten, fifteen, then twenty. He had to pass me to go back to his car. I heard the big swing doors of the front entrance open and close, saw light from the foyer spread over the gravel path then fade away, listened to the sound of feet walking to the car park on the other side. Restaurant guests coming and going.
Rachel’s having a good night. Me, not so good.
My limbs had grown stiff and sore and my old injuries, as well as the latest one from the package bomb, were playing up. I had to get out from under here and stretch, move around. Millimetre by millimetre, I emerged, like the head of a tortoise from its shell.
A twig cracked. I froze but it was too late. Something cold and hard pressed into the back of my neck.
“Get up.” The voice was muffled, like he was wearing a mask over his face. I crawled out and began to get up, feeling the ache in my arms and legs. The hard object was a pistol and as I rose it moved from behind my head to the small of my back.
“Go to the car.” The words were so low and indistinct that I could barely make them out. I stepped toward his motor.
My brain was revving at the speed of sound. If I was going to get out of this alive, I had to do something right here and now, within the next few seconds. All I knew about my attacker was that he was holding the gun right-handed.
I raised my arms in the traditional surrender pose, at the same time pushing my shoulders back so that I was pressing against the weapon. In one swift motion, I pivoted until I was facing him and trapped his gun hand under my left arm, hugging it tight to my side. At the same instant I swung my right arm around, bending it so that my thumb was touching my chest, and hammered the sharp point of my elbow into his face. The blow was eighty percent body rotation and twenty percent shoulder. The power came all the way up from my hips.
My elbow connected with his left cheek and nose, and he collapsed like a felled tree.
I stood over his body, but he didn’t even twitch. His breathing seemed faint and I was pretty sure he was out cold. He was wearing a black balaclava over his head, leaving only his eyes and nose exposed, and his hand was still tightly clenched around the pistol with his finger on the trigger. I decided not to touch him or the gun. Dialling nine-one-one seemed a much better idea.
My cell phone was up in the room. I walked to the front entrance of the building, rubbing my elbow and glad that it was all over. As I pulled open the door, I took a look back.
My attacker had rolled over onto his front and had crawled under the security light. Blood was pouring from his nose and he looked shaken and stunned, but the blow obviously hadn’t been as hard as I’d thought and hoped.
I watched in paralyzed horror as he got up on his knees and stared at me.