The thin one was growing jittery, his jaw moving like an old man missing his teeth. The other two were less affected. The booze they’d consumed had seemingly dulled their need in the short term, or else they weren’t so far down the road as he was.
Rhona rose from the couch.
‘Where the fuck do you think you’re going?’
‘The toilet.’
‘Like fuck you are. Sit down.’
‘Please,’ she tried.
He studied her from behind heavy lids then nodded. ‘Leave the door open.’ He motioned to one of the other two. ‘Watch her.’
Rhona walked swiftly to the toilet, her eye catching sight of her mobile outside the bathroom door. She nudged it inside as she entered, then tried to close the door, but a foot stopped her. Conceding defeat, she allowed it to stay open a fraction, pocketed the mobile, then ran the tap at a rate that sounded like someone urinating, flushed the toilet and made a big show of washing one hand while she rummaged in the cabinet with the other. The first object she fingered turned out to be a razor, its protective cover rendering it useless as a weapon.
It wasn’t until the third shelf that she found something useful. The nail scissors were small but sharp. She’d just grasped them when the door was thrown open.
‘Out! Now!’
Rhona exited and headed back into the sitting room where the skinny one was pacing and muttering.
‘We could try him again,’ Rhona suggested.
‘Maybe he likes the gear more than you,’ he said sneeringly.
‘Or maybe he never had the holdall in the first place.’
He tried to process that idea. ‘No way. The fat guy told us he saw him take it.’
‘Steve Munro lied because he was threatened by Josh Kearney.’
He tried to compute this and couldn’t. All his brain could think about was his next fix. He suddenly made a lunge at her, knocking her back onto the couch. Then he was on her, his sinewy arm tearing at her clothes. Rhona did not fight back but concentrated on positioning the scissors in her hand.
She waited until his fly was down and his penis emerging, before she stabbed at his testicles. The reaction was instantaneous. He literally flew off her, screaming abuse, then started to dance, cradling his balls, as blood spurted between his fingers.
Open-mouthed, the other two stared at him in disbelief. Rhona took advantage of their consternation and made a dash for the toilet. In the background the skinny one was screaming like a banshee. Telling them to get the bitch and slit her throat.
She was back inside before they sprang into action. She’d already spotted that the lock was an old-fashioned turnkey, with a brass handle. It would hold longer than a modern bolt. She hoped it would be long enough.
She shouted her 999 call over the pounding of the door.