It was a punch that should have knocked her out. But Millar’s speed and accuracy were affected, and his vision blurred, by the alcohol and the drugs: he’d had his first drink from the minibar in his hotel room at seven that morning; he’d had a couple of downers, diazepam, as well as the coke, plus his medication, not to be taken with alcohol.
Hanlon had unbelievably fast reactions honed by years of practising in the ring. She was used to people trying to hit her, used to people trying to take her head off. She snapped her head back like a snake and although the punch made contact she was moving backwards away from it.
Millar’s knuckles grazed her skin. She ducked under another wild punch aimed at her head. Millar scowled. As well as her own skill, his vision was slightly unfocussed and judging distance was a problem. Millar towered over her; she probably didn’t even reach his shoulders. But lack of height could sometimes be an advantage. Hanlon slammed her fist as hard as she could, twisting her body into it, and driving the blow into Millar’s balls.
It had been years since anyone had hurt Millar and he had almost forgotten the sensation. Despite the cocktail of drugs and booze, the pain was amazing. He froze and Hanlon hit him hard three times in the face. She was professional-boxer quick. A lesser man would have gone down, not Millar. He shook his head to clear it. Hanlon picked up a lacquer vase, tall and slim and weighing about a kilo, which she had admired before – a souvenir of Thailand, seemingly – and swung it hard into his temple. Millar crashed to the floor.
Hanlon stood over him breathing heavily. She was elated, wild eyed with triumph, her pupils dilated with excitement. Adrenaline coursed through her veins. She had triumphed over the monster, slain him! Rescued the maiden! His eyes fluttered but didn’t open. Julia came into the room; she looked terrible.
‘Are you OK?’ Hanlon asked. God knew what she’d suffered at his brutal hands, although Hanlon had a pretty good guess.
Julia burst out sobbing. ‘He… he grabbed me and he… he made me…’
Hanlon went over to her. ‘Shh, Julia,’ she said and put her arm around her. Julia buried her head in Hanlon’s shoulder and she felt her shoulders jerk as she sobbed against her. ‘It’s OK,’ Hanlon said. ‘It’s all over now, Julia…’
Julia took a step back. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, smiling wanly but bravely at Hanlon. She took the vase from her and held it by the neck in her hand.
‘Call the police,’ Hanlon said, looking down at Millar, making sure he was still unconscious, and then there was a crack and what sounded like a deafening thunderburst and the sky exploded.
Blackness.