"At the roundabout, take the third exit." We were in motion. My head bounced on the back seat where I lay, awkwardly, my feet still in the footwell.
"Sorry, speed bump."
"What time is it?" I asked as I struggled upright.
"7:15. We're only 30 minutes from the factory."
"Turn around when possible."
"What are you doing?"
"Tetchy. I need coffee. So do you by the sound of it. We've got ages so we are going to this supermarket cafe, the most anonymous places on earth, supermarket cafes."
"But we need to get into position. I need to look out for Bullimore."
"I said, we've got ages. We are now going to get some coffee. And breakfast." She didn't physically do it but I sensed the tilt of the head and the raised eyebrow in the tone.
Now I should have backed off, but I was filled with a pressing impatience so instead I came out with "We need to be ready for him, we need to go and park near the mall and get ready."
"Ready for what? I am going for coffee," she pulled into a space, "Turn ar.." and she switched the engine and the posh bloke off as though she had been driving all her life. She turned to look at me. "Well? What are you going to do? Take Bullimore down yourself?" We need her onside, was all I thought.
"OK." I grinned, throwing my hands up in the air, making light "A quick coffee first, then I take the bad man down. Sorry, it's my leg, it really hurts this morning." It did. It felt tight and hot, swollen.
"Let me have a look," she leant into the gap between the front seats. There was nothing to see. "Do you think it's got infected?"
"It'll be OK - it can't get much worse between now and 10 o'clock, can it. I've still got some pain killers."
"The bloodstained trousers isn't a good look, though." She thought of a moment, unwound the silk neckerchief she wore around her neck. "Come on, out the car."
She tied the scarf around the bloodied patch on my thigh, and let the long ends hang down at the side. "Ow, not too tight," I breathed.
"There you go," she said, standing back to admire her handiwork. "Fashion statement."
Neat, we thought.
We had coffee, and two doughnuts, each.
When we got back to the car the alarm went off.
"Shit!" Katyia pressed buttons on the fob.
We looked around. Nobody, absolutely nobody was taking any notice. The alarm stopped. I sat in the back so nobody could see me. We drove off.
"Do you think he knows what's happened at the farm?"
"We don't know, maybe not."
"In 300yds turn right."
Gazing out the window there were people now. People sitting outside canopied cafes, joggers jogging on the spot at the pavement's edge, people waiting for buses, people pushing buggies. It was a dull day.
In a traffic jam there's a bang bang on the roof and a guy in a helmet, sports shades and lycra is peering in the window. He mouths something and shakes his head angrily, mounts the pavement with his bike to pass us and speeds off. We're stopped in a bike lane.
We are relieved when we get moving again.
We edge towards a parked van at the side of the road. The back is open and we can see right inside it. There is a wall of stacked brown boxes, scruffy looking wooden furniture, rolled rugs and a bentwood hatstand. I smile with recognition, "We've got one of those in our hallway."
YOU ARE READING
Phoenix and the Bag Man
Teen Fiction"The Bag Man did it," said Phoenix gently, "and we want revenge." I was staring into a face that I loved, tears streaming down my face, and in Katyia's eyes there was sorrow and pain too, she was feeling for me, matching my grief every step of the w...
