Читать книгу East of Hounslow: A funny, clever and addictive spy thriller, shortlisted for a CWA Dagger 2018 - Khurrum Rahman, Khurrum Rahman - Страница 15

9

After Khan’s back-up arrived‚ the scene became a blur. I couldn’t tell you who was winning‚ who was losing‚ whose blood was lining the tarmac or whose tooth had just flown past my head. There were punches and kicks and bars and blows and knives and fucking Khan‚ who looked as happy as a child at Disneyland. Someone was laying face down on the ground. He wasn’t moving and it frightened the hell out of me. That feeling intensified when I realised it was the same guy I had viciously and repeatedly swiped with the bar. A short while ago I’d wanted to hurt him with everything I had. Now‚ worried that I could have fucking killed him‚ I just wanted to help.

I shook him by his shoulder gently and then again‚ a little firmer. Still no movement.

How much jail time am I looking at? Am I going to get raped in prison? Am I going to rape in prison? Mum is going to be so disappointed in me. I blinked away my thoughts as I saw movement. Relief washed over me as he stirred and lifted his head and took in the surroundings. I followed his train of thought as he concluded that he was better off staying put and playing dead.

Relieved‚ I left him to it. I jogged over to Parvez‚ who was slumped along the back wall. I helped him to his feet and he winced as if his body had just recalled the kicking that the two girls had inflicted. I made a mental note to take the piss out of him about that at some point. He put his arm around my shoulders as we gingerly moved across the car park and down three flights of stairs. I pushed open the door and looked at the empty parking bay where‚ once upon a time‚ my car had been parked.

My beautiful BMW. The beautiful black leather bucket seats that I had set just so. The crystal clear six-by-nine Blaupunkt speakers. The Pioneer stereo that I’d just had fitted‚ and all my burnt MP3 CDs‚ for which I had spent hours painstakingly selecting just the right songs.

Gone.

My trusty rucksack containing the remainder of Silas’ gear.

Gone.

Seven grand of Silas’ money.

Gone.