Part 11 (2/2)

He swore again in his own tongue, made a gesture which would have been understood in any language, before jumping in and gunning the engine.

On the back seat, Crystal turned to Lek to see if he was feeling alright.

'Never better,' he replied with a sly wink. 'I told you I've got a few tricks up my sleeve.'

In a matter of moments, they pulled up outside the station. Lek gave the driver the last of the cash which Roma's gang had missed, 'for his troubles,' and thanked him.

They stumbled up the steps to the IKEA Victoria International Station at ten minutes to ten. The beggar that Lek had seen that morning, exactly ten hours earlier, was still sitting in the same place, still holding out his paper-cup for spare change.

'We've even got time for a coffee,' joked Crystal, pointing at the LED.

'Money first...' said Lek and with an arm around her shoulder he limped towards the bank of Smarte Lockers on the far side of the concourse. Halfway across the empty hall, Lek suddenly made a sound like he had been stabbed in the lung and the life seemed to drain out of him. Crystal struggled to hold him up. 'John Lennon, Lek, don't die on me now!' she gasped.

'It's not that,' said Lek, 'It's him. On the benches over there. It's Delia.' And in that moment, the skin-head in the raincoat turned and looked into the eyes of a man he had killed earlier that afternoon.

Chapter 31.

Delia thought he was seeing a ghost, and his stomach rolled over. The man before him was Gorski, it had to be - something about the set of his shoulders and those high cheekbones - but he looked like he had been attacked by a crazed beautox therapist and her dog. And his woman was next to him a it had to be them a she was sporting a pink wig and a black eye. So many questions fired in the slow synapses of Delia's brain: how is Gorski still alive? Who did I shoot dead in The Shangri-La? Are they her real t.i.ts? What the f.u.c.k is going on? Without an answer to any of them, Delia did what he did best. Instinctively, he stood up, crossed his arms over his torso and drew his weapons like a Wild West gunslinger.

'It's all over,' said Lek, and in spite of the mult.i.tude of adversities he had managed to overcome that day, his only thought was of the embarra.s.sment of being shot dead in a XXL sports suit. He briefly considered making a run for it, but the concourse was empty and there was no chance of making cover. 'No more tricks left.' His eyes flicked to the lockers, and Delia saw Lek's expression change to one of surprise and horror as the cred limit on the storage expired and the small door sprung open with a satisfying clatter of metal on metal. Delia turned and ran, and in spite of his wounded leg, Lek sprinted after him, unsure of what he was hoping to achieve. Delia was still sluggish from the sloth-extract a he felt like he was running through treacle - but he was first to the open locker. His eyes darted over the contents in a split second. He saw the doctor's bag full of money stuffed in tight at the back, he saw the stack of old bills and papers, but there, sitting right in front of him was a battered black spiralled notepad a it had to be the recipe book. He grabbed it with his right hand and spun around to point the gun in his left on Lek, but instead he met the charge of a wild-eyed tramp, who had covered the distance from the Starbucks picket lines in a flash. The tramp flung himself into Delia's naked midriff, driving the wind out of his lungs and sending him skidding across the polished floor, the pistol flying from his hand. Before Delia had a chance to get to his feet, he was mobbed by the same vagabonds he had abused earlier that evening, and they stood over him and kicked him viciously with their bare feet, raining heavy fists down on his unprotected face. Delia tried to defend himself by curling into a tight ball, but there was no escape from the punishment. He clung on desperately to the recipe book, until somebody tore it from his grip and ripped it into pieces out of spite. 'NOOO!' screamed Delia, but his cry was cut short as another of his attackers smashed an empty Juniperus bottle over his head. The pigeon-eater stole his shoes and an open packet of goji-berries.

During the melee, Lek calmly pulled the doctor's bag from the locker and closed the door. He looked inside the bag, just to be sure, and breathed a sigh of relief. When he looked up, his eyes met those of a tramp, but Lek merely pointed to the bag in his hand and then pointed to his own chest. The tramp nodded his a.s.sent. 'Finders, keepers,' was the only law of the popped lockers the tramps understood.

Crystal ran to his side and kissed him full on the lips. 'I thought you were a dead man!' she breathed, when she let him up for air.

'So did I,' said Lek, clutching the bag to his chest as though his life depended on it. 'If I'm honest, I never thought I would see this again,' he smiled.

'So this is us. We're home free?' said Crystal, beaming.

'Looks like it. Just got to catch that train.'

A couple of stern-faced Terror-Guards arrived from a steel portacabin near the platforms to investigate the commotion. They sent the tramps off with threats of eviction from the shelter of the station and turned their attention to the unconscious man lying face down on the floor. One of the guards rolled him over with the toe of his boot and noticed the holsters strapped to his chest. A quick search of his pockets uncovered some drugs, two knives, another gun and most interestingly, a severed thumb.

'You know anything about this?' the second guard asked Lek gruffly, when he noticed him staring.

'No officer,' Lek said emphatically, shaking his head and feigning wide-eyed innocence.

'What's your story then?' the guard replied, unconvinced.

'We got caught in the middle of the wolf-hyena rumble in Battersea. They beat us up pretty bad just for being there. We're just trying to catch a train.'

'f.u.c.king idiot kids,' he cursed. 'Come with me, Mr...?'

'Gorski. I'm afraid I can't, officer. The train's leaving any minute. I don't really have time to make a statement.'

'Just come with me sir.'

Lek reluctantly agreed, walked over to the portacabin and waited outside as instructed. The guard emerged a few seconds later with some black overalls and a small disposable first aid kit.

'You look like you need these.'

'Ah officer, you're a lifesaver. Thank you.'

The Terror-Guard nodded curtly and returned to his work. Lek thought better of saluting.

Crystal and Lek made their way hand in hand to the Europatrans terminal, smiling and laughing like a pair of honeymooners but looking like a couple of violent offenders. They thumbprinted through the security checks, drawing some odd looks from the staff members and pa.s.sport control officers and made their way towards the International platforms. The Europa Silver Bullet, the 22.05 to Paris, was humming gently when they stepped aboard and found their table-seats.

'You bought these tickets this morning?' asked Crystal.

'Yes.'

'What made you think I would join you?'

'Just a hunch. It was either going to be you or Delia.... but I thought that I could make you an offer you couldn't refuse.'

She kissed Lek on the cheek and he grimaced as pain shot across his face.

'Why don't you go and get changed? Spruce yourself up a bit. You'll feel better for it.'

'Good idea. I'll be back in a minute.'

Lek shuffled down the carriage to the bathroom. Once inside, he locked the door and turned to face his reflection. It was a wonder that Delia had managed to recognise him; Lek could barely recognise himself. With the events of the past few hours, he hadn't had time to fully take in his transformation at the hands of Ursula, but most striking was his broken nose, the bridge of which was still heavily swollen and seeping blood. Both of his eyes had blackened and there were streaks of dried blood covering his face.

Lek filled the sink with warm water and gingerly lowered his face into it. Then he pulled off his sports suit top and used it to pat himself dry. He opened the first aid kit and applied some antiseptic cream to the cut on his face and stuck a fibrin-mesh plaster over it. He pulled off his tattered trousers, washed and disinfected his leg and wrapped a bandage around the puncture wounds. 'f.u.c.king psychopath,' he whispered under his breath. He popped a couple of Codinol into his mouth and swallowed them with a handful of water from the tap. Finally he pulled on the clean overalls, which smelled of paraffin but fitted at least, and after taking a moment to gather himself, he walked back to his seat, feeling better than he had in hours.

He caught Crystal's eye as he walked through the sliding doors into their carriage. 'Is everything alright?' he asked, 'You look worried.'

'I'm fine, just... glad it's all over, I suppose. You look better.'

'I feel better, I'll say that much.' Lek flopped into his seat and closed his eyes, as the Bullet began to pull away from the platform. 'Are we moving? Or is that just my head swimming?'

'No, we're off. At last.'

The train began to pick up speed. The engine hummed and the signal lights rolled by. The wheels rumbled over the tracks and the carriage swayed gently on its axels. '... serving a selection of cold drinks, hot beverages, beer, wine and spirits, snacks, sandwiches....' Lek was already dozing off when he felt Crystal wrap her arm through his and lean her head against his chest.

Lek dreamt of better things. He dreamt of Paris in the morning. He dreamt of walking easily again through the cobbled streets, to a cafe he knew near Montmartre. Croissants and coffee. Spending some money. New clothes. Sleeping with Crystal in a hotel bedroom, and making love to her between fresh sheets. He dreamt.

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