Page 147 of One of Us Is Guilty

Everything I knew about these two guys told me this wasn’t their first rodeo. They’d done this before. And that at least gave me some knowledge that I could exploit.

I stumbled, lost my footing and went down on one knee right beside the driver’s door.

No one was coming to rescue me. Nobody could track me. No one had seen the grab on the street.

I was on my own. Two gunmen behind me. Nowhere to run. No weapon.

I only had one move.

One chance.

And it was probably going to get me killed.

If I messed up, they would adjust their plans accordingly. A quick bullet to my temple, and then they would drag my ass to the grave. Not ideal, but safer, and professional.

I stood up, inched along the car, put my hand on the passenger-side wing mirror to steady myself.

‘I’m going to be sick,’ I said.

I leaned over, my knees bent, hunched my back.

The side mirror was in my hands, concealed from the two men behind me.

I leaned all my weight on it, both hands around it, held it tight to my stomach.

And started to work the hinge, twisting it as I pretended to vomit.

‘Jeez,’ said the other man. This guy had an American accent. I heard him move toward me as he spoke, then I heard the rear passenger door opening. He was right behind me.

I waited for one second while he opened the door fully.

Another second for him to lean into the back seat.

I heard the clink of the shovel head hitting the pick as he grabbed them.

One chance.

Still bent over, I planted my left foot in the ground.

Raised my right knee to my stomach.

Then kicked back with my right heel, swinging it as hard and as fast as I could, straight into the open door behind me.

I heard the man behind me cry out, and glass breaking, and I swung around.

The American had collapsed on the passenger seat, holding his head, broken glass from the passenger window all over him.

Now Dekker would shoot me. Just put me down right now. No point in taking chances. There was only one problem for him.

He couldn’t see me.

In fact, he couldn’t see shit.

When I kicked the door into his pal’s head, I’d wrenched the side mirror off the bracket, and it was in my hands now, reflecting the wide beam of light from Dekker’s flashlight right back into his face.

He reacted instantly, his face turned away, his eyes closed and he tugged the flashlight to the sky. I saw the gun shining in his other hand.

I had seconds.