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One of the men accompanying me gestures to where the casualty is still lying motionless on the stone flags. “Over there,” he says, then takes me by the elbow to propel me up the steps.
I expect to be guided to the ambulance parked on the bridge, blue light flashing, but find myself instead directed to a sleek, black four-by-four across the road.
“Get in.”
I shake my head, not happy about this. Something isn’t right…
“No, I don’t know you. I’ll ride in the ambulance. The police will want—”
“Do as you’re fucking told,” comes the snarled response. The man opens the rear door of the four-by-four and bundles me onto the back. He follows me into the car, and the other man hops into the driver’s seat.
Stunned and bewildered, I try to scramble across the seat and make a grab for the other door, but he’s faster. He hauls me back, throws me down across the seat, then covers my body with his own so I can’t move.
The car engine bursts into life. We are moving.
“Put your foot down,” he tells the man in the driving seat. “Get us the fuck out of here.”
