Wednesday, 31 August 2011
11:17:08 AM (GMT)
I break the water with more of a splash than I meant, but I don't stop and swim
deeper until the pressure starts to pound against my head. I level off, swimming
towards the opposite bank of the Thames. What I did was risky, but I regret nothing.
Who knows what Drew could've done, after all? Every so often I check my watch, but
since I didn't plan this far ahead, it didn't matter what time it was anyway. I swim
until my hand finally brushes against the slimy brick wall of the docks, and I feel
sideways to check it is a wall I'm feeling. Keeping one hand against the brick, I
swim upwards, surfacing, to my relief, behind a boat. I haul myself out of the
water, and wait for close to forty five minutes on the steps that lead down to the
There are police sirens wailing everywhere, lights going off, and cars scouting
around the banks of the Thames. There're even police boats, their search lights
gliding over the water, looking for a sign of movement. I smirk to myself, and pick
up a stone, weighing it in my hand before throwing it hard, making a splash near one
of the poilce boats, and sending them swarming. Gratefully siezing the distraction,
I clamber up the remainder of the stairs, and sprint back into the shadows, running
home. I'm not overly worried about footprints, since they'll be dry by morning, and
it's too dark to see them now unless someone is really looking for them. And they're
not, since the policemen were all on the other bank.
After what seems like an eternity of running around London, I end up outside the
rented garage I've been calling home for the last month, and step inside, pulling off
my wet clothes and changing back into the dry ones I was wearing earlier. I sit down
at the desk, and drop my guns onto the table, setting about drying them. I reach
over and pick up my phone from the ground next to me.
Skye: Oh my God, Tom! Drew! He was shot! Dead... And was pushed into the river!
Me: He might not be dead. Where'd he get shot? And who was the other guy who died?
Did you know him?
Skye: In the chest, but the bullet grazed my shoulder... The millionaire's son,
Shit. I'd hit her? Sorry... But at least I got Gawthorpe, and not some other
Me: I'm sure he'll be fine. If he's smart enough to get out of the water... But
are you okay?
Skye: He was drunk! And it bled a bit, but I'm fine. Ugh, I have to catch this
Me: He was drunk and hitting on you?!?! Catch him and then what?
Skye: Was he? And have him put to justice!
Me: Skye!!! He was going to... Never mind. And what's the worst that could happen?
No reply. Either I'd struck a nerve, or she'd fallen asleep. I sigh heavily, and
crawl into my sleeping bag, pulling my shirt off once inside, and resting my head on
my arm. Surprisingly, within mere moments I fall into a dreamless sleep.