Bitter Sweet (13 page)

‘Well would you look at that,’ Dian said, grinning.

She kept her foot on the accelerator pedal and we sped along the bus lane. We were now a convoy of two buses. And, the light behind us was still red when we reached the stop. Quite a number of passengers boarded.

As we rolled away from the stop, I saw the BMW hurtling along the bus lane and then it disappeared out of sight behind the bus to our rear.

My phone rang. I took
the call; it was Liz asking after our progress. I told her what Dian had done which elicited a laugh. She told me the Queensway bus was all teed-up ready for our arrival. And that a bus due to start its tour from Crew Street Station would help us into the station when we arrived. Her voice turned jovial as she went on to explain that she’d seen another tweet about our exploits – it seemed we were on our way to prominence.

I looked at the first t
weet. It contained a flattering picture of me taken from behind – thank God. The photo showed me standing legs apart, the trouser material tight around my ass, that, and the tight-fitting jacket highlighted my 32-26-33 figure. Under other circumstances the text of the tweet would also have been flattering.

Sexy looking cop orders me on to bus.

The sender had over three hundred followers, and the tweet had been retweeted over five hundred times, so far.

The second tweet read: 6 foot nun + 3 girls in hoodies escorted by sexy cop.

The tweeter had attached four photos to the tweet – thankfully none of them revealed my face. The number of retweets had gone ballistic with multiple tweets spinning off the retweets and the whole thing had become a story in its own right. 

I looked into the bus’s central mirror, trying to determine who had a phone in their hand and whether it was a smartphone. Were we being watched?

I didn’t have time to complete my surveillance of the passengers as Dian said; ‘Next stop coming up!’

Dian veered to the right, out off the bus lane, drawing parallel to another bus parked at the kerb. She
overtook the bus, braked hard and steered towards the kerb. We stopped, blocking not only the bus lane, but also the traffic in the non-bus lane.

The move created traffic chaos. However, it put a buffer of two buses, and a blocked lane of traffic between us and the BMW. The downside was: we were effectively blind, unable to see the BMW, and our view of the pavement was restricted to some twenty metres.

The doors sucked open and two passengers disembarked. An elderly man stood ready to board. I jumped down the steps and took the man by the elbow. ‘Come on, pops,’ I said, and almost lifted him into the bus. Keeping my head down – I was now on the alert for people with raised mobile phones – I set the old man on to the seat at the front for the disabled.

Dian engaged drive and the bus accelerated away.

I watched the wing mirrors closely. The bus which had been at the stop was right behind us and I just caught a glimpse of the BMW slotting in behind it.

‘It’ll soon get interesting,’ Dian said.

‘Why’s that?’

‘There’s a street coming up reserved for buses.’

‘Okay.’

‘At the end of that street you change to the Queensway bus.’

Dian put on the indicator and started to ease the bus to the right. The traffic gave way. I saw the bus behind us follow, and the BMW. Dian kept the indicator on, looking for the next gap. That’s when I caught sight of the second BMW, three cars behind the other one, also attempting to traverse the one-way street.

A gap opened up. Dian crossed
the three lanes from left to right. I kept my attention focused on the mirrors; the bus behind followed us across as did the BMWs.

‘Turn coming up,’ Dian said.

I saw the street reserved for buses. Between us and the street was a pedestrian crossing with the light showing green.

‘Think you can hold them at the light?’ I asked.

‘I’ll try.’

There was a throng of pedestrians
waiting for the light to change and we were just five metres from the white line at the pedestrian crossing.

As we reached the stop line, I
watched the light. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘it’s gone red.’

Dian kept the bus rolling.

A quick look in the mirror revealed the other bus, stationary at the lights, and one BMW right beside it, poised and ready. The pedestrians were blocking any attempt by the BMW to jump the light.

I felt the bus turn and heard the engine being revved.

Still nervous about being photographed, I yanked the peak of my cap down, looked down at the floor and despite the roll of the bus as i
t accelerated through the curve, I grabbed the back of a seat and swung my way back to Ivonne.

I looked at the girls; the tension was taking its toll. I flashed them a smile.

‘We’ll have to move fast,’ I said, to Ivonne. ‘Get them up front now.’

Back beside Dian, I looked out through the windscreen. On the corner
, at the end of the street, a bus was parked. Dian flashed her lights and the bus rolled forward blocking the mouth of the street.

Dian started to brake and waved at the other bus driver. ‘That’s my cousin Jake driving.’

I turned to Ivonne standing behind me. ‘Ready?’

‘Yes.’

‘Get the girls to go first,’ I said. I turned to Dian. ‘Thanks, Dian, you were marvellous.’

‘My pleasure, lady. Hope you make it.’

The bus braked to a halt. The hydraulics hissed and the door opened. ‘Go!’ I yelled, glancing in the mirror one last time. Oh shit, one of the BMs had just rounded the corner behind us.

‘Can you block the street a while?’

‘Do my best,’ Dian said, looking in the mirror.

The three girls were already off the bus and running.  Ivonne leapt off the bottom step. Someone was holding up a mobile phone. I jumped, clearing the steps to land on the street, running.

I sprang into the next bus. ‘Let’s go, Jake,’ I said, grabbing the handrail and swinging up beside the driver.

‘Hot pursuit,’ Jake said, engaging drive.

I looked out of the window beside Jake. Dian was holding station, blocking the street, with one BMW behind her. However, the other was already on the pavement and accelerating towards us.

‘How far to Crew Street Station?’ I asked.

Jake tucked one of his dreadlocks back under his cap. ‘End of the street and two lefts.’

‘Any stops in between?’

‘No,’ Jake said, grinning. ‘Lady Luck is with you.’

I breathed out and grabbed the overhead rail. My phone alerted me to more messages, but first I turned cautiously to check on Ivonne and the girls. This time Ivonne had them lined up along the aisle of the bus, all hanging on to grab handles. Good thinking. The bus was pretty full and by standing in the aisle we’d be well placed to be first off.

I pulled out my phone and looked at the message; another tweet. This time with a photo of me springing from Dian’s bus.

Another tweet came through. Somehow, someone had taken a photo of me running towards this bus. The retweet rate soared, right in front of my eyes. I checked on the twitter story. Thankfully no one knew why a nun, three girls and a cop were dashing from one bus to the next. The story did, however, show the approximate route we had taken.

There was no mention of the black BMWs pursuing us. That ominous fact needed to be altered. I was loathed to use my twitter name – that would reveal my identity.

Another tweet came in – more of the same, this time with a picture of Ivonne and the girls racing to the bus.

Yet another tweet. Soon I wouldn’t be able to keep up with them. I tapped the screen, bringing up the message; my jaw dropped.

Just great. The police had apparently become involved. We, Ivonne and I, although not mentioned by name, were now being associated with the trafficking of the three girls.

‘Shit,’ I said.

‘What’s the problem, hun?’ Jake asked. 

‘We’ve become twitter stars.’

‘Yeah, I know.’

‘That was bad enough, but now the cops seem to think we’re the ones doing the trafficking.
I just can’t believe it,’ I said, my frustration rising. ‘I thought the police had been banned from using twitter since that gig at Robin Hood Airport.’

‘You mean,’ Jake said, ‘that honky stuck at the airport in the snow, who’d tweeted in frustration that he was going to blow the place up.’

‘That’s the one. The police actually prosecuted him for making a terrorist threat, or some such bollocks. He was found guilty, can you believe it? Won on appeal.’

‘The police are now after you?’

‘Looks that way,’ I said. More tweets were coming in. ‘Talk about being unfair, no one person has tweeted about those mother fuckers in the BMs.’

‘And
they’re
right on my ass.’

I looked in the mirrors, at both back corners, mere feet from the bus, were the two BMs with their lights full on.

‘I got an idea,’ Jake said.

‘Phone Liz?’

‘You said it. Tell her to find some drivers at Crew Street and get them to snap the BMs.’

‘Good idea, why not?’ It would save
me from having to tweet myself and revealing my identity.

I ignored the tweets coming in and phoned Liz, explained what was happening and told her about Jake’s idea. She swore she’d get some drivers photographing and tweeting.

It was time to work out what to do when we reached Crew Street Station. Getting all five of us off the bus, even with the plan which Liz had told me about, was going to be hairy. I had no clue as to how we were going to avoid Erjon spotting us, let alone how we were going to disappear into the crowds. Erjon was simply too close. I reckoned we’d have to wing it.

I turned to face Ivonne, who was standing right behind me. ‘I haven’t had a chance to phone the Blu
e Blindfold.’

‘Great, we’re on the run with nowhere to go.’

‘Yeah, and after this bus ride I don’t fancy being stuck on a train.’

‘A hotel?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘We’re all over twitter, we might be recognised.’

‘Not if we lose these costumes.’

‘But where? It would have to be someplace like Travelodge, or Days Inn. Someplace anonymous with no nosey receptionist.’

‘There’s one possibility,’ Ivonne said. ‘Markus’s place.’

‘Is it wise getting him involved?’

‘He’s still in hospital. But, I can get into his
apartment.’

I sucked on my lower lip – it would work so long as Erjon hadn’t been watching Markus before the incident in Ivonne’s flat.

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘let’s try it. It’s not far from here, is it?’

‘Two train
stops, or a ten minute taxi ride.’

‘I’d better see what can be done about those two BMs.’ I turned back to the driver. ‘Jake those cars are going to slide into the station right behind us. There is no stopping them.’

‘There’s a bus organised to block them.’

‘But they’re too close – only feet away.’

Jake shrugged. ‘It’s a slow turn into the station.’

I still couldn’t see how it was going to work. The blocking bus would ha
ve to ram the BMs and that, I was sure, was not part of the plan.

‘Jake what happens if there is an emergency?’ I asked. ‘Can you contact someone?’

‘Sure, I got a two-way radio to the dispatcher. What are you getting at?’

‘Someone is going to have to stop those BMs from entering the station. The police would do the job, but they’re going to want to know why.’

‘Well,’ Jake said, ‘there is the Transport Police.’

‘Who are they?’

‘They police the railway track and the buildings.’

Ah ha, but how could I get them involved? I could think of only one possibility, but would the transport police fall for it. And was there still time? I could already see the station in the distance.

I whipped out my phone and tapped the screen rapidly, searching the net f
or the telephone number of the Transport Police at Crew Street station.

I suppressed the caller ID, held my nose to affect a cold, and dialled. 

Keep it simple, I warned myself, no gabbling on.

The call was answered. I didn’t wait for any
questions and spoke; ‘BOMB. Two BMWs will enter the station. Registration numbers; AL 355 and LEK 355. They are carrying a bomb.’ 

I ended the call.

Jake laughed. ‘Good job my shifts ending. If they go for it there’ll be traffic chaos.’

‘And that, Jake will be perfect for our getaway.’

I turned my attention to watching the station. Would they react? The best outcome would be to allow the bus to enter the station and then somehow catch the BMs with traffic spikes – stingers. That, however, was a far-fetched idea based upon hope and not upon reality.