I didn't sleep that night. Occasionally, I was scared awake by some noises from outside and Smith mumbling in his sleep. At some point I gave up and decided it was better to keep guard, because I was afraid the thief would try to escape. But my concerns were unnecessary. The Anglo-Saxon slept like a baby. I was right for staying alert, though.
At dawn, the family left the house. It was quiet for a while. The streetlights switched off. I walked around the barn and checked out the garage. I figured I could find some type of transportation that would help us to reach the city quicker instead of having to walk. I found two kids' bikes and an old chopper with keys stuck in the ignition. To use Smith's terminology, I borrowed the scooter. The new law allowed police officers to commandeer motor vehicles for an urgent situation. Smith and I were exactly in that kind of circumstances. Besides, I would return the motorbike to the owner afterwards.
I rolled the scooter to our barn and was just in time to return to my position by the window when I noticed three jeeps in the distance. Those could only be the Arnavuts. I wished for them to simply drive by, but I suspected they weren't just randomly passing in that region. They knew we were hiding at the farm.
"Smith! They're here!" I shook him violently by the shoulder because it wasn't easy to wake him up. Smith remained calm, but I could see he was shocked to hear that the mob had found us. That was the first time I saw him without the content grin on his face.
"I found a scooter with keys. It's right outside the barn. We can use it to get away from here," I whispered as we watched them through the door cracks downstairs.
A few men jumped out of the vehicles, leaving the drivers inside. They walked to the house and kicked the front door in.
"Officer, they'll get us before our asses touch the seats! And even if we manage to drive away, we won't get far with a chopper! Their jeeps will soon catch up with us. We should hide somewhere," he said in a pensive tone.
"They'll search in every corner of the farm, and sooner or later they will find us. I have a better idea," I rooted through the building materials scattered around in the barn and found two tubes with insulation foam and caulking guns.
"What are you going to do with these, Officer?" Smith asked amused.
"I'll go around the buildings to approach their cars unseen from behind, and spray foam into the exhaust, this way disabling the car from starting. It will give us time to escape …"
"I can't let you do this! What if they see you? Give it to me …" Smith protested, trying to snatch the tubes from me.
"No, Smith! That's our only chance because I've never driven with a motorbike before, so I need you to be ready to start the scooter as soon as I come back and drive us safely away from here!"
"Okay but please, be careful, Officer!" he sounded worried and didn't want to let go of my hand. I pushed him off gently and left the barn through a small backdoor and rushed forward, trying to stay out of sight, keeping low to the ground.
When I reached the residence, I heard a loud banging noise coming from inside. The hitmen were ravaging the house, looking for us. I had to make haste because next they would focus on the barns. I laid down on my stomach and crawled towards the cars. On the other side I saw Smith creeping up on his hands and knees to the scooter. He spotted me and froze, watching me sabotaging the cars.
I had some difficulty opening the tube cap, forced to bite it through with my teeth. Also, using the caulking gun was problematic. To empty the tube, one had to have strength in one's hands, which I didn't have. But our lives depended on the successful execution of my plan, so I had to give it all. Filling the first exhaust with foam was easy and went quite fast, but the more I emptied the tube the harder it became for me to pull the trigger. With the third and last exhaust I couldn't feel my arms anymore. I crawled back behind the house and had to use all the strength I had left in me to push myself up. My hands were cramped, and I could hardly move my fingers. Thankfully, my legs were fine, and I swiftly returned the way I came.
I hadn't noticed how one of the drivers had left the car to smoke. The man walked around the premises when he decided to see what was behind one of the barns. Right at that moment I ran past him. He was surprised but quickly realised I was that cop that Smith had kidnapped. The hitman chased after me. When I was just a few metres away from the barn I yelled for Smith. He heard me and looked around the corner.
"Take my gun!" I shouted as I ran towards him.
The thief understood. With a quick movement he pulled the gun out of my holster and aimed at the mobster behind me. One shot, ringing through the air, and the Arnavut dropped to the ground. That single shot alarmed the others who were inside the house. They all ran out and saw us struggling to start the old scooter. Two guys raced towards us, screaming something in Arnavut, while the others jumped back into their jeeps. I watched them over Smith's shoulder, my arms wrapped around his waist, and my hands still numb. When the scooter didn't start with the first two attempts, I thought we would die. Thankfully, with the third try we heard its engine roar and took off. Smith made a sharp turn and increased the speed as we were distancing ourselves from the gang of murderous felons.
I was extremely nervous the first few minutes hitting the back road. I was afraid of the possibility of the foam not being effective. But the longer we drove, the more I realised my plan had worked. The next half hour we travelled peacefully through country sides, villages, and abandoned roads. Smith was taking us to his friend who lived in Shortridge and owned a bed-and-breakfast. The Anglo-Saxon said we would be safe there. I looked forward to it. I hadn't eaten since the moment we fled from the police station. And I needed a shower. After that, I would have a serious talk with Smith.
***
B&B 4 U was a white-washed terraced house situated in the very heart of the old town, close to a bridge with a romantic view on the local river and historical Gaul buildings. The hotel had a small garage. Mark, the Gaul hotel keeper and Smith's friend, allowed us to leave the scooter there until we could return it to its owner.
Mark was an average guy. There was nothing repelling or extraordinary about him. He didn't evoke any negative, nor positive emotions. Smith must have known him for a long time because when Mark saw us walking in, he got very excited and couldn't stop talking and interrogating Smith about his life. My first impression of Mark was that he fetishised Anglo-Saxons, hence his friendship with Smith.
The hotel keeper acted strange when he handed us the room key, apologising to me saying that there was only one room left and that Smith and I had to share it. I saw him glancing at Smith, thinking I would be embarrassed to sleep with the Anglo-Saxon in the same room. But I didn't even think of separating myself from my detainee. I was a cop, and I was still responsible for him. The guys acted surprised when I silently took the key and dragged myself up the stairs, followed by Smith.
We had a spacious room, with a bay window. It had a king-sized bed, a minibar, a combined bathroom, a writing-table and chair, a widescreen TV, and even an iron. Smith said we could use the washing machine in the laundry room on our floor. I checked the closet and asked if he had any clothes he needed to wash. He didn't reply, although he had heard me. As a matter of fact, I knew he was looking at me as I took the bathrobes from the top shelf. I turned my face to him, and for the first time I noticed how tall the man was. Smith stood in the middle of the room like a menhir rising from the floor, staring at me, waiting for what I would do or say next.
"Give me back my gun," I demanded. He had tucked the weapon into the waist of his pants.
"Come and get it," his face was beaming with self-indulgence as he said that. Annoyed, I stepped forward and pulled the gun out.
"Now, take off your clothes," I said.
He was delighted at first but then he realised I wanted him to put on the bathrobe. I had to turn my back to him because the shameless Anglo-Saxon decided to strip in front of me.
"Are you done?" I asked after some time, "Now, lie down on the bed."
"I love it when you command me, Officer," he said in a husky voice.
I hated him for his foolishness and for making me feel uncomfortable. I knew that he did that on purpose, to make me angry. As soon as he sat down, I grabbed his hand and handcuffed him to the solid metal bar of the lamp hanging over that side of the bed. Smith took hold of my waist with his other arm, preventing me from leaving.
"You want to play, Officer?" he asked me under his breath, pulling at his handcuff.
"Let me go, you freak!" I shouted and pushed myself off. The hems of his bathrobe unfolded, this way exposing him. Amused at my reaction and instant redness appearing on my face, the Anglo-Saxon covered himself up.
"When will you be back, Officer?" he asked unperturbed as I opened the door.
"When I'm ready," I barked as a reply to his question and locked the door with the key.
There was no one in the laundry room, so I walked in, took off my clothes, put on the bathrobe, and threw our garments into the drum. The floor was carpeted, so I sat down while waiting for the washing program to finish. In the meantime, Smith and his predatory behaviour occupied my thoughts. Nowhere in his file I read anything about sexual harassment. Important data that I had to add to his case. Or had I? He made me feel nervous; however, I wasn't afraid of him. That contradiction confused me.
The washing machine had a drying function, but our clothes were still damp. I returned to our room and found Smith sitting comfortably on the bed, handcuffed, watching TV. I hung our outfits on a rack by the radiator to dry.
"Mark said we could eat something in the kitchen, or we can call them to bring the food upstairs," he said as I felt his eyes resting on my back.
"We will call them to bring the food," I stated without looking at him, "but first I need to take a shower."
"Can I join you? I feel dirty," his lips curled into a mischievous grin as he eyed me up and down. I figured I should let him use the bathroom first. As I uncuffed Smith, I caught him peeking into my bathrobe.
"You go first, I'll call the reception to bring us food," I said as I tightened up the bathrobe belt. Smith was disappointed. He believed I had uncuffed him to take him into the shower with me. Grudgingly, he shuffled to the bathroom.
I called the reception and got Mark on the line. He promised to send someone with our food upstairs. In the meantime, I listened to the little concerto Smith gave in the shower, singing strange Anglo-Saxon songs.