Clop clop. Smith's face at the window of the horse-cab. Watching the evening marauders trouncing deviate victims. A litde group there. Seven. They turn to jeer. Get a space of distance between us. Give them this gesture. Little insulting shits. Jesus Christ they're running to catch us up. Me and the Queen.
"What's the matter George."
"The kids, they're chasing us."
"George, if this is some more of your mayhem."
Smith looking out through the glass. A nimble double jointed midget ahead of the others, catching up. Whoa. One foot nearly up on the step. Incredible. Just a tiny gesture. And they're after you. Good-o driver, hit him with the whip.
Kid ducking. Horses nervously meandering. Part of the gang branching off, taking a short cut through the woods. May stop to beat up some people on the way. This little incident is growing by leaps and bounds.
Smith holding the door closed. Kid tugging to pull it open. Smith suddenly letting go. Door flying wide. George's hand snaking out closing on the kid's collar whipping him right into the carriage just as his knees were bouncing on the road.
"Sonny, one peep and you're dead."
"Don't kill me Mister."
"Get on the floor."
"Anything you say, Mister."
"The point in your back is the business end of a small blunderbuss also known as a musketoon from an early century with which you may not be acquainted but it will blow your fucking backbone out if you so much as sneeze."
"I didn't do nothing mister. I got a sister studying to be a nun and you're cursing in front of a lady."
"George, please, he's only a child."
"Shut up, while I'm in command, this kid's got to learn a lesson."
"Mister you want to do a deal."
"Shut up. I'll tell you when to talk."
Remaining horde losing ground. Four of them wearing that look of we'll get even. A traffic light red ahead. Gang getting a new impetus. Increasing their efforts. While we stand stopped Such darkness in the trees on all sides. Drag you in there to deliver the stilettos. This walking stick has come in for a lot of little uses. Throughout one's carefree cafuffles. Her Majesty ashen faced, tight lipped in an aloof huff. They're gaining, bobbing heads passing under the street lamp. Driver, onward.
Horse cabbie in a paroxysm of sweaty fear. Gang of six within ten yards. Light turns yellow. My God caution. Green, thank God, go. Five yards. We're moving. This kid's got some white eyeballs looking up from the floor.
"Kid, if you want to save your life, do as I say. Your gang is trying to cut us off. If they succeed you probably will not Eve. But there's one chance. When I give you a poke in the back with this blunderbuss like this."
"Ouch."
"You scream at the top of your lungs that unless they lay off, you get your backbone sent through the bottom of this horse buggy."
"Mister give me a chance, I promise just to do like you say."
"I say there George I will not tolerate this any longer."
"Your Majesty do you want to have your brains beaten out."
"Mere over spirited boys."
"Each with a homemade cannon. These kids could play havoc with a platoon with tactical pieces of armour."
"You exaggerate, George."
"No he doesn't lady that's right we could clean up an army outfit."
"Shut up, you."
"Mister I was only telling her."
"Save your breath. Or it may be your last."
"Mister you're talking like some kind of cowboy."
"Never mind my western experience."
"George such a mountain out of a molehill."
"Under which, Your Majesty, I have no intention to lie. Dead in this park."
"Hey mister, please don't hit me but is the lady some kind of Majesty."
"She's Her Royal Highness, Queen Evangiline."
"No kidding mister, a real Queen. Queen can I just touch you, the guys in the gang would be glad you was a Queen."
"Of course sonny. You can touch me."
"Move one finger kid and I'll kill you."
"George I've had enough. Let this poor boy out. What's he done to you. Let him touch me."
"In a minute his friends will be out blocking the road ahead of us. This driver trying to string out the distance, is taking us around the long leg of a triangle."
"You're such a cheapskate George. I saw you slip the doorman that questionable coin. You're rich."
"You'll have these kids asking for ransom"
"Hey mister what kind of people are you I never even seen people like you in the movies."
"You impertinent little pup, for the last time keep, I said—"
"Ouch mister."
"Keep your mouth shut. I knew it. There's die gang ahead on the road. Driver, you up there, pull up at die group of boys."
"I will like hell, mister you think I want my cab wrecked, what do you take me for."
"They'll panic die horses you thick idiot. I've got this kid as a hostage. Pull up."
Driver laying the lash of the whip on the horses' backsides. Two of the kids with flying leaps catching the reins and hanging on. Horses rearing, nearly plunging back in their traces. Honk of horns. Traffic swerving. George with blunderbuss pressed hard against the backbone of the kid. Hoof sparks on the road. Driver shouting regrettable language. Lashing out with his whip. Taking a more moderate look at the situation when they announce.
"We just want that guy and the member of the gang inside."
"O my God George, they mean business."
"I told you Queenie. O.K. kid, tell them what the score is. For them to stand back or else you get a blast in the backbone. Go ahead."
"Guys, he's got a gun in my back don't do nothing."
"Now tell them to stand back off the road."
"Hey guys there's a real Queen in here, a real Queen, leave her alone. But get the guy it's no gun he's got but just an ordinary cane, I saw it."
Smith with a swift motion catching the kid by the hair and raising him to the window. Encircling his neck with an arm and compressing it to a sudden strand of shoe string, mouth open, tongue out, eyes popping.
"The first one of you to touch this carriage and I break his neck."
Across the spidery tree tops the sound of a siren. Gang gesturing to the half strangled speechless kid. George Smith's calm hard eyes. The driver relaxing waiting for his male passenger to be dragged out and kicked to death in the short bushes. A small gurgling noise coming out of the hostage's throat. The gang wide eyed, yelling at the steamy glass window.
"Hey mister you're killing him, he's choking can't you see."
"Step back or I snap his head off. Back further."
"You better let him go mister, we'll get you."
"Driver move on. One of you takes a step after this cab and I throw him out dead."
Gang leader holding up a staying hand. Faces peering out of the quickly passing cars to view the parkland spectacle. While running up their windows and locking their doors. A population to which you could appeal for help. If you wanted to share your money.
Clip clop. Forging on. Smith releasing the kid's neck. Her Majesty leaning over him as he collapsed gasping in a heap. A flash of lamplight striking his face. A choir boy. For a moment. Law of averages have failed to prevent one disaster following another. Smart kid, with the right idea. Call the bluff always, because if the other guy's got the gun you won't live anyway. Her Majesty silent. Constricted in her fur. George out the window to the driver.