The Mad and the Bad

22

Julie was dazed. Her head, her eyes were in a fog. When a gap in the crowd opened up, she bounded through it, tugging Peter along behind her. The little boy was stupefied with terror. Over the hatted heads a clear space could be seen. Julie turned to look back. Amid the crush she spotted Thompson getting nearer with great long strides, a tall silhouette, thin and dried-up and gray-haired. If he got a clear shot he would be able to pot the girl like a target at a fairground shooting gallery. From a hundred meters Julie could make out the man’s teeth gleaming in his lined face. She raced straight towards a Prisunic fronting the street and entered through the glass doors.

She charged down the aisles. The store occupied the ground-floor level of an entire block. Beyond the vast accumulation of commodities more glass doors opened onto another street and an esplanade black with people. Julie charged in that direction. She must get out ahead of Thompson. Melt into the crowd. She jostled housewives as she passed.

The girl was no more than a few meters from the exit doors when Coco materialized on the other side of the glass. Blinking, he looked at Julie, who had pulled up short. He seemed hesitant, almost fearful.

Julie made an about-turn, twisting Peter’s arm. The boy began to cry.

“Oh, shut up! Shut up!” cried Julie. “It’s over.”

She rushed up to a salesgirl.

“Mademoiselle, call the police right away.”

“What?”

“The police! Call the police!”

“But what’s going on?” demanded the salesgirl, taking a step back.

She scrutinized Julie with a suspicious smile tugging at her lips; twenty meters away, Coco came in through the glass doors. Suddenly he dashed forward. Julie whirled round. Tableware was on display close by, and she swept a pile of unbreakable plates onto the floor. They did not break.

“You’re crazy!” exclaimed the salesgirl, taking another leap backwards.

“Murderer!” yelled Julie with all her might.

Pirouetting once more, she slapped the salesgirl violently across the face and set off at a run. She never let go of Peter, who lost his balance and fell forward still firmly in Julie’s grasp. She did not release him, hauling him along at top speed, his feet dragging on the tile floor. He was bawling at the top of his lungs. At the other end of the Prisunic, Thompson had entered the store and stood motionless, his pistol dangling at the end of his arm, barrel pointing towards the floor.

“Murderer!” yelled Julie again, heightening the skepticism of the housewives.

She kept running, zigzagging among the shelves. As she proceeded she grabbed products and threw them on the floor. A store employee with a badge on his white cashier’s smock suddenly posted himself in her way, legs and arms spread like a goalie.

“Stop right there!” he commanded in a measured tone.

Julie delivered a head blow to his face. The girl’s hard skull struck the man’s chin, snapping his head back and causing him to collapse into a heap on the tiled floor. Julie leapt over him. He grabbed Peter and held on. Julie grabbed a stainless steel paring knife from a display and stabbed at the air above the head of the department manager. He immediately let go of Peter and curled into a ball, using his elbows to protect his eyes and his knees to protect his genitals.

“Police!” he cried in a falsetto voice.

“About time too!” said Julie, and a bullet passed through her right arm.