Kleinzeit

Getaway

Morning. Cold. Low white winter sun. White exhaust from passing cars whirling tightly in the chill. People on the pavements blowing white clouds of breath. Action walking past the hospital, cigarette in his mouth, hands in his pockets. He didn’t look up. When he reached the corner he turned, walked back again, looked up at the hospital.

On the second floor the A4 fire-exit door opened, two Pain Company scouts came out, weapons at the ready. They stood at the head of the old iron stairs, looked down, scanned the street.

Action whistled, the scouts whistled back. The rest of Pain Company came out, some of them supporting Kleinzeit, one of them carrying his case, the others guarding his rear. Kleinzeit, dressed for the street, was very pale.

Very slowly they came down the stairs, crossed the forecourt, reached the pavement. The traffic lights at the corner changed to green, a taxi pulled up. FOR HIRE. Action hailed it.

Kleinzeit turned, looked back at the fire-exit door. A small black figure came out, came hopping, swinging down the iron stairs, swinging across the forecourt. Action opened the taxi door, threw in Kleinzeit’s case. Kleinzeit got in, Death jumped in beside him, then Action. The taxi pulled away. Pain Company doubled back to the hospital car-park. One by one their motorcycles roared in the cold, one by one they wheeled out into the traffic, roared off towards Kleinzeit’s place.