Mike Shevdon - Sixty-One Nails

Buttoning my coat, I walked out of the alley, trying not to look hunted.

I kept close to the buildings as I turned in to the side-street where the minicab firm was based. As I turned the corner, I saw the tell-tale flash of blue lights. From the shadow of a doorway I saw a fire engine roar past the end of the road, lights blazing, siren silent until it reached a junction further on where its brief wail echoed back down the wet streets.

The Fire Service, aside from putting out fires, also dealt with biological contamination. They were treating the flat as a contaminated area. If they thought the mould was some kind of manufactured biological weapon then their efforts to find me would be on a different scale. It took all my reserves of willpower to walk into the radio-taxi office and appear calm.

I opened the door to the smell of hastily smothered cigarette. The bloke manning the radio was wearing thick glasses and peering at a newspaper crossword, apparently oblivious to the smoke still rising from the waste bin.

He looked up. "Yes, mate?"

"Good morning. Could I get a car to Heathrow, please?"

He considered this for a moment and I hesitated, wondering if a description had already been circulated. I was about to tell him not to bother and start running again when he spoke.

"It'll cost you fifteen quid at this time of day, mate."

"That'll be fine, but I need to get there quickly."

"Got an early flight, have you?"

"Well, you know how long it takes to get through all the security these days. Better to be early than to risk missing a flight, eh?" It wasn't a lie, but he would assume I was flying out. Maybe the police would make the same assumption when they questioned him, later.

"It'll be two minutes, guv. The cars are just coming on shift. Shouldn't take long. Have a seat."

He spoke in staccato sentences and indicated the vinyl covered chairs by the door. I sat down, while he spoke into the radio, summoning a car for me. I was painfully aware that if the police walked in now I would have no escape. I fidgeted in the seat then forced myself to stillness. The minutes passed with agonising slowness. When the man looked up from his crossword and spoke, I almost jumped in my seat.

"Car's just outside, guv," he said.

"Thanks," I said, trying to conceal my nervousness with enthusiasm.

I got up and went outside. There was a Ford Mondeo estate parked outside. The diesel engine sounded rough and harsh. As I approached, the passenger window slid down. I leaned down to speak with the driver.

"Where to?" he asked me.

"Heathrow, please?"

"Right you are."

I opened the door and slid into the back, pulling it shut behind me. He set off without waiting for me to buckle my seat belt.

"Which terminal?"

"Sorry?"

"Which terminal at the airport? Should be written on your ticket."

"Oh, terminal one, please. That'll be fine."

"Europe, is it?"

"I have some family business to clear up," I told him, avoiding the direct question. "Personal matters."

"Well, I hope you have better weather than we're having here."

I let the comment hang, not wanting to get into a detailed conversation when I would find it difficult to lie to him. Our route took us past the tube station and, as we drove by, I could see a police car had pulled up on the pavement near the entrance. The officers were talking to someone in a London Transport uniform. One of the officers watched our car go past. I turned away, hoping he hadn't spotted me.

"Boys in blue having a busy night," the driver commented as we passed.

"Really?" I responded.

"Yeah. Didn't you hear that helicopter earlier? I reckon someone's done over the pharmacy again. They never learn, do they?"

I wondered for a moment who they were, who never learned, but offered no encouragement for him to continue.

Fed up with holding a one-sided conversation, the driver turned sport radio on instead. The endless speculation as to the outcomes of the weekend's fixtures was a dull monologue in the back of the car. I did my best to ignore it.

I kept an eye out for blue lights approaching fast from behind us, but there was no sign. I figured the policeman at the tube station must not have seen me, the wet and dark working in my favour for once. I used the respite in the back of the car to think.

There was no doubt in my mind that the Untainted were hunting me. I was sure one of them had been in the flat and in the back garden. It sounded like it had gone for one of the police officers, the one called Jim, the rugby player. I wondered briefly whether he had family, someone waiting for him to come home. Suddenly filled with guilt, I veered away from the pain of others, distancing myself from responsibility and concentrating on my own problems.

It had only taken the Untainted a short while to find me. What had she said? I had to keep running? Where to? Besides, I'd only have to bump into someone like Fenlock and I would be just as dead. I really needed Blackbird's knowledge and advice. She was the only one I knew who didn't want to kill me, rob me or arrest me.

The problem was finding her. I felt I had offended her by probing too far into her secrets. It wasn't that I wanted to know everything about her, but part of me needed to know who I was dealing with. I didn't think it would make much difference to me if she turned out to be like Kareesh and have pale skin and rows of pointed teeth, she had shown me nothing but kindness. She was quick and canny and in charge of her own destiny which was more than I could claim.

Kareesh had said she was hiding without being specific about what she was hiding from, but my guess was that it was related to her true form. Why was that such a sensitive issue? I had seen Kareesh and, while she was a little unorthodox, I thought I could accept her for who she was.

With Blackbird I felt our friendship was tenuous at best, though I wanted it to be stronger. The trouble was that I needed her a lot more than she needed me. What could I offer her? I knew she felt responsible for me, but that was hardly the basis for an enduring friendship, was it? Still, if I was going to make it through the next few days I needed her help.

That sent me back to the problem of finding her. In the real world I knew how to find people. I could use the internet or phone directory enquiries and ask for a name, a number, or some other reference.

Blackbird was different, though. She didn't inhabit the world of computers and databases. I didn't know her name, only what she called herself, and I was pretty sure that if I phoned directory enquiries their first question would be "Is that a first name or a last name?"

I had no idea where she lived. She'd told me she had a flat, and a flatmate, but she had not told me where it was. I pondered for a moment what the flatmate might think of her. Was the flatmate Fey too? Did they live together? And how did Blackbird pay rent for a flat? I knew so little about her that finding her by conventional means was impossible.

She'd said she would find me, though she had refused to be drawn on when or where. Perhaps the first thing to do was to go somewhere I knew she could find me. Maybe that would be enough. If I could get back to Trafalgar Square avoiding police attention, I should be fairly safe there.

What had she said? "You'll never be safe again, get used to it."

I spent the rest of the journey in silence, half listening to the inanity of the radio and considering Blackbird's advice.

When we reached Heathrow I had the driver drop me at Departures for Terminal One. I was sure the police would find the taxi firm and the guy in the office would remember me. If I gave the impression I was getting a flight somewhere then that would be something else they would have to check before they found my trail again. At this stage, the more hares I could set running for them to chase, the better.