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succession. He stumbles and loses his footing, and I grab him by his coat and pull him close, shoving the canister against his nose and spraying
off the last of its contents straight up his nostrils.
    He starts gasping for air and twisting round uncontrollably, smashing into the stereo unit, part of which falls on his head with a loud clunk. I let go of him and turn round to look for Vanya,
who’s giving the prone, mewing Humphrey a bit of a working over. I pull her off him and, at that moment hear the sound of a toilet flushing round the corner, just out of sight.
    Oh no! The Gang! In all the excitement, I’ve forgotten about him, and now I’m out of spray. A second later, he comes into the room – twenty-five stone of muscle and jelly. The
guy’s amazingly fast for one so immense, I have to give him that.
    “Run!” shouts Vanya rather unnecessarily, but he’s almost upon me, leering like a demented clown and, worse still, The Knife is starting to get to his feet, obviously not quite
as knocked out as I’d thought.
    I strike The Gang with a three-punch combination, every blow slamming into his tiny, childlike face, but they might as well be kisses for all the damage they’re doing, and he keeps coming
forward, wrapping great arms round my torso, and dragging me into a vice-like bearhug that quite literally takes my breath away. I try to say something but no sound comes out. I feel my ribs giving
way. I have never been in such pain in my life, and I think that if I die like this, it will be a truly terrible way to go. And it’s all because of that arsehole, Kevin.
    In the background, I can see The Knife rubbing his eyes. He hisses to his colleague not to kill me. He wants to end my life himself. It almost seems preferable to what I’m going through
now.
    But then The Gang’s grip loosens, and he suddenly goes boss-eyed. I get my right arm free and deliver an uppercut that catches him under the chin. The grip loosens still
more and I struggle free, bumping into Vanya, whose hand is thrust between The Gang’s legs, twisting savagely. As the Americans would say, this girl has spunk.
    We turn together, just in time to see The Knife slashing his weapon in a throat-high arc, and it takes all my old reactions to fend off the blow, using my right arm to block his, and my left to
deliver two vicious little jabs – bang bang – right into his pockmarked mug.
    He actually says “Ouch!”, then goes straight over backwards, landing on the carpet, only to be trampled on by The Crim, who is still blundering around the room like a drunk
gatecrashing a ballet performance.
    And then we’re out the door and down the stairs, taking them two and three at a time, and I can hear The Gang lumbering behind us. Vanya stumbles and I grab her arm and pull her upright.
We hit the street at a mad dash, veering right in the direction of the BMW. She starts fiddling in the pocket of her jeans for the keys, thinking that’s she’s going to be the one
driving, but there’s no way that’s going to happen.
    “This is my car, darling!” I shout, pulling out the spares and flicking off the central locking.
    Reluctantly, she jumps in the passenger side, while I leap in the driver’s seat and switch on the ignition. The engine purrs into life, and I pull out into the road. I can see The Gang in
the rear view mirror, coming down the road after us. He’s gaining but there’s not a lot he can do now and I accelerate away, feeling pleasantly satisfied, at least until Vanya tells me
that the Bow-bury Gardens is actually a dead end road, and I’m going in the wrong direction.
    I do a quick three-point turn in the middle of the road, and swing the car back round, accelerating. Twenty yards away, The Gang is in the middle of the road, looming up like an immovable stone
monolith, but this is a strong car, and a good deal more substantial than the man currently standing in front of me.
    I think The Gang must belatedly realize this