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Excerpts from
Hit
By Iben Melbye
She got
round to the back of the check-out counters and put her foot on the first step.
She switched on the light in the backroom. Her hand was still touching the
switch when a sound, a movement, the hint of a shadow froze her to the spot.
There was someone behind her … someone behind her was saying something, she
caught the word “Camilla!”
She heard
an unfamiliar shriek. The sound rasped in her throat. Her name! Where … A hand
clamped over her mouth. The taste of rubber. Anonymous arms turned her around.
Two holes in a head mask, a pistol. She couldn’t breathe. The bump of the bag
as it hit the ground. His mouth moved below the edge of the mask. But she
couldn’t hear anything. He took his hand away. Pale gloves, close-fitting.
Holes for eyes, black, eyes staring at her. She gasped. It must be a dream.
Couldn’t be happening. The sun was shining and she and Jacob had planned to …
She couldn’t move her foot.
“Do what I
say. Then nothing will happen to you,” said the man with the pistol.
“Nothing!”
she mumbled.
“Quickly,
go to the cameras and take the tapes out.”
“They’re
not running,” she said.
“Do what I
say. Take the tapes out and give them to me.”
It was as
if her feet had taken root in the floor. The hooded man shook his head. Why?
Why was he shaking his head? Why couldn’t she lift her feet? He prodded her
with the pistol.
“Just fetch
those tapes and make it quick.”
“I can’t.”
“Do what I
say.”
“But I
can’t. There’s … there’s a master tape. It’s locked up in a cupboard, and the
boss has got the other key.” It was a struggle to get the words out.
When she
saw the way his mouth twitched she hastened to add: “The tape’s not running,
d’you hear, it’s not even running.”
“Pick up
your bag, fast. Then we’ll walk very quickly and very calmly over to the alarm
box.”
He put his
hand on her arm. She flinched. Her hand picked up the bag on the floor. She
clasped it tight. Her feet led her over to the cabinet, where she stopped. The
man stood close behind her.
“Unlock the
cabinet and set the code so the alarms are turned off properly.”
She took
out the key from a pocket in the bag. Her arm was heavy. Her hand put the key
in the lock and turned, it tapped in the numbers, and then dropped again.
“Why aren’t
you doing what you usually do?” he asked.
She went
cold. Usually?
“I … I …”
She couldn’t articulate the words clearly. “I’ve done it,” she whispered.
“Okay, I
was just checking you out.”
He closed
the cabinet and pushed her up the steps to the backroom.
“The tables
and chairs, why?”
“Get down
on your stomach, with your hands under your forehead.”
She heard
the voice, followed its instructions, the pistol in his hand. No skin, just
thin rubber. She was sure it was a pistol. A revolver had a cylinder, a pistol
had a magazine. They’d learnt that. The chill from the floor crept up into her.
Her black tights and short skirt couldn’t keep it out. Where was Jacob? Where
was he?
“This is
the third time I ask nicely,” said the voice. “How many keys does it take to
open the box?”
“Two … to
the door itself.”
“What’s
that meant to mean? How many does it take to get into the money?”
Her head
was swimming. How many? How many? “Two to the door of the box,” she replied.
“And keys to the various compartments.”
“Who’s got
the other keys? You’ve got one, haven’t you?”
She nodded
almost imperceptibly.
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