The King of Diamonds by Simon Tolkien

as he thought of Katya and what lay ahead.
    They parked in the station car park. The driver of their car had still said nothing and Eddie had made no effort at introductions. Sitting behind him in the back seat, David had not even seen the man’s face. Now, without turning around, he reached in the pocket of his coat and took out a set of keys, which he handed to Eddie.
    ‘Which one?’ Eddie asked. It was curious the way Eddie and the driver seemed to have so little to say to each other, thought David.
    ‘The red Triumph. The one over there,’ said the man, pointing to his right. ‘It’s got a full tank.’
    ‘Thanks. Come on, Davy,’ said Eddie, opening his door and beckoning David to follow. ‘We need to get a move on.’
    Shutting the door, David looked back through the car window, anxious to get at least one look at this stranger who had done so much to help him escape, but it was as if the man had read his mind. In the minute since he’d parked, he’d turned the collar of his coat up around his ears and pulled his hat down over his forehead so that all David got to see was a flash of the man’s black beard before he was gone, driving back down to the road and picking up speed as he went around the corner and disappeared from sight. But the man’s voice stayed in David’s head. It had been high-pitched, effeminate sounding, not at all what he would have expected from one of Eddie’s friends.
    ‘Who was that?’ asked David, getting into the Triumph beside Eddie, who already had the engine on.
    ‘You don’t need to know,’ said Eddie in a voice that brooked no argument. ‘Do you still want to go to this Blackwater Hall place?’
    ‘Yes. That was the deal, remember. You promised me, Eddie,’ said David. There was an edge of panic to his voice, as if he was about to lose his self-control.
    ‘All right, all right, I remember. There’s no need to get all crazy about it. Just try and relax, okay?’
    Eddie drove out of the city over Magdalen Bridge and headed out on the Cowley Road at a precise thirty miles per hour. David still kept looking over his shoulder, scanning the night for police cars.
    ‘Can’t you go any faster?’ he asked impatiently.
    ‘And get caught for speeding after all we’ve been through? No way. That’s a sucker’s game.’
    David leaned forward, drumming his fingers on the dashboard.
    ‘Where’s the gun?’ he asked feverishly. ‘You promised me a gun.’
    ‘In there under your fucking fingers. And can’t you stop doing that? It’s driving me crazy.’
    ‘Sorry,’ said David, opening the glove compartment and taking out the nickel-plated revolver that was lying inside.
    ‘Christ, there’s a whole lot of money in here too,’ he said, holding up a see-through bag containing a large bundle of banknotes.
    ‘What the hell?’ said Eddie, sounding angry suddenly. ‘That’s not supposed to be in there.’
    ‘Where’s it supposed to be then?’
    ‘With our clothes in the back, away from the gun,’ said Eddie, keeping his eyes on the road as he jerked his thumb behind his head toward a small suitcase lying on the back seat. ‘The gun’s loaded, so be careful, okay?’
    David nodded, barely listening. A strange calm had settled down on him since he’d taken hold of the small snub-nosed revolver that he now held cradled in the palm of his hand. Having it made him feel different inside. It meant the end of being told what to do; he could give the orders now. He thought of Claes’s scarred, waxy face, and his hand clenched involuntarily around the handle of the gun. The polished wood felt smooth and hard. It would be different this time.
    They passed the Morris car factory on the left, its blue towers illuminated by the moonlight, and David remembered how the bottom of the Cowley Road used to be full of bicycles at five o’clock as the workers swarmed out of the factory on their way home. Like India, or how he imagined India anyway. But now the road was deserted and