D&G

D&G

A small crowd had gathered – a crowd of astonished City commuters who would normally have scurried past anything untoward; a car crash, a collapsed tourist, even a policeman trying to arrest a drunk and disorderly tramp would not have persuaded them away from their hurry scurry home. But this was a disturbance that appealed to all; the sound of the heavy metal d-lock thundering into the beautifully sculpted bodywork, the screams of the driver being showered with shards of tinted glass, the crazed man in black dancing round the iconic German coupe with the lights of the passing traffic creating ghoulish shadows on its flanks.

It was the spine-chilling, demonic scene of rage being vented on a symbol of teutonic power by a fleet-footed fury, David versus Goliath; the show that everyone loved to see. The Gucci’d City success story in his bahn storming missile being violently assaulted by a lycra-clad street warrior with just a d-lock for a weapon. The cowering executive in his leather-filled cockpit and six cylindered power plant in the boot with the look of absolute terror in his eyes was being humbled by a mere cyclist with no more than his wits and his legs keeping him alive.

The first policeman to arrive at the scene a mere minute after the assailant had disappeared into the night – no doubt scared away by the sound of approaching sirens - found Alex still cowering low in his seat with his head under his arms. He was covered in shattered glass and the rain had soaked his Thomas Pink shirt through the opening where the side window had once been. The roof was heavily dented and had been forced down onto the driver’s door top sill meaning that it could no longer be opened.
“Sir, are you OK?” There was no reply. “It’s alright, I’m a policeman.” PC 1045 Key has been briefed by the controller as to what had apparently happened and assumed that the driver wasn’t too badly hurt. The face lifted limply and fearful eyes looked sideways towards the policeman. His mouth was slightly open and unmoving, and there were several small cuts on his face with small trickles of blood which were starting to congeal. The blood was also smeared on the arms and cuffs of his pink Pink shirt. The gold cufflink at the left wrist was stained with the red stuff. The ashen face turned back into the limp arms still clinging to the wheel.
“So did anyone see what happened?” There was no reply from the silent crowd of thirty or so assembled office workers under umbrellas. “Anyone see anything?”
“Is he alright?” came the solitary reply.
“Yes, I think so. Did you see what happened?” Before the owner of the voice could be identified, it had had melted back into the heavy throng of commuters who were now beginning to drift away. The man wasn’t hurt. The frenzied attack had not managed to cause any real damage, apparently. They weren’t bothered to see anymore. The show was over.

Within minutes the ambulance arrived and the two attendants went to Alex’s aid. The door still wouldn’t open and the crowbar was taken from the boot of the police car which by now had also arrived and PC’s Brand and Wolf set about wrenching it free. The left side door was fine but the ambulance staff didn’t want to have to exit the wounded man from the left side – he could have other injuries. All the time they talked to him in hushed, comforting tones and not once did he reply or even acknowledge their presence. The furtive nods suggested that they suspected that he’d either been more injured than their initial assessment had implied or that he was in a state of deep, deep shock