Chameleon

Dee stepped forward and Woods blocked her way, gri

“Shit!” he exhaled loudly as he caught sight of a second blow on the edge of his peripheral vision. Now it was Dee who was smiling. The giant cage fighter tried to tense his stomach muscles, but he was just too late. Dee’s right fist crashed into his solar plexus, finding the sweet spot just below his rib cage. It was as if she had measured him to find exactly where to land the perfect blow. The breath flew out of him, and he gasped as a sharp pain shot through his body and he instinctively bent forward, using his crossed arms to protect himself from further blows.

Dee knew that as a cage fighter he would be accustomed to working through the pain barrier to fight back, and so before Woods had even begun to adopt a more aggressive posture she grabbed the hair at the back of his head, where the shorter hairs meet the neckline, and pulled hard, forcing his head forward. The cage fighter yelled as the hairs on his neck were pulled taut or pulled out. Once she had the momentum, Dee pushed his head down hard and fast to meet her upcoming knee. There was an audible crack as Woods, still gasping for breath, bounced his forehead off Dee’s knee. Dee let go of the man, who by now would have worked out why security men had shaven heads, and he fell to his knees. To his credit, and Dee’s astonishment, he did not pass out or fall flat to the floor; rather he went down on his hands and knees and shook his head in an attempt to clear it. Most men would have been concussed or unconscious or both by now, and whilst he was out of the action for the time being, he was still in the game. If he had offered any further resistance Dee would have aimed a firm kick into his unprotected genitilia to finish him off, but he presented no active threat at the moment

Dee noticed that the crowd had fallen silent, and that the security guards had deliberately turned towards the crowd to prevent the fans from passing the rope barrier, and to save themselves from seeing what happened next.

A purposeful Rod Donkin had, single mindedly, ignored the violent action going on behind him and had now tipped the slight frame of Katie Norman backwards and off balance in some kind of mock Hollywood embrace. Holding her up with his left arm, he used his right hand to stop hers from fending him off as he leaned in for a full kiss on the lips.

***

Katie Norman was surprised to be spun around by the shoulders. At first she thought Dee had spotted some danger, but then she saw the reptilian grin of Rod Donkin. Katie knew what was coming next and, already off balance, she tried to fend off her attacker with her free left hand but Donkin had anticipated the move and grabbed her wrist. Resigned to being kissed by this oaf, she thought to herself, stick your tongue in my mouth and I’ll bite it off. She closed her eyes and grimaced, waiting for the repulsive kiss. But it never came. There was a squeal from Donkin and she was freed from his grasp.

***

Dee saw Donkin’s head go in for the kiss but she was quicker than he was. Her hand flew out and grabbed his left ear, twisting it violently. That was all it took to elicit a girlish squeal from the creep and to have him entirely under her control. She used her left arm to hold Katie until she was safely restored to a standing position and, still twisting Donkin’s ear, she smiled sweetly to Katie and the crowd.

“Take your time, Katie, this odious little pervert and I are going for a walk,” Dee said more loudly than was necessary. The immediate crowd laughed and cheered.

Dee twisted Donkin’s ear further, making him yell and bend almost double. In this position she marched him forward so that all of the crowd and the photographers could see him. Camera flashes lit up the night as Donkin walked forward, bent double, into their viewfinders.

“Are you taking you monkey for a walk, Missus?” one wag in the crowd yelled to lots of good natured laughter. Then one person started making chimpanzee noises and in no time at all the whole crowd had joined in. Walking along bent double, with a woman holding his ear as if he was a naughty chimp, Rob Donkin’s humiliation was almost complete. Tears streamed down his face as his career as a ‘Z list’ celebrity came to a close.

Dee approached the Police Constable at the end of the red carpet and handed over Donkin, who was trying to hide his tear stained face whilst rubbing his ear.

“Officer, please take this man into custody. He has just committed an assault.”

The young constable looked uncertain.

“Leave it to me, Hopkinson, I’ll deal with it.” A female Inspector took Donkin by the arm and led him towards a police van. Donkin initially resisted and stood his ground.

“Do you really want to do this, sir?” the police Inspector asked, the threat apparent in her visage and in her tone. Donkin’s shoulders slumped in defeat and he was handcuffed.

Tomorrow morning Katie would have to compete for the front page photo with a shot of Donkin being led along like a domestic pet, and with the grainy shot of his tear stained face as he was being helped into the white police van.

***

Dee was walking back to the cinema entrance when she spotted the photographer Donkin had nodded to. She beckoned him over and whispered in his ear.

“I saw the nod. You sell one photograph of that low life with my client and I’ll track you down and break your arm. Then if you complain I’ll come back a week later and break the other one. Do you understand? Smile and nod.”

The man’s face had paled but he smiled wanly and nodded.

As Dee rejoined Katie under the cinema canopy she caught sight of Andy Woods, who was recovering in a chair hurriedly brought out from the lobby. She noted that he was now, rather pointedly, sitting on the wrong side of the velvet ropes.

Chapter 3 9

Terminal 2, Jose Marti Airport, Boyeros. Cuba.

Wednesday afternoon.

Gillian Davis joined the rest of the holidaymakers picking up their luggage from carousel number 4, still unsettled by her encounter with the Cuban authorities. She knew that if she wanted to stay out of sight of MI5 she would need more than the cooperation of a minor Cuban functionary, handsome as he was. Gil was convinced that by now MI5 would have an operative in the arrivals hall of the airport, ready to follow her. She pla

After a fifteen minute wait, Gil’s pink designer suitcase, adorned with the Chanel logo, slid down a metal chute and on to the sectional rubber conveyor that displayed the luggage as it travelled in a large oval. Gillian picked up her case and set it down on the terrazzo floor before elevating the pulling handle. She slipped her carry on bag over the handle and pulled both bags towards the green Nada de declarer - or, nothing to declare - exit.

Having passed through the customs hall and now traversing the arrivals hall, Gillian sca