Page 3 of The Team

“Who knows we’re here?”

Thatwas the million-dollar question.

As they made it to the crossroad, Rhett scanned the street. Saturday night crowds were milling about on the sidewalks. A few drunk and loud folks but nothing unusual, and there was a taxi bay across the street and down past the pub.

They headed towards it, just as a crowd of people poured out of the pub. Loud laughing men and women, crowing about a football match.

Rhett navigated through them, Jay beside him, but one drunk older guy had more liquid courage than brain cells and decided that pushing Rhett was a good idea.

“Watch where yer goin’,” he said, staggering and sizing up Rhett. “Big guy like you don’t scare me. Beat plentya’ guys bigger than you.”

The dumbass looked like his nose had seen a few fists back in his day, and perhaps if he had been thirty years younger and thirty kilos lighter, it might have been a fun fight.

But not tonight.

Rhett put his hands up. “Sorry, pops. I don’t dance.”

Jay laughed, and the older guy clearly thought Jay was an easier target. He turned to him, red in the face, about to spout off some bullshit, but Rhett stepped in close. His voice was low, menacing. “Look at him if you wanna fuckin’ die today. I dare you.”

Pops took a step back, and through all the crowdsurrounding them, the pub security watching, waiting, Rhett noticed something move out of the corner of his eye.

Two shadows in the dark past the pub.

“On our six,” Rhett said, the old guy forgotten.

Jay turned. “Shit.”

They took off, pushing through the crowd,towardthe threat this time. People yelled after them, the old guy hollered for the cowards to come back like some hero, and someone laughed.

Rhett didn’t care. They rounded the corner onto Shaftesbury Street, his heart thumping.

And saw nothing.

There was no one. Nothing but a streetlight some twenty metres up the road and an otherwise empty street. Quiet and dark buildings and a one-a.m. silence.

So Rhett looked upward, scanning the brick walls, looking for anyone, anything. Those walls were three stories high. Not scalable, not in the seconds it had taken them to get there.

“What the fuck?” Jay mumbled. “Where’d they go?”

Rhett had no answer. “I don’t like this,” he whispered. “Let’s go.”

He turned, ready to head back past the pub, ready to see if old pops really did want to dance, when a figure emerged from the shadows and lunged for him. Rhett reacted on instinct, deflecting and slamming into the body mass.

He could see him now.

Wearing all black, the first guy from the club. Rhett had his arms around him and drove him onto the street. A passing car honked its horn, but Rhett was focused on histarget. Before he could find his centre of gravity, Rhett swung at him.

His target was fast on his feet—too fast—countering Rhett’s punches, anticipating his moves. They traded a few blows, Rhett copping a sharp jab to the eye before landing a solid punch to the guy’s chin.

It rattled him for a split second, and Rhett risked a glance back at Jay.

Jay could hold his own, Rhett knew that. But he’d always worry. The need to protect him was ingrained.

Rhett circled around so he could see both Jay and his target, who flew at him with a sidekick.

Rhett blocked and parried, trading jab for jab, blow for blow.

And his target laughed.

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