Broken Fingers: A Collision of Injustice, Survival and Love by Stephen Coombes

Author:Stephen Coombes [Coombes, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-02-14T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

The door slammed shut behind him. Cut off from Jed for the first time since their arrest, Larry needed other support. He placed a hand on the wall to steady himself while the guard shouted at him to move. Was he in for a beating? Why just me? What have I done wrong? Without Jed to hide behind he took small reluctant steps, eyes wide.

His bowels rumbled. Please God, don’t let me shit myself. Images of the near-dead man from the police station danced in front of him. Bleeding feet. Swollen head.

He leant with his back to the wall, his legs refusing to take him further. They’ll have to drag me. He looked at the guard, who now beckoned him. No threats, Larry saw only a man beseeching him to follow.

‘Vite, vite,’ said the guard. ‘Fast, fast,’ begging him to move.

Then he saw James Bingham stick his head out of the visitor’s room and wave at him, and relief flooded through him. He had a visit, that was all. A visit with food and money on the table. He pushed himself off the wall and, still wobbly, made his way down the passageway, one hand reaching out for safety.

James rushed to meet him. Taking an elbow each, he and the guard half-carried Larry to the room. He looked at the table, expecting a box with food and cigarettes, not the pair of trousers and a shirt. For a moment confusion, then disappointment came. Not right, not normal buzzed in his head.

‘Get changed,’ said James. ‘Time to go home. Quickly now, there’s not a moment to lose.’

Confused, Larry tried to obey, but his mind, lazy from months of looking inward, slowed him. James Bingham bounced up and down on the balls of his feet in frustration and seeing Larry’s hesitation pulled shoes out of a bag and dumped them on the floor. ‘Hurry, we have no time to waste,’ he shouted.

Something clicked in Larry’s head, and he moved. Fast now, he donned the clothes and socks complete with brown slip-on shoes. James grabbed the tie and a small toiletry bag, then pushed Larry out and into the yard with its low sun and long shadows. Larry made a fast shuffle across the open ground, then through the clanging gate to the waiting Mercedes with a grinning chauffeur holding a door open for him.

He climbed in, and James Bingham followed. ‘Ali,’ said the young diplomat, ‘quick as you can, let’s make haste.’

Ali grinned from ear to ear and nodded like a clockwork toy as he gunned the big car and they fishtailed their way down the dirt road to freedom. Larry turned to look back at the horror of his life, now his past, but the dust hid everything. Mallala prison had disappeared. He looked at his hands and the shoes on his feet. Shoes, but no handcuffs seemed important. Then he smiled.

‘Where are we going?’ he asked.

‘Ceuta,’ said James as he leafed through Larry’s new passport.

Putting it away, he took a bottle of mineral water from a shoulder bag and gave it to Larry together with a hand towel.

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