Broken Glass by Alexander Hartung

Author:Alexander Hartung
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781542093484
Published: 2019-10-31T22:00:00+00:00

Sara looked down at the pool of blood on the filthy courtyard ground, her arms crossed. She had a pretty good idea of how the fight had gone. Her blonde ponytail fell past her right shoulder and over her large breasts, which pressed against her black jacket. Her glowing skin and blue eyes would have been more fitting on a Swedish runner but then her big nose and sickly yellow teeth, stained from all the cigarettes and coffee, ruined that image. A large man in a black jacket was waiting beside her. He stood in a military position with his hands crossed behind his back. His figure was impressive. Two feet taller than the woman, with wide shoulders and enormous arms. His black hair was short and he had a well-groomed goatee which hid his small lips. The only thing ruining his stylish businessman look was the scar that ran from his left eyebrow over to his ear. He was looking at Kevin Otte, who was holding an ice-pack to his chin and shifting nervously from side to side. He kept his gaze on the woman, not daring to speak or move from the spot.

Finally, Sara lifted her head.

‘I’ll keep this short,’ she began with a direct voice. ‘Was this the man who beat you up?’ She held up a photo and showed it to Otte.

‘That’s the wanker,’ he confirmed.

‘Nik Pohl. CID officer until not that long ago.’ She put the picture back in her pocket.

‘Give me that fucker’s address and I’ll put his lights out.’

‘We’ll deal with him.’

‘Then I’m coming with you. Nobody beats me up and . . .’

In one fast move Sara grabbed an extendable baton from her jacket and before it was fully extended, hit Otte in the face with it. He hadn’t been expecting the blow. His nose broke and blood streamed on to his shirt. He groaned loudly and fell to the ground.

‘I don’t like saying things twice.’ Her voice was quiet as she pushed the baton together and slipped it back in her pocket. ‘You had your chance and you obviously blew it.’ She pointed to the bloodstains on the ground. The large man stepped behind him. Otte screamed as his arm was twisted sharply behind his back. But his screams were cut off abruptly as the man’s foot stamped on his head and stayed there, pinning him to the ground.

‘So . . . you’ll forget the name Nik Pohl,’ she ordered. ‘You won’t look for him, you won’t ask anyone for him, and if you run into him on the street, you’ll turn around and run away.’

‘OK, OK,’ moaned Otte.

The man with the scar tightened his grip around Otte’s arm further just to make sure he got the message. When he was satisfied, he let go and moved to stand beside the woman again.

‘And now fetch the whore Pohl was speaking to.’

It wasn’t easy getting up. Blood dripped from his nose and he was holding his injured arm. Finally back on his legs, he staggered inside the building.

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