Rhinoceros (16 page)

'Trouble.'

Lisa, who had gone ahead, ran back to them, heard what
Paula had said.

'Big trouble,' she warned.

At the entrance door a giant had pushed his way
in, followed by a troop of ugly-looking toughs wearing ragged camouflage jackets. The doorman demanded from
Delgado his ticket. The giant grabbed the doorman with
one hand round the throat, lifted him off the floor,
slammed him against the wall. His victim collapsed. A
bouncer appeared, tried to grab the giant by one arm.
Delgado grasped his wrist, whirled him round and round,
let go suddenly. The bouncer crashed against the wall,
collapsed. The giant's toughs were rapidly infiltrating the
restaurant.

They ran from table to table, jerking the cloths off them,
spilling plates and food and drink on the floor. One man,
using a can of spray paint, swiftly defaced a wall with
his graffiti message.
Down With Monny,
Tweed detected
a degree of illiteracy.

Panic broke out. Women were screaming. Men were
holding on to their partners, trying to escort them out through a wild mob. One woman with a semi-backless dress was refusing to leave her table. Delgado came up
behind her, shoved in his huge hand, tore the dress down
to her seat. Butler appeared behind the giant, grabbed a
handful of his hair, crashed his head down on to the table,
then went elsewhere. Delgado straightened up, dazed, staggered round.

The five-man entertainment group had stopped playing, stood scared stiff on the platform. A tough jumped on the
platform, a graffiti can in one hand. He grabbed hold of the saxophone, squirted liquid inside it. The youngster
whose instrument it was protested. The tough reversed the instrument, holding it by the horn end. Using it as a
club he hit the youngster a savage blow behind the legs.
The lad collapsed off the platform. Mark had just hit a
tough on the side of his neck. His target went down like
a sack of coals.

'Time to leave,' Tweed decided.

'Easiest escape route,' Lisa pointed out, 'is along the wall by the booths . . .'

Tweed was waving his hand to warn the others to leave.
Butler saw him, took out a whistle, blew a penetrating blast
clearly heard above the screaming and shouting. All the
booths were now empty and there was a clear passage past them. Close to the exit Paula glanced back, saw Delgado,
fully recovered, also heading for the street. He rammed
his way through the scared crowd, shoving people aside.

Butler was ahead of them as they emerged into the street
with Nield close behind him. Lisa grasped Butler's arm before he could run to his vehicle.

'Wait a minute when you're behind the wheel. Delgado
has some other devilry . . .'

They were in their cars, their engines running, when
Tweed lowered his window, glowering as he looked back
at what remained of Vorina's. Delgado was wielding a
huge sledgehammer, probably conveniently left on the
pavement earlier.

The sledgehammer crashed into the window of Vorina's.
The glass, a large sheet, fell inwards, broke into pieces
when it hit the floor. A girl, her expensive dress torn,
ran out into the street. A tough grabbed her, hoisted her, threw her through the gaping hole. She landed inside on
her back amid the shattered glass. Lisa, who had jumped
out of Newman's car, ran up to Butler, then ran back to
Tweed.

'Piccadilly Circus next.'

'I know. Get back inside your car . . .'

The four-wheel drive moved off, followed by Newman's
car and Tweed bringing up the rear. In no time at all they were approaching Piccadilly Circus down Regent Street.

'That was horrible,' Paula said. 'I'm sure I saw one man
with a broken neck. Who are these bastards?'

'I did notice,' Tweed told her, 'that a number were
British, but a larger number were foreigners. Kosovars,
Turks, I think I even spotted an Afghan. At least we now know what we're up against. The trick is to find
the top man.'

'Lord! Look at this.'

Every car parked - or abandoned - in Regent Street
that they passed had windows, windscreens smashed in. One large store had no glass left in its windows. Toughs
were coming out holding armruls of expensive suits. The
looting had started.

Thanks to Butler being in the lead, they drove straight down Regent Street. When groups of toughs stood in the
road he drove ruthlessly at them. They scattered swiftly. At the Circus was a fresh mob. Eros had already been defaced
by sprays of graffiti. A crowd of 'revolutionaries' occupied
the top level. Butler was driving part way round with his window open. A hulking man threw a brick, aimed at the
four-wheel drive. Driving with one hand, Butler caught
the brick with his other gloved hand. He stopped, hurled
the brick back with all his strength. It struck the thrower
on the jaw.

'Let's clear that lot,' Nield suggested. 'Drive once round
Eros.'

Nield was holding his latest weapon, a long wide-
barrelled metal tube. Butler sat well back. As he circled
once round Eros, Nield aimed the barrel through the open
window at the top level. He
pressed the trigger. A jet of
ice-cold water sprayed the crowd, soaking them. When Butler had completed his circle the men and women on Eros was drenched to the skin.

'Dampen their ardour,' Nield remarked as Butler headed
out of the Circus.

Seated in the back of Newman's car with Mark in the
passenger seat in front, Lisa, occupying the back, had
pulled on her jeans, her sweater, her coat. She was glad
Butler had turned his heater full on. Her mobile buzzed.

She listened, said they were on their way, warned
Newman, took out a little notebook with the mobile
numbers of Butler and Paula, gave them both the same
message.

'Herb called me. A riot's breaking out near The Hang
man's Noose. A big one. I told Herb we're coming . . .'

Leaving the West End, everything became quiet. Paula welcomed the peace, the lack of violent people. At one
point Tweed overtook both Newman and Butler, putting
himself at the head of the column while Paula, a map open
on her lap, navigated.

Realizing it was time for a news bulletin, Tweed switched
on the radio. The announcer was just beginning.

'Reports are coming in of serious riots in the centres
of Paris and Berlin. A commentator said they had the
appearance of being coordinated since they started at the
same time in both capitals . . .'

Tweed switched off, his expression grim.

'And here too,' he said.

'What does it mean?' Paula asked.

'That it's international. Which worries me. Which means
we
have
to locate the top man.'

'And I think Lisa knows who he is. Which would put
her on the other side.'

'It's a mystery, one I'm determined to solve.'

They said no more until they were approaching the East
End. Tweed slowed down, drove more cautiously. In his
rear view mirror he saw that Butler and Newman were
close behind them.

'We'll soon be at Reefers Wharf,' Paula remarked.

'I wonder why they call it that? I suppose it's on the edge
of the river.'

'No, it isn't. I was asking Lisa about it when I took her
to the bathroom. The end near The Hangman's Noose is
a quarter of a mile at least from the Thames. Apparently
it was once a real wharf. Barges and small freighters used
it to unload. Then some property speculator had the idea
that if he filled it in he'd have some valuable real estate.
So now most of the warehouses are offices occupied by
companies paying sky-high rents. We're very close now,
I think.'

They turned a corner and the street where in daytime
the market was held stretched about before them. In the distance Tweed could see, by the light of flames, The
Hangman's Noose. Someone had hung from the sign
board a real noose with the mask of a grotesque head
inside it.

'If it was chaos in the West End this is anarchy,' Paula
said grimly.

There seemed to be far more thugs than those they had
left behind. When it closed, the stallholders' tables used
in the market were folded up, stacked against the far wall. These had been
dragged into the road, piled up, set alight.
Tweed stopped in front of The Hangman's Noose. They
got out as Newman's and Butler's vehicles arrived.

Lisa jumped out, ran along to Tweed and Paula, pointed
to a stocky man emerging from the pub. All the windows
were boarded up and Herb was carrying a heavy club.

'It's been hell,' he said, addressing Tweed. 'They've
been attacking women as well as men.'

Lisa left them. A thug was battering a man with his club. He turned, grinned when he saw her. She stiffened the side
of her hand, hit him with a karate chop. He sagged and
she grabbed his club. A fire engine had arrived and men
in helmets were preparing to deal with the bonfires dotted
down the street, flaring up viciously. Tweed noticed groups
of thugs were gathered along the opposite pavement,
listening to a strange tall fat man in a pink shirt, waving
a malacca cane.

Harry Butler saw a fireman bent over a hydrant, attach
ing a big hosepipe. Then he had difficulty turning on the
water. A thug, holding a knife, came up behind him as
the fireman removed his helmet, which was getting in
his way.

'Look out!' shouted Butler, running forward.

The thug hit the fireman with a club in his other hand.
The fireman fell down. The thug turned to face Butler who smashed him in the face with his fist. The thug
dropped the knife, lost his club, dazed by the tremendous
blow. Butler grabbed his long hair, rammed his head back
against a brick wall with such force he thought he heard
the skull crack.

Glancing round, he saw the army of thugs, divided into
groups, advancing across the street. Further down the
street Mark, Newman and Nield were grappling savagely
with different opponents. Bending down, Butler checked
the hose. It was firmly screwed to the hydrant. With his gloved hands he picked up the hose and it needed all his
strength to twist the tap of the hydrant. Water gushed from
the tip of the hose. Raising it, he directed its powerful flow
at one advancing group, then another. The power of the jet was so great it knocked flat each thug he aimed at.

Thugs with knives were assaulting the firemen trying
to get down off their vehicles, preventing them from
intervening. Once he had flattened each group of thugs
he could see, Butler switched the jet to the fires burning in the street.