"There's something up at the bank, Mother", I said, "We'd better turn around." She looked up from her reverie and saw what I saw. I think she was dreading the thought of walking all the way around the block the other way to get home. Lazy Bones, I thought. Maybe because it was easier for me than for her. "Will we wait, officer?" she asked the ""man-mountain"" in a uniform. "We have to get home, it's nearly medication time" she insisted, as if this would spur the officer to give us an escort. She looked at me conspiratorially. "Sorry Ma'am, nobody is allowed past here, it's a restricted area." he replied, eyeing us both, but seemed worried about something. "But we live just there" I said, indicating the fading brownstone tenement facing the bank. "Even if we go round the other way, we won't get in." He didn't seem to want to spend time discussing it. "OK, OK, but we gotta be quick, lady!" he spat out at my mother, as if I hadn't spoken at all. Not "ma'am" now, I noted. He asked a colleague to guard the way and led us up the footpath, past the bemused on looking detectives. "O'Rileee, what the f*.?" started one of the detectives, but he never finished the sentence. From behind him came the sound of an over revved engine and multiple gunshots. Gunshots I know. I could tell the report from a 32-calibre Colt from a Beretta or a Schank without error and I was an excellent shot as well. It's amazing what they teach you in rehab; they have clubs for everything. I was the champion at grade three, three years running, including this year. These gunshots were coming hard and fast and were being sprayed liberally across the cars in front of us, in what I now know is a called a 'covering' fire. Officer Man-mountain hurried us both over behind a van, whispering "stay here" to both of us, maybe in case the shooters heard him, I thought quizzically". He drew his weapon, a 38-Special (nothing special about them, I thought) and poked his head around the van.
