The boy screamed. She continued the turn, dragging his arm up behind him, then kicked the back of his knee. He went down with a gurgling sound and writhed on the ground, holding himself.
She whirled
Malcolm had gone absolutely white. “You little idiot
Before either of the other boys could strike, an enormous bull of a man stepped out from the alleyway and shoved them aside.
”You ‘urt me boy,” he said, staring at Margo. The bludgeon he held was as thick as Margo’s thigh. His shoulders were twice the size of Malcolm’s. He wore a thick woolen coat that covered him almost to the knees. Rough work pants and low, broken shoes completed the picture of the quintessential murderous lout. He grinned at Margo. “First I cracks your skull.” He licked dirty lips. “Then me nephews cuts up wot’s left.”
Margo was suddenly conscious of other grimy faces in the shadows, watching with inhuman detachment. Malcolm swore and backed away from the trio, turning so they couldn’t see him draw his revolver from concealment. The moose in the center hefted his cudgel
He charged. So fast Margo didn’t even have time to scream.
Malcolm fired three shots and dove to one side. One of the shots hit the man’s right ankle. The would-be killer screamed, lurched, and sprawled into the filth. The teenagers ran clattering down an alley. Malcolm whipped around like a cat and grabbed Margo’s wrist, dragging her in the opposite direction. They dashed the length of a filthy, stinking alleyway and emerged into St. Giles-in-the-Field. Malcolm dodged into a rank, overgrown churchyard and dragged her behind a crumbling gravestone, then pressed a hard hand over her mouth. They waited, hearts thudding, but Margo heard no immediate sound of pursuit.