The Girl in the Red Leather Coat

It’s late, real late, and as we pull out of the station I realise I’m the only soul left on the train. The first winter squalls had hit and smell of bacon had been lingering over the city for days. Tonight, all the good people stayed home on account of the weather, and all the bad people . . . ? Well, they probably knew what I knew and those that didn’t would have felt it in the air. If they were smart they’d be staying low. So it was just me alone on the train, watching the orange lights of the city fade in the rain-lashed window as we sped towards the indifferent suburbia beyond.

But I wasn’t alone for long.

I spot her on the platform and I can tell she’s trouble. We’re in the middle of nowhere, in the rain and the freezing wind, among factories and warehouses that haven’t seen an honest worker in years: of all the trains in the city she just has to catch mine.

She gets on, bringing the cold air with her, and she’s all angles and curves with her chocolate brown bob and red leather jacket and her umbrella and even with the bruise marks on her cheek I can see she’s quite a looker. The logical part of me tells me to stay away, she’s bad news – but when did I ever listen to logic when it comes to a pretty face?

I make my way down the carriage, rocking with the train’s sway, and she ignores me as I take the seat opposite hers. “A penny for your thoughts, sweetcheeks?” She doesn’t respond and keeps her gaze fixed on the graffiti-ridden derelicts flying past. A tear rolls down her cheek. “Ok, be like that, sugarpie, but I can see you’re upset and I’m gonna stay here and make sure you’re safe, ‘cause a girl like you shouldn’t be out on a night like tonight. You can trust me, I’m a cop,” I tell her, not was a cop . . .

She spins around like I just slapped her, and pins me against the wall with her wild green eyes. “Cop, huh?” She rolls up her sleeve to show me fresh burn marks on her milky-white arm.  “So what you gonna do ‘bout that, big boy? You my knight in shining armour, huh? ‘cause he’s gonna kill me for talking to you, understand that? I’m dead now, you hear?” She’s not shouting but the anger comes through loud and clear.

“Hey, I ain’t gonna let anybody hurt you,” I reach out and stroke her wet cheek. “Trust me, baby, I can get you out of this . . .”

But instead of gratitude, I get chaos as the doors fly open at the next stop and the girl starts screaming.

“Who you talking to, bitch?” Suddenly there’s knives and meatheads all around us and some greasy punk with a shaved head a nervous tic yanks the girl by her hair. I jump up, instinct telling me to start throwing punches but I gotta stall – two more stops and I’m certain I’ll have this kid’s ass on a plate.

I look down at my knuckles and pretend like I’m bored. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I say.

“What’d you say?” he screams.

“Are you deaf? I said, leave her alone.”

“And what do you know, huh? What’re you gonna do?”

Another station passes and he pulls her hair tighter. And I’m not a gambling man, but I’m betting that the driver’s seen what’s going on through the security cameras and I’m betting that he’s already radioed through . . .

“You know,” I continue, still acting all disinterested, “an old friend of mine will be along soon and he’s got some powerful friends with him . . .”

“You better listen to him,” the girl screams, “he’s a cop!”

And the carriage comes alive. Two of the guys behind me grab me and the greasy punk’s put his foot into his girl’s head then puts his blade to my throat. He leans in, real close, and I can see the pinpoints in his wired-blue eyes. “You know what I hate? Pigs. Know what I hate even more? Pigs moving in on my girl . . .”

The train stops. Out of the corner of my eye I see we’ve reached the station, but don’t hear the beep of the door releasing and I wait for the train to keep moving but it feels like we’re frozen in time and my heart’s racing.

And then it’s chaos again. Voices are shouting: “Freeze!” and the guys around me scatter. Cops are waiting at every door, and it’s all handcuffs and sly kicks to the kidneys from there. But the punk’s not giving up. He‘s still got the knife at my throat and his face is so twisted in anger I think for a moment he really is gonna kill me.

Suddenly, the anger fades and the knife topples from his hand as he sinks away in front of me. I’m facing the girl, and she clutches her umbrella, now with the tip covered in blood. We stare at each other over the noise and the mayhem and the bleeding body between us before two cops grab her from behind and drag her down the aisle to the doors, her green eyes pleading to me as they take her away.

“You alright?” one of the cops asks me. I adjust my coat and walk down the carriage to the doors and the rain waiting for me beyond.

“Yeah,” I say, “I’m alright.”