Chapter 5
This was another busy night area. Around the commissariat people were strolling towards their favorite cafes. In the kerbside several barrows, from which vendors were selling bananas, dates and oranges, were perched. The commissariat was surrounded with a number of small, winding streets in which the dustbins had already been placed along the kerb for cats to start their scavanging. In the windows of the crumbling apartments which rose like cliffs on either side of the narrow streets lights were shining through washing which hung on miniature balconies. Concierges were chatting in dilapidated courtyards or sitting smoking at their windows. There was an air of quiet, every night animation.
Outside the commissariat was a familiar blue panier d ralade, a capacious police van. A man in uniform was sitting at the wheel waiting, yawning occasionally. In the back were two more uniformed men with Sten guns, indifferently staring out through the dark windows.
In a doorway just across the street from the commissariat, Mohammed Arab was standing back in the deep shadow, his eyes fixed on the door of the commissariat. Occasionally he glanced at different points nearby, particularly noting a large, empty barrow which a vendor was slowly trundling towards the commissariat some distance away.
Above the unobtrusive, stone building, a tricolor hung limply while people passed laughing and talking and seeing neither the police van, nor the dark figure in the doorway.
As the minutes ticked by, Mohammed Arab eased the revolver out of his pocket. His hand was as steady as a knife, his face was a vicious mask.
Along the street, the barrow was trundling nearer. It had been impossible to time exactly as there was no regular schedule to go by.
There was a sudden stir in the doorway of the commissariat and a broad, squat man with gray hair and a hard face came walking quickly out with a younger man in uniform beside him.
Mohammed Arab stepped quickly from the doorway with the revolver hanging by his side, holding it close in against his leg. He stepped into the road and began to cross as the man at the wheel of the van opened the door. The vendor with the barrow came level, hurrying his last steps. As Mohammed Arab raised his arm and fired in a quick, smooth movement, the vendor gave his barrow a push which sent it crashing in front of the van and then took to his heels.
Mohammed Arab ran quickly too, fading into the darkness, pushing through astonished, bewildered passers-by as police came running from the building and the two guards with Sten guns leapt down from the disabled van to be met with a volley of shots from several points.
Round the nearby corner, Mohammed Arab sat low in the back of a car which sped off from the kerbside.
"Did you get him?" a voice asked.
He gave a single nod and his mouth twisted in a smile of triumph.