It is a low complaint, a guttural groan that draws her into the alley, barely audible under the din of the rain beating on her umbrella that night.

Among the rubbish and garbage heaped on the sodden ground, a vaguely human form stands out in the faint light coming from the sidewalk where she stands. She knows that she should approach cautiously, but when a new wail is heard, the sound is clearly this time from the extended person. So she rushes, throwing her umbrella still open behind her, letting her handbag slip from her shoulder to the floor, the quick snapping of her heels bouncing off the narrow brick walls.

It's a man, lying on his side. His light-colored shirt sticks on his wet, shaky back.

"Sir, I'm a nurse, I will help you." She declares loudly to be heard over the storm, crouching near him.

Seeing a darker stain coming off his side, she grabs his shoulder to turn him over. From what she sees, the stain is only the place from where came out the bullet that hit him in the belly. It had come out and the blood was not too abundant, she first thinks she will to be able to save him. But once put on his back, seeing two other shining impacts on his chest, the glimmer of hope vanished.

"My God ... what happened ?!" she tries in vain to question the man with bulging eyes, who opens and closes his mouth compulsively, trying to bring the air into his pierced lungs.

Her tone is alert but controlled. Far from her to think that it is fucked, it never is until you have not tried everything. Concentrated, she does not feel the rain falling on her neck and that flows inside her uniform and under her coat, she does not mind about her knees resting on the wet and dirty floor. Nor does she notice the noise made by the engine of a car traveling in the street from which she arrived; it passes, seeming to move away, before finally getting closer.

She puts her hands on the wounds and presses, containing the blood that escapes in a spongy sound, tearing a hiccup of pain to the extended man who seems to catch his breath for a moment, despite his face flooded with rain.

"Hold on tight!" she encourages, pressing her full weight on his chest, her hair streaming down her eyes. All at once, powerful hands seize her arms, raising her suddenly.

"Let me go, damn it, he's hurt!" she screams, struggling.

She shakes her arms like a madwoman, the men who hold her are not too many to hold her, but her feet scarcely touch the ground. They move her unceremoniously away from the wounded man, their faces hidden under black hats.

"Stop! Release me!" she screams, while the tall, dark, silent figures still drag her along the alley. They stop to get her things back on the ground. She tries to slip her arms between the hands that pull her down, but they get up too quickly and reinsure their catch on her coat without a word, as she shakes and screams again.

"What the hell is this ?! Stop!" Suddenly her voice no longer resonates; they drove down the main street when their hands tightened painfully around her arms and under her armpits to lift her up and force her into a car.

She is so light that she's almost projected on the back seat. Half lying, her wet clothes splashing the leather of the seat, she is recovering furiously, but the men slam the door before she could reach them. In the dark cabin, her hands hastily inspect the fabric that covers the door, looking for the handle, fuming. "And shit, let me out!" she screams, trying to cover the sound of the engine running.

"Will you fucking calm down, lass!" suddenly growls a rocky voice near her.

Surprised, she turns hurriedly, her hair throwing water on the man sitting on the bench in front of hers.

"Damn it!" he cries, raising his arms in front of his face, almost raising the large black hat that covers his head. "Stop that already, woman! Look what you're doing to the fucking car!"

Ignoring the remonstrance of the man with the thundering voice, she barks "Let me out!"

Wearing his hands laden with rings on his face, the man wipes himself, muttering unintelligible words.

"Right now, open that fucking door!" she roars, finally drawing his attention.

"Mm ... what is it you intend to do, lady? Mm?" he asks with calmness that only fuels her anger a little more.

"Are you kidding me? This man is going to die if we do nothing!" She shouts out of her.

"Yeah ... he might, and that's what he should do, see, Mm?" he says, raising his hat with a finger as he leans toward her, revealing a falsely resigned pout under his thick beard.

"What?" staring at him incredulously at first, her face suddenly becomes serious, the words of the man making sense in her mind.

Taking a deep breath, the man recoiled on his seat, plunging his face again into the darkness of the cabin.

"Right. Now, lass. What is it you'll do when getting out ?" he asks in a deep voice.

"Save that man." She answers bluntly, no hesitation in her tone.

"Of course ... Yeah ... Ain't it my luck !" he exclaims suddenly, raising his voice. "Fucking empty streets all the fucking time but tonight, just tonight, right... it had to throw a tiny fucking Samaritan into my business, innit ? Fuckin' hell..." he sighs while tapping his knees flat with his hands before continuing:

"David, would you please enlighten me with your latest knowledge, lad ? That would save us some time, innit ?"

"Gavina Sanna. Nurse at the St. Pancras hospital." dictate a voice from the front of the vehicle.

The man in the hat gives a brief mumbling whose intonation suggests his interest in this information.

"What ?! You search my stuff!" she protests loudly.

"Gavina... Tell me, how would you have saved this man ? Huh ? With you bare little hands, yeah ? " He interrupts, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"You don't know shit about me ! How dare you mock me?" She hisses nervously, clenching her fists against the soaked leather of the squeaky seat. "Fuck you! Who the hell you think you are?!" She starts to scream furiously, pushing the locks on her face with bloody hands, leaving reddish marks on her forehead and cheeks.

The man jumps imperceptibly before moving his face towards her, eyes wide open and lips pursed under his mustache, and replying immediately: "Fuck me?! Fuck me! If you do not know who I am, lass, you better stay out of these damn streets!" he spits in his turn, thundering.

She is the one who starts this time, more impressed by the vibrations of his voice being felt throughout the cabin up to her legs, than by the threat implied.

"Holy shit, fucking unbelievable! Ishmael, bring us to the bakery, lad, seems I've got some work to do." he orders in the same resounding tone, his furious gaze on her. The engine quietly rumbles as the car starts.

"And the man..." she continues with a cheeky air.

"Is dead by now, lass. Nothing you can do about it, right ?" he said with an exasperated air. He searches his pocket briefly and pulls out a white cotton handkerchief that he disdainfully throws on her lap.

"You can let me out then." she replies, ignoring the piece of cloth.

"Mm... Can I ?"

Leaving her question in abeyance, the man remains silent and observes her from his shadowy corner.

Feeling his eyes on her, the nurse searches the darkness for a moment looking for an answer on his face but cannot see anything, except the edge of his hat that the faint lights of the street illuminate at the passage of the vehicle.

Shaking her head in exasperation, she briefly breathes through her nose. Grabbing the handkerchief she wipes her face and eyes widen at the sight of blood on the cloth and on her hands. She had almost forgotten what she was doing before ending up there, her hands trying to hold inside this man the little life that still remained there.

A quick shiver runs through her, reminding her that her wet clothes are cooling her body now that she is no longer in the heat of the moment.

Crossing her arms to hold back the heat, she looks at the man again.

"Where are you taking me? You don't want to leave two bodies in the same place ?" She quips, shrugging her shoulders insolently.

The man leans towards her again. The fleeting light illuminates the lower part of his face for a moment, he smiles before laughing.

"You're some kind of loudmouth pain in the ass, ain't you, little lady? Hell if I never thought of spreading the corpses of my enemies all around the place! Yeah… Again! Right? But war is over, lass, war is over…" he finishes with a kind of melancholy in his voice, clasping his hands in front of him.

"Mm… So now you're a reasonable man. Only one corpse at a time…" she retorted, more for herself than for the man who almost faces her. He only notes the remark with a mournful grunt.

She looks thoughtfully down the streets saturated with water that glow dimly under scattered streetlights. He is right, no one, let alone a woman, walks alone outside at this hour of the night, the time of the wolves, and in such weather. But she had finished her guard at the hospital later than usual, retained by Dr. Eddison who never tired of abusing her time and patience. Except when it came to being helpful and compassionate and escorting a lady to make sure she returned home safely. But Gavina certainly did not expect so much from him, not after he made her loose her position as head nurse because she roughly refused his advances.

The car starts to slow down. She notices that they have not even left Camden Town as it parks in front of a large stone building.

The rain has calmed down, only a few fine drops still fall. She gets out of the car, silently watched by one of the men who was in the front and opens the door. His gaze is invisible under the edge of his dark hat, only a beard protrudes under the shadow that covers his face. Gavina stares at him in disgrace, her face raised to his; he is two heads taller than she is. She stands motionless until he pivots to free the way before her, abdicating.

"Ishmael, get the car cleaned, will ya ?" Says the chief passing them by. "It looks like someone took a fuckin' bath in there..." he grumbles as he walks away to the broad door of the building with his other man.

Gavina notices only the cane punctuating with a click on the shining pavement every step of the man, slightly limp. The shoulders hunched under his long black coat make him look tired and clumsy.

He finally turns to her. "Please, lass, be my guest ..." he says, curling slightly. Throwing a last bad look at the so-called Ishmael in front of her, she joins the entrance without a word, unnecessarily clutching her wet coat around her to warm up.

Analyzing the situation, these men do not seem particularly hostile towards her, but she is on her guard, no idea of what is behind these doors. Preceded by David, she enters inside. A powerful smell of rum assails her nostrils.

"What is this place?" She asks, a hand on her nose to soften the smell.

"My bakery this is we bake all sorts of bread, yeah." he answers.

She turns to him, gauging his sincerity, but what she sees of his face is impassive, he does not joke. They cross rows of barrels and large vats of wood in the semi-darkness of the place, a large, dusty warehouse.

"Mm ... Of course." she answers, ostensibly ironic. The urge to add something titillates but suddenly a memory emerges in her head and holds it back, she has already heard of this place. If that's true, she realizes she might be in trouble.

It is hard to believe, however, that the worn and crippled man who follows her can be as dangerous as they say. David leads her into an office. The smell is less strong and the room more welcoming than the rest of the place. She turns to see the owner of the place entering and David leaves them, closing the door without a word.

"Sit." he commands in a rough tone, pointing his cane at the chair facing the large wooden desk. Bypassing the furniture, he drops his cane on the desk before falling heavily into the chair that is visibly reserved to him, letting out a grimacing sigh.

At her fixed posture, he raises puzzled eyes to her, eyebrows raised under his hat that he gently grabs and poses on the desk, finally revealing his face. Fatigue can be read on his drawn features. The yellow light diffused by the lamps around them digs pockets under his eyes, but soften also the severe expression he addresses to her.

"Why aren't you seated already, mm ?" he asks curtly, clasping his hands, his elbows resting on the papers that dot his desk.

Gavina stares at him suspiciously, arms crossed over her belly. The few strands of hair on her forehead and along her temples are no longer dripping, but her pale complexion and her slightly trembling lips testify to the coldness that assails her.

The man blows, falling back into his seat. "David!" He calls, his face leaning toward the door. "Find some clothes for our guest, will ya?" He asks as his man appears.

"In the meantime ..." he says, leaning his head towards Gavina, a hand extended towards the empty chair next to her. She notes his tone softens and his look is more reassuring. She eventually obeys, her eyes still on him.

Seconds pass without a word being spoken. They observe each other, silently, a mixture of curiosity and distrust in their eyes. The man shaves his beard with his fingertips and then opens his mouth.

"You are Alfred Solomons." she suddenly asserts, cutting short what he was about to say.

"I am." He nods softly in his rocky voice.

"I've heard you're a dangerous man, but I do not listen to rumors in the corridors." she continues without blinking.

"Mm ... Wise, yeah." he agrees, still running his fingers from his mustache to the bottom of his beard.

"But maybe I was wrong, so ... what do you want from me?" His voice then trembles a little, revealing the nervousness that points beneath her apparent coolness.

Solomons freezes the movements of his hand for a moment. A beginning of smile imperceptibly stretches his lips as he leans over his desk. "Do you always speak your mind like that?"

"Only when I'm uneasy," she replies, with a reproachful tone, crossing her legs.

He bends his head, mimicking a sorry pout, "Oh, is it me?"

Her temples warm up to the obvious mockery of her interlocutor. Her face hardens suddenly and her voice is louder as she bursts out in a bitter tone: "No, it's rather this damn situation where I was brought to this shitty place against my will and that a sort of tired old Jewish godfather is playing with me rather than coming to the point, that's it, you see? "

Solomons looks at her, his mouth open with stupefaction.

"Sweet mother of fuck ... Is that your plan to get out of here alive? Yeah ?!" he thunders.

"Like that is your intention anyway!" she quips.

"You could at least fucking try, woman! What you think, mm? You could step your little Italian ass just like that into my business, on my territory, and get away with it so easily?" he spits, his face oscillates furiously with an accusing look.

"I wasn't minding your bloody business, I was just going home! You sow injured men on my way, what am I supposed to do?! I'm a goddamn nurse; I help people, that's what I do! For someone who fought in war you sure haven't gained any fucking respect for life!" declaims Gavina leaning toward the desk, her hands firmly on the edge of the cabinet. In her heat, she forgets the coldness of her clothes.

"Respect for life ! What makes you think that motherfucker deserved any of my respect? ! He explodes, the complexion red, hitting his fists tight on the desk.

With a bound, she gets up from her chair and yells back in a vain attempt to surpass the roar of her voice "Everyone deserves it ! At least a chance to fight back…"

With an outraged air, Alfred Solomons rises in his turn, inflating the chest. "Damn right you are and I gave him one! Far more respectful than this little shit ever been to me, I'm tellin' you!" he interrupts, pointing to her.

Imitating his attitude, she raises a finger in turn and opens her mouth to reply, but stops dead when someone knocks on the door.

"Yeah!" He exclaims immediately, cutting short any attempt to interrupt.

"I've got the clothes, Alfie" informs David, timidly opening the door.

"Perfect fucking timing, lad!" he exclaims with undisguised relief. "Take the lady to the private parts of this honorable shitty house and tell Ishmael to drive her home, will ya?" he adds eagerly.

Gavina looks at him with puzzlement, shrugging her shoulders. "What? That's all?! You're letting me go?" she almost protests, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

He sighs, letting himself fall heavily back into his seat, hands raised in surrender.

"Yeah, we're done here now, lass, before I can't get you to shut the fuck up again! Now, let me savor this sweet victory and get the hell out of here."