8
THERE IT IS… Ianto saw the BMW flash ahead.
The bus lane ran parallel and was at that moment deserted, reserved as it was for buses and taxis. But instead of terminating at the lights, it had the benefit of veering away from the main road and bypassing the lights altogether. There would be no need to stop at all.
Ianto put his foot down and moved into it.
The huge intersection was coming up fast.
Toward the end of the bus lane, passengers waiting for the next bus watched him pass with quizzical expressions on their faces.
It looked relatively clear, but Ianto was nervous. He kept his hand on the horn as he approached the roundabout. Driver's heads swivelled toward him. Some stopped, but some didn't. Luckily, the bus lane continued, but unluckily a taxi driver in a Mercedes talking to someone on his phone didn't see him, didn't hear him, and tried to join his lane just as he was coming off the roundabout. Ianto leaned on the horn but he was oblivious. Ianto was going to hit him. There was nothing he could do.
Side by side, the cars collided.
The Audi rocked, and the steering wheel threatened to jump out of his hands. He held on to it. The Mercedes veered off wildly, racking up against the steel railings of the divider and producing an impressive explosion of sparks.
The driver slammed on his brakes and Ianto veered around him. He sounded his horn. Ianto quickly checked in the rear view mirror, and saw another car rear end him. The Mercedes spun around a full three hundred and sixty degrees, its boot popping open like a surprised mouth.
The black BMW had turned off onto a smaller side street. But for some reason Ianto could not understand they were pulling to a stop in the middle of the road. As he came down the hill toward them the passenger door of the BMW opened, and the tall guy got out. He held Damo by the scruff of the neck. He lifted him up high. Then he pulled out a knife and held it up to his head.
"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…"
They were going to do what they said. They were going to cut his throat. In the street. In broad daylight. The implication was clear. Ianto had disobeyed, and so Damo would be punished.
Automatically, Ianto slammed on the brakes.
Blue smoke surrounded the car as a thin layer of rubber was burnt on the tarmac. A thin, raw screeee! Sound pierced his head like a knife.
The car came to a stop.
The Mercedes was at the front of a procession of smashed and broken cars, all tangled together. Drivers had gotten out and were standing about in the road, shouting and gesticulating. The Mercedes driver seemed to be the focus of everyone's distress, and he was frantically gesturing at him.
Ianto took a deep breath and slammed his foot on the gas.
They want a bluff?
They might be the ones to flinch.
.
.
.
The sound of the impact was loud in his ears as Ianto roared with an animalistic rage. He pushed on, the BMW swinging it's rear end around as the power of the Audi continued to shove. The man holding Damo was caught in the impact, flinging Damo away as he became a ragdoll, flying across the road himself.
Ianto sat panting, focusing on the child picking himself up off the road while crying. Unharmed as he had calculated. Good. Seems the brainbox really does contain the goods needed when you stop panicking and let instinct take control.
Ianto got out of the car, knowing his son was about to see a side of him no child ever needed to see in a parent.
Ianto was about to fucking massacre the man still on his hands and knees.
Even as the other one ran.