In this installment: Action! Excitement! Derring-do!

Green Jacket.

At half past five, the train rolled away from its third stop. Car C-3 was sparsely populated, especially considering the time of day. A mother with a colorful headscarf and an adorable ginger-haired little girl in her lap was cuddled in a corner. Four businessmen were having an animated discussion about West Ham's chances next week. An older woman nearby was minding her own business, knitting some unfortunate relative a hideous hat. Another businessman was sitting by himself, reading the newspaper. He had shucked his coat and hat due to the heat on the train. Some scruffy, scraggly fellow in a green jacket and baseball cap was dozing a few seats away. And an impeccably tailored, goofy-looking gentleman with buggy eyes was sitting next to the older woman, as engrossed in his crossword puzzle as she was in her needlework.

Joe Blake took all this in as he stepped on. He sat down heavily, took out The DaVinci Code, pulled his reading glasses from his shirt pocket and reveled in his anonymity. Everybody knew the outrageous aging rocker Billy Mack, but nobody would recognize his "fat manager" on a train. Joe's transmission had died earlier that day and his usual shop had been unable to help him, so it was public transport to the rescue.

The train rumbled slightly and they were on their way again. Unfortunately, they hadn't gone for thirty seconds when the radio announcer accidentally unleashed hell in the form of Billy's "smash hit" from last holiday, "Christmas is All Around."

The reaction was predictable. "Mummy, I hate that song!" the little redheaded girl shouted. "Can't they play something good?" The mother tried to quiet her. The older woman chuckled, muttering something about "being with the kid on that one." The crossword nut winced, but didn't look up. The huddle of businessmen moaned in chorus. And the lone businessman a few seats from them, a well-dressed fellow with square glasses and thinning brown hair, actually put his paper aside and stuffed his fingers in his ears.

Everyone was occupied with shielding themselves from the onslaught of that stupid tune, or complaining about it, or laughing like an idiot at the lot of them (Joe). Nobody noticed the man in the green jacket. He stood up and got to the rear of the train, so he was facing everybody and holding on to the standing pole.

Mercifully, the song ended a minute later, and everyone sighed in relief. "Let's hope we don't have to hear that for another year," the businessman with glasses rumbled in a pleasant bass.

The man in the green jacket steeled himself. This was going to work. There was just the right mix, just the right number, and just the right type of people on this car. He'd been riding around waiting for this combination for the past three hours. A bunch of nancies (the businessmen and the crossword bloke), a "tired" (the lonely businessman), a fat guy, a mum, a sprog, and somebody's nana. Perfect.

"Right!" he yelled, pulling a gun from his pocket and holding it in the air. "This is a hold-up!"

All eyes were suddenly on him, some faces getting white in alarm. The older woman screamed. The man pointed his gun at her. "You, you, you, and you two!" he shouted at her, the crossword man, the fat guy, and the mum/sprog combination. Get to the other side of the train! And you assholes!" he shouted at all five stunned businessmen. "Hands up! Anybody who reaches for his mobile gets his head blown off! MOVE! NOW!"

Harry was stunned. This was ridiculous. Hadn't this raver been napping next to him a few minutes ago? What the hell was going on? He looked across, slowly putting his hands up, and watched as the mother with her child dashed over and huddled in the corner. One of the other businessmen put his arm around her, although he clearly didn't know her. The kid was hiding her face in her mum's blouse, and Harry was hit by a sudden memory of Daisy doing the same thing when she was very small during a rather traumatizing funhouse experience in Brighton.

Some portly gentleman followed her warily, and he was followed by … Rufus? Yes, Jesus Christ, it was Rufus, from the flipping mall. How surreal. And now the man in the green jacket was hollering at the old woman, who was seated directly across from him. She was trying to stand, and not managing it fast enough.

"Please … my hip … I can't …"

"MOVE, DAMN IT!"

Something was boiling up inside him. A train full of people was about to get robbed at gunpoint and since they had all seen the thief's face, it was very likely that he wouldn't leave witnesses. Harry made a decision right then, one that spread an eerie calm all the way through him, loosening his limbs and pumping his blood around faster.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Nana, come on! I haven't got all day!"

The thief turned his back on Harry's side of the car and made as though to grab the woman's arm. It was only a moment, but that moment was enough.

Quick as a shot, with a speed that surprised everybody (including himself) Harry launched himself at the man in the green jacket. The thief noticed the movement too late. Harry tackled him, brutally slamming his face against the nearest window, inches away from the panicking elderly woman who was screaming in earnest and trying to shield herself. He ignored this and knocked the would-be robber's nose against the glass, which generated some colorful obscenities and a flailing leg.

Hanging on to his opponent and putting his full weight on him, Harry tilted his head at the car and roared, "Somebody call the police!"

The businessmen flipped open their mobiles almost in unison. The rest of the passengers could only watch as Harry grabbed the bloke's wrist and slammed it against the window, again and again, until the thief lost his grip on the gun and it landed in the elderly woman's lap. Joe ran over and nabbed it. With slightly shaking arms, he aimed it at the two struggling men.

Then the thief wiggled one leg, tripping Harry up and using that moment of unbalance to knock him aside. He bolted to the nearest exit. Everything was going to hell. "Tired" was not so tired after all, and now his gun was gone. The fat guy had it trained on him from down the car. The barrel was wobbling slightly.

Harry noticed this then looked back at the thief, who was staring disconsolately at the door. It would not be opening any time soon. The train had at least ten more painful minutes to its next stop, where there would undoubtedly be a police car waiting to take him away. He was trapped.

"Give it up, jackass. It's over," Harry snarled, with a lot more courage than he felt. He was breathing hard. "Just sit down and wait."

The thief was not going to sit down and wait. He closed his eyes, made a decision, and went with it.

"Raaagh!"

And just like that he threw himself at Harry, who barely had enough time to yelp in surprise before they went down in a heap in the middle of the car, wrestling around and shouting at each other. Joe, stunned at this turn of events, handed Rufus the gun and charged over to help.

Bad idea. Rufus was absolutely incompetent with a gun and scared out of his mind. He'd never held a weapon in his life and now here he was, trapped in this complete nightmare when he was just trying to get home to his cat Muffy, holding this lethal cold metal thing in his hand and watching helplessly.

"Give it up!" somebody shouted at somebody suddenly, goosing Rufus.

He pulled the trigger.

The gun was pointed at the roof and the bullet went clear through, not striking anything or anybody. It didn't matter. Everyone lost their heads, convinced they were going to die.

"Please calm down, it's all right! Nobody's going to get shot!" Rufus said, trying to comfort. Unfortunately he was waving the gun around like a wild man as he said this. Now people were ducking while they screamed. Hardly an improvement.

The middle of the car was faring little better. The elderly woman had armed herself with her handbag and was smacking anything that came near her during the furious wrestling match on the filthy floor. She'd already gotten a good shot off on the thief, but she'd also clocked Joe a few times, so he repositioned himself. The thief was struggling like a cornered dog and Harry, using only his will power and a few wrestling moves he learned in college twenty years ago, was having a very hard time pinning him down.

Joe got on all fours and tried to grab the thief's legs. He was quickly kicked in the face for his trouble and sat back on his ample rear end, clutching his bleeding nose and cursing creatively. Harry and the thief came too close to the old woman again, and she lashed out with her handbag, aiming for the thief of course. She caught poor Harry right in the face. His glasses were knocked clear off his nose and they went flying across the car. Momentarily blinded and dizzy from the blow, his grip weakened.

Rufus dropped the gun on the nearest seat, pocketed Harry's glasses, and ran over to do … something. He wasn't sure what. It was impossible to make sense of the bellowing tangle of bodies on the floor. He finally just plunged in and got an arm around one of the thief's legs. Joe grabbed the other. The thief went bananas at being restrained so, yelling like a lunatic and twisting just enough to bring everybody down in a cursing, squawking heap.

It was a hell of a ruckus, but after a minute or so, it seemed the thief was finally giving up. Harry panted as he lay there on his side, one leg over the thief, holding him in some absurd parody of an embrace. His hair was all over the place and he blew some of it out of his eyes. Wondering where his glasses went, he looked away for a half-second to squint myopically across the floor.

And then it happened.

The thief moved his hand under his green jacket. There was a flash of silver and Harry cried out. Joe had no idea why the businessman had done this, but the distraction was brilliant. He snaked his arm in for the kill. Nose bleeding freely, he grabbed the thief by the hair and slammed his head into the floor, knocking him senseless. He stopped moving. It seemed the excitement was finally over.

Rufus wiggled out from under Joe and part of Harry, and dusted himself off. Joe found his pocket handkerchief and pressed it to his nose calmly like he was used to this sort of thing. And Harry somehow managed to stand, even though he was a bit dizzy and a bright pain was blossoming in his left leg. He backed off a step and knocked into the standing pole.

For a moment all was still. Harry looked around at the people in the car, who were looking back at him in varying degrees of shock, and the gathered crowd shared a brief moment of peace. Those who had been panting for breath and clutching their shirts were sighing and relaxing. The mother was comforting her small girl. The older woman looked rather grateful.

And then Rufus noticed Harry. His protuberant eyes wide, he gaped for a few seconds before his mouth managed to catch up with his brain. "My God! Call an ambulance!" he shouted.

In remarkably quick time, he was standing next to Harry, throwing one arm around him and making as though to steady him.

"Call an ambulance!" Rufus repeated at the car. "Now!"

"One's coming," said a businessman, waving his mobile. "The police are meeting us at the next stop, and the paramedics will be there too. It's standard. What's all this fuss? I thought you blokes had this under control!"

Harry too was wondering what the fuss was about. He was completely baffled why Rufus had said this, and also why he was suddenly being supported on both sides, for the other man (the one with the bloody nose) had just come over to assist.

Then he looked down at his trousers. A rather impressive stain was blooming on the fabric over his left thigh and there, sitting calmly in the middle of it, was the polished wooden handle of a knife. Even with all this new information it took Harry a couple of seconds to figure out what had happened.

He'd been stabbed. He was too stunned to even curse.

Rufus and Joe helped Harry hop over to the nearest seat, which coincidentally was his own. One member of the quartet of businessmen picked up his clothes and briefcase and held them, so he had a little room to put his leg up on the seat.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"Sir, let me help you," Rufus said, taking off his scarf. "I'll bind that until help arrives."

Harry was skeptical about submitting himself to Rufus's dubious notion of proper first aid, but there was no choice. He watched as Rufus took off his scarf and wrapped it around the wound, which was nice but probably not very helpful, and handed Harry his glasses. Harry put them on. Then Rufus started fiddling with the scarf compulsively, trying to get the winding just right.

Harry weakly slapped his hand away. "You and your bloody gift wrap obsession. Cut it out."

Things were going a little fuzzy even with his glasses on, but he noted this fleetingly. The adrenaline from the fight was starting to wear off. His leg was throbbing. The car bumped along. Rufus and the bloody nose man were talking to each other, but their voices were blending into the general conversation and speculation in the train, and Harry couldn't be arsed about any of it.

Now Rufus was turning to him and saying something. Harry blinked at him.

"Sir?" Rufus was looking worried, now. "Sir, can you repeat the last thing I said?"

Harry stared mutely at Rufus. He didn't feel "fuzzy" anymore. He felt dizzy and cold and slightly sick. The world was going grey at the edges. Rufus took his wrist and felt for a pulse.

"He's going into shock. Hand me his coat," he ordered the nearby businessman.

The old woman had finally reached a standing position. She calmly stepped over the unconscious thief to help out. Joe lumbered over and grabbed the gun; he sat down and trained it on the man on the floor.

"He's in shock? We're all in shock, I think," the old woman said. She sounded rattled.

Harry was quickly bundled up, no thanks to his own wobbly hands. The old woman was marginally helpful, but Rufus did most of the work. Even after he was done, he kept fussing with Harry's clothes ridiculously, brushing lint from the waist of his overcoat, but Harry had no energy to tell him to bugger off. Someone with OCD that manifested itself in wrapping paper had just used him for a first aid dummy, and somebody's well-meaning grandmother had put his hat on backwards. The tag was tickling his forehead. Harry turned it around just to give himself something to do and his shaking arm unintentionally cocked the brim at a jaunty angle.

Rufus looked at the businessman. He was pale and clammy. His eyes had gone glassy and faraway. Also his hat was on crooked, but he seemed to like it like that so Rufus didn't touch it.

"Shouldn't we take the dife out?" Joe asked from across the car.

"That's probably a bad idea," Rufus replied, with unusual insight. "We might do him even more damage than the thief did." He turned to Harry. "Sir, an ambulance is meeting us at the next stop. We'll get you to hospital straight away. Don't even look at the knife. Happy thoughts, now."

Harry stared at him.

The next few minutes passed in tense silence, and the pain in Harry's leg ratcheted up another notch. By the time the train came to a stop, he was concentrating fiercely on the standing pole and focusing all his energy on remaining conscious and upright. The world had gone completely wonky, like he was looking at it from the inside of a fishbowl. Finally, with agonizing slowness, a hiss of steam and a bump announced they were stationary. There were flashing lights outside the door. Two policemen stepped in and immediately made for the thief, one accepting the gun from Joe, and the other clapping the cuffs on and hauling the robber to his feet, just as he came around with the groan. He was led away. Several people cheered.

A plain-looking woman with mousy hair and sharp eyes hopped onto the train. She wore a black uniform and carried a very large first aid bag. "Anybody injured?"

"Yes, over here!" Rufus said. The paramedic headed straight over, Joe right behind her, just as the remaining officer started to ask the train at large what happened.

"Oh my," said the paramedic when she saw Harry's leg. "Sir, we can't waste time getting a gurney in here. Can you make it to the ambulance?"

Harry managed a nod. His face was paper white. Rufus and Joe hefted him up and helped him stumble off the train. Just as they got out through the door and into the bitterly cold night, they heard the mother making a statement for one of the police officers.

"And then what happened?" he asked.

"Those three men saved our lives."

Harry was nearly out of steam. He hung in just long enough to hop through the snow and into the waiting ambulance, parked next to two police cars. The paramedic and her partner took over from Rufus and Joe, hoisting Harry in so he could sit on the gurney. The partner helped him lie flat and threw a blanket over him.

"Cheers, you two," the first medic said. "Right, mister, let me look at your nose."

"I'b okay," Joe said. "S'not broked."

She raised an eyebrow, but didn't argue. Instead she tossed him a little blue pouch. "Take a cold pack at least. Tip your head up and bang that on for a minute at a time."

Joe nodded. Rufus looked on a little mournfully as the ambulance prepared to go. The police officers were heading their way, probably needing a statement.

"We'll take good care of him," the first paramedic assured Rufus. "Thanks for your help … and your bravery, too. Step back, please." And the ambulance doors swung to.

"Oh dear," Rufus said, as the car sped away, lights whirling and siren blaring.

"Whud?" Joe answered.

"Just realized I'll never see that scarf again. Ah well, no matter. It served its purpose." He bundled his coat tighter around himself and adjusted his gloves.

The police officers offered to give them a ride to the station so they could make their statements, and then take them home. Rufus and Joe readily accepted and got in the back of one police car. The thief was in the other. They settled in, shut the door, and fastened their seatbelts. Just beyond them, the train doors closed and it went on its way.

"You doh, that bloke what got it in the leg – he sodded for a bubbet there like he dew you," Joe commented, tipping his head back as the paramedic had recommended and pressing the cold pack to his swollen nose.

"Diamond earrings," Rufus confirmed, brushing some lint off his lapel. "I sold him a pair today. Apparently his patience with gift-wrap has its limits," he remarked with some amusement. "I am not offended, however. I'm quite positive that all that bluster was the shock talking."

Joe cracked a weak smile in return. "Ub courz," he said. The police car rumbled to life and they were off.