Maloney's Law
“I slam it back against the stone arch of the gateway.Scar-cheek lets loose a stream of high-pitched Arabic, and the knife falls to the ground. I punch him in the stomach and yell, ‘Help! Help me!’At the same time, both of us leap for the knife, but I get there first. The next second he kicks me on the side of the head, and I sprawl on my back in the dust, the knife skittering away from my reach. His dark eyes are fixed on mine, and I know if he has the chance he’ll kill me now. But there’s shou...ting, a sense of other people closing in, and then he’s gone, through the gate and melting into the crowd. When I glance at the knife, that’s gone, too.‘Are you okay?’ ‘What was that about?’ ‘Hey, you’re bleeding,’ are the American-twanged phrases I manage to pick out of the medley of foreign sounds and sympathy around my ears. Someone mentions the Tourist Police, but I wave the suggestion away. I try to get up, but stagger and almost fall again. A short, fat man in an orange robe catches me and all but carries me into the postcard shop.MoreLess
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