The 'Cousins'

Part One Bravo : Greg Meets Jess

Greg Mitchell snarled in frustration as he swung the wheel of the 5-Series and drove into yet another side street.

"Where is this blasted Main Street?"

He beat the steering wheel with his hands and licked the dryness from his lips; they spread into a thin smile as he looked up and saw a traffic light ahead.

"There you are!" he breathed.

He pressed his foot hard on the accelerator and the powerful BMW lurched forwards. He glanced at the typed paper on the passenger seat for the tenth time.

"Turn north from Charmain Street into Main Street and Melody Inn Motel is four blocks down on the west side."

His irritation returned and he tapped the wheel with his fingers as his eyes scanned the buildings for a street name.

"North, West, don't they know left or right in this country?"

He let out another gasp of exasperation as the light changed to red, just as he reached it. Greg braked slightly and glanced swiftly left. He saw no oncoming traffic, stepped on the accelerator and swung right into Main Street.

The car was immediately bathed in a shaft of bright sunlight that came from between two buildings opposite and burned into Greg's eyes.

"What the hell?" He shouted as he jerked backwards shielding his eyes from the dazzling glare and stamped on the brake. The car swerved to the left. He heard a cry and felt a heavy bump on the bonnet. His blurred sight saw a flash of blue pass the windscreen - like a large bundle of laundry.

"Shit," Greg yelled and scrambled out of the car. He saw a boy shuffling away from the car in the road. A shock of chestnut hair fell across the lad's forehead, not enough to hide the fear blazing from his bulging almond eyes. Anger replaced Greg's frustration. He pointed an accusing finger at the boy on the road, as he crawled away on his back, dragging his left leg under him.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're playing at running across me like that? You could've got yourself killed and God knows what damage you've done to my car?"

Turning away, Greg ignored the boy and strode to the front of the Beemer to inspect its grille and bonnet. The boy's mouth moved in reply, but his voice was drowned in the strident wail of a siren.

A police car skidded to a halt across the front of the BMW and a middle aged Deputy Sheriff followed his expanded stomach out of the car, slapped a wide-brimmed hat on his head and walked over to the boy. Greg rushed towards the policeman.

"Officer I was turning right and this foolish boy..."

"Stand Back, Stand back." The Sheriff shouted, and glared at Greg.

The lawman thrust his belly towards Greg, his left thumb hooked into his leather belt, but his right hand hovered above the heavy revolver in its holster.

"Are you hurt bad son?" He asked the boy who shook his head in response and, now sat up on the ground; looking scared.

"Do you need to get to hospital or a doctor or sump'un?"

"No sir, I'm OK. I...I.do need to get going Sir."

The boy's mouth was opening and closing, gulping air.

"Well you stand up and show me you're all right or you're going nowheres 'cept to hospital."

Greg noticed the pallid colour of the boys face and how the corners of his mouth twitched as he tried to hide the pain and shock of the accident.

The boy slowly staggered to his feet under the scrutiny of the deputy and slapped his side to show he was not badly hurt. He forced a smile as he spoke.