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СКАЧАТЬ "Or anything like what?"

      "Or anything like, you know, sexist." Dylan said earnestly.

      "Is that because you don't want to sound sexist, or because you're not?"

      Dylan narrowed his eyes and then smiled. "Because I'd like to think I'm not, so I wouldn't want to come across that way through a bad choice of words."

      Kit laughed. "Well, that was a good choice of words," she said. "And given the context of our conversation, of course it's okay to call her sexy and smart."

      "You stupid bloody bitch!"

      Kit and Dylan looked at each other in surprise before glancing around to find out who had spoken. The entire area of the street-corner set, which moments before had been bustling with people, was now completely deserted. The only people in sight were two guys queuing at the catering van, which was a good fifty metres away to Kit's right.

      Kit turned back to Dylan who was frowning. "There's no one here but us," he noted. "So who the hell said that?"

      Thwunk! The sound of something fleshy hitting something metal coincided with the sudden appearance, about ten metres behind Dylan, of a middle-aged man wearing blue tracky dacks, a white singlet and a very disgruntled expression.

      Thwunk! This time Kit saw the guy punch the forklift he was standing beside. It didn't look like a stunt; besides, there were no cameras around.

      "Who's the bloke?" Kit asked.

      Dylan swivelled around to take a look. "Oh no! I thought she'd gotten rid of him."

      "Who is he?" Kit repeated, realising there was someone else standing behind the forklift.

      "It's Angela's ex-husband. The guy is a complete loser. He's dangerous, and dense as shit."

      "Does that mean that it's Angela he's abusing?" Kit asked, standing up.

      Angela herself answered the question by stepping into view; her hands on her hips. The ex-husband, and his threatening body language, then crowded her up against a dumpster.

      "God, what a prick!" Dylan observed.

      "What a prick?" Kit repeated, staring down at Dylan in amazement. "Is that it?"

      "Is that it, what?"

      "You said he's dangerous, Dylan," Kit explained. "Do you think she might need some help?"

      They both glanced back at Angela who seemed to be standing her ground successfully but the ex also seemed to be getting more aggro by the second.

      "Um, yeah, probably," Dylan said hesitantly. "I'll go get Security," he offered.

      "Dylan," Kit said, giving him a kindly smile, "I think Angela needs assistance now, not when the cavalry arrives. But if I promise to help you deal with your gallantry issues later, will you stroll over there with me, now, to see if we can help sort things out?"

      "Are you kidding? What if he hits me in the face?"

      "Okay," Kit said accommodatingly. "How about I try and sort things, and you back me up with one of those," she said, pointing at a pile of scaffolding. "You can poke him with it if you don't want to get too close."

      "Good idea," Dylan agreed. He chose a very long pole and then gave her the thumbs up.

      Kit suffered a depressing but gone-in-a-flash fear for the future of humanity. Actually, it was more like a passing groan over the youth of today; or maybe just heartburn from the hot dog. Whatever! Bullies, pretty boys and fast food. It's life Jim, but not as we know it; and civilisation is doomed.

      "Will you give it a rest, please Barry," Angela was saying as Kit and Dylan approached. "Just leave me alone; leave everything alone."

      "Screw that, Angie," Barry the bully growled. "I want you to come home, where you belong."

      "I don't belong there, Barry. And I'm sick of your crap. Go away, or I will call the cops."

      Barry didn't agree with that, apparently. In fact Barry didn't like that idea one little bit. He backhanded Angela across the right side of her face. She stumbled but remained on her feet.

      "Jesus! Shit! He hit her...he actually hit her," Dylan exclaimed.

      "Hey! Don't..." Kit began.

      "Yeah? And who the fuck are you?" Barry snarled at Kit, before catching sight of her reluctant sidekick with his five-foot pole. He snorted. "Sure thing, Dylan, you little shitface. What are you gunna do with that?"

      It took Kit two whole seconds to make the choice between trying to reason with Barry or deciding to deal with him. No contest, she thought, and kicked him as hard as she could in the balls. He collapsed onto his knees then keeled over into a foetal position with his hands between his legs.

      "Way to go, Katherine!" Dylan cheered.

      The previously chipper Angela now looked like she didn't give a shit - about anything. She kept blinking, to stop her right eye from watering, as she rubbed her face and stared down at the moaning Barry. "Wish I'd thought of that," she said flatly.

      "I'll go get Andy," Dylan volunteered. "He's head of security," he explained to Kit over his shoulder, as he took off in the direction of the studio's main office.

      "You okay?" Kit asked.

      "Yeah," Angela said softly. "He just won't take no for an answer."

      "Has he done this before?"

      "What do you think?" Angela asked, her tone still emotionless as she turned her back on Barry. "Only ever at home though, before I moved out and got a restraining order. Oh God no. Look. Everybody will know about this by the time lunch is over."

      Kit glanced in the direction Angela had indicated. Two guys in security uniforms had met Dylan en route and they, along with the Director, one Stunt Thug and two women were rushing over to - what...help? Oh, one of the two guys who'd been buying lunch was also loping in their direction, with his hotdog, which he'd apparently waited for; but the other guy, while showing his concern by perving on the action, obviously didn't want to lose his place in the queue. Kit shook her head.

      A strange gurgling, heaving sound behind her was followed by a more articulate "Aaah!" from Angela to her left. Kit realised, too late, that Barry - like some kind of unsquashable cockroach - had recovered enough to get to his feet, grab Angela by the arm and fling her backwards into the side of the dumpster. He grunted with satisfaction as his ex-wife slid unconscious to the ground, then he turned to make a charge.

      Kit sidestepped, but not far enough. Barry's elbow connected with her cheekbone as he stumbled forward over her outstretched foot. She rammed her knee into his coccyx, grabbed his arm and twisted it up behind his back, holding his thumb in the bastard-can't-move-if-his-thumb-is-being-held-in-that-position position.

      Five seconds later the security guards relieved her.

      "Escort him off the lot," the Director directed.

      "No," Kit pronounced. She took out a business card - one that said 'Kit СКАЧАТЬ