Looking Good Dead

himself at the pile of bricks. Then he saw a length of scaffold pole lying beside them. He grabbed it and hurled it in a swirling arc, with all his strength, at the tail rotor.
    For an instant, it sailed through the air in what seemed like slow motion. He thought he had thrown it wide. But, to his amazement, it was a bull’s-eye, right in the middle of the rotor.
    There was a grinding metallic sound and a shower of sparks. The helicopter lurched sideways.
    Then he thought he had failed after all, as it rose sharply several feet in the air, before suddenly beginning to rotate on its own axis. And Grace saw that the entire tail rotor had gone.
    The helicopter spun once, twice, then a giddying third time. It veered straight towards him, engine screaming, and he had to flatten himself on the roof to avoid being hit by the skids. The wind threatened to rip his jacket from his back and the hair from his head. Grace heard a huge bang and the next moment was showered with bits of metal and pieces of masonry, as the helicopter struck the side of the lift housing. Like some massive beetle crazed by fly spray, it skewed away, almost sideways, part of one of its main rotor blades clattering down inches from Grace, who rolled sideways to get out of its path.
    He caught a glimpse of Venner in his puce shirt at the controls, saw the fear in his face as he struggled, saw the frozen white shock in the face of Luvic.
    The helicopter tumbled over onto its side and did a complete flip, followed by another, tumbling towards the edge of the roof, reminding Grace of one of those cheap toys Brighton street vendors sold which were weighted and rolled over and over, propelled by their own momentum.
    And suddenly there was a stench of aviation fuel in the air.
    The stricken machine crashed into the lift housing for a second time,crabbed round, still under power, until the cockpit was hanging over the edge of the roof and the helicopter was prevented from going completely over only by its tail wedged against the base of the structure.
    The engine stopped.
    Grace scrambled to his feet and ran across.
    The machine was see-sawing. Teetering on the brink. Luvic was unconscious, lying upside down on the glass bubble of the cockpit roof. Venner was struggling, upside down also, suspended by his harness. At any moment the helicopter was going to fall.
    ‘Help me!’ the pigtailed man implored, thrusting a hand out of the open, swinging door. ‘Please, for God’s sake, help me, man!’
    Grace, who was not good with heights, knelt, staring at the car park a long way below, the wind threatening to blow him over the edge. He grabbed the man’s wrist, which was greasy and thick as a ham.
    The helicopter lurched. The stink of fuel was horrendous. Grace felt something bite into his hand. It was the man’s wristwatch. He gripped the pudgy flesh just above it and met the man’s tiny, terrified eyes, staring into his own. Imploring him.
    ‘Help me! Get me out!’ His medallion was hanging above his head.
    The helicopter lurched again. Grace was pulled forward. Another few inches and he would fall over the edge. He realized what the man had to do. ‘Your seat belt! Undo your seat harness!’
    The man was beyond thinking in his panic. ‘HELP ME!’ he screeched.
    ‘UNDO YOUR FUCKING HARNESS!’ Grace screamed back.
    There was a grinding sound. The helicopter lurched further. It was going. Only seconds left, Grace reckoned. ‘UNDO YOUR BELT – YOUR HARNESS!’
    Suddenly he felt his arm almost wrenched out of its socket. Grace clung on for dear life. But it was no good. Still he clung. Clung.
    Clung.
    Saw those tiny, desperate eyes once more.
    Then Nick Nicholl was beside him, reaching down into the helicopter. Grace heard a faint click. Then, as if in a dream, the helicopter was dropping upside down, away from him. Like a huge toy. Until it hit the ground, straddling the roofs of a black Mercedes and a small white Fiat. Almost instantaneously there was a huge ball of flame.

    And the wriggling, petrified, dead weight of Venner was suspended below him, over the drop, supported by nothing except the grip he and Nicholl each had on a wrist, the metal strap of Venner’s watch cutting painfully into his hand.
    Venner produced a long, gurgling whimper. The heat was burning Grace’s face. Venner was slipping. He had to hold on to him. He wanted this creep to live; death was too damned good for him. Somehow, he did not know from where, he found some