CHAPTER 16
MITCHAM JUNCTION TRAM STATION AND NEW SCOTLAND YARD, LONDON
Round-eyed, Melanie Bradshaw stared into Janice’s concerned face. “I’m going to call the police,” she said.
“Oh, come on, it’s not worth it. The scumbag’s as drunk as a skunk and about as smelly!”
Melanie, still traumatised from an event on this same line twenty years before, wasn’t inclined to listen to her friend. Warily, she gazed at the swaying man by the door; his posture had nothing to do with the movements of the tram and everything to do with the three-quarters empty bottle of gin in his hand.
The p*****t had been loud in his appreciation of Melanie’s physical assets, his comments too racy and vulgar for any young woman to tolerate. When she had rebuffed him, he had whipped out his male organ; true, it had
