25
When I regained consciousness, I was sitting on the back seat of a car. The door was open and I was sitting sideways, my legs outside, with the rest of me inside. My coat was tossed over my shoulders. I was sitting inside the Mercedes. Max and the man in the long coat stood nearby, talking. The man was smoking. A siren wailed and one of the ambulances sped away. The crowd had thinned out. Even some journalists had driven up with their cameras.
“Sanya! How are you?” Asked Max.
“Alive,” I answered.
I spoke and felt that my lips were swollen and my jaw in pain. But there was no blood on my face.
“Your guy has been taken away. Hope he makes it. The woman has been taken away too, in another car. But she was alright,” Max told me.
“You didn’t happen to memorize the plate number of the c
