Ben Hoban is a GP in Exeter.
Bosco hit the ground running, literally.
Transport would be well clear of the drop zone by now, and with Control offline until 0800, she was on her own. The Clinical Director’s flash transmission had sounded routine, but she could feel that something was off even before she made the suit with the newspaper coming round the fountain in the middle of the square; by the time he unholstered his Glock, she’d already cleared the picnic table he was banking on to slow her down, and was coming out of the monkey vault and considering her next move, pleased that she’d picked up the jacket with the extra elastane in the sales. She was unarmed, didn’t want any extra weight to slow her down, but this neighbourhood was her playground, and she already had the advantage. The drop wasn’t scheduled for another two minutes, leaving her time to look around and see who else would be joining the party. The nanny with the empty pram at the north-east corner of the square was a bit obvious, as was her partner on the bench, making eye-contact with her every time he sipped his take-away coffee; neither of them seemed to have noticed newspaper guy, or the suspiciously buff crew in fluorescent orange overalls getting out of a utility company van, who looked like they spent more time in the gym than digging holes. Bosco smiled as she vaulted the handrail to the underpass: this was going to be fun.
What most people don’t realise is that none of this stuff is difficult if you keep in shape and know what you’re doing.
What most people don’t realise is that none of this stuff is difficult if you keep in shape and know what you’re doing. To do it well, though, to make it really flow, you have to love it. Bosco felt like she had been running her whole life, one way or another, and you might just as well have asked her to stop breathing as stand still; for her, movement was life. The Primary Care Network job wasn’t something she’d really planned, but it had presented itself at a time when she was looking for a change and didn’t need management breathing down her neck all the time, and she had known straight away that it suited her perfectly. People were starting to notice her, and it was getting hard to keep a low profile, but she was too good at it to stop, and she didn’t plan to.
She might as well have been waving a ‘Get-your-controlled-drugs-here!‘ sign.
The courier entered the south-west corner of the square right on time, looking tense and walking from the direction of the new independent pharmacy, with a plain black nylon satchel over her shoulder. She might as well have been waving a ‘Get-your-controlled-drugs-here!‘ sign. Team Orange spread out to form a loose cordon around the fountain, while newspaper guy made a bee-line for the courier, hand sliding under his jacket for some firearm time; she saw him, froze, ditched the satchel and ran straight into the nanny, who’d just emerged from behind an organic juice kiosk, knocking her over and going down hard with the pram. Two of the workmen had newspaper guy pinned down before he could do anything dangerous, while another two scared off the nanny’s partner and the last one jogged over to make the pick-up, looking pretty pleased with himself. Bosco came out of the underpass running flat out and totally in the zone, limbs loose and breathing relaxed as she hit the square. Her outfit was a cross between office casual and jogger, and she could see the orange lead hesitate for a second as she closed the distance between them in three fluid strides before dropping into a roll and pushing off with the satchel in her right hand. As he realised his mistake and started after her, he could see that Bosco was headed straight for the fountain and going way too fast to turn around it; instead, she stepped up the side of the parapet, getting a good grip on the brick-work with her trainers, before side-flipping over his head and landing on the balls of her feet in an easy safety tap. He did his best to change direction and catch up, but once she was off, it was straightforward Land Rover-versus-Ferrari.
Bosco had to remind herself to slow down once she’d left the square and disappeared into the back-streets off its south side, knowing that the greater risk now would be attracting attention to herself. She dumped the satchel in a wheelie bin after checking its contents and transferring them to her inside jacket pocket, and settled into a standard commuter gait, walking with shoulders forward and eyes on the ground before turning a corner and approaching Central’s main entrance, where a crowd at reception provided natural cover. There was no rush now, and she let the Brownian motion of bodies move her into the building before peeling off and heading for a door marked Staff Only. She opened it using a swipe card with a photo that might have been hers, and a name and job title which she’d made her own: Julie Bosco, Clinical Pharmacist. Control was upstairs in the kitchen, talking in a low voice with the Clinical Director; they both looked up expectantly when she walked in. “Relax, I made the pick-up. You can tell Mrs Jones we’ve got Billy’s Methylphenidate.” Relieved smiles all round. “Thanks, Julie, you make it look easy.”
Other stories by Ben Hoban in BJGPLife:
