He looks at her, makes his swimming eyes focus.

[loz12]

She brings it down and leaves it glittering around the pads of her fingers.It makes her want to laugh, how much she has and how easy it is to set it loose.He tips a little bit of the powder into a clean bag and pops it into her jeans pocket.Just in case you need it.Don’t do it in the car, for Christ’s sake.Everything belongs to her, anyway.Pictures like on her phone.She blinks and there’s a picture.Blinks again and there’s something else.She couldn’t worry about anything if she tried.They’ve drilled her in the plan.Primrose is going to be there with just two blokes.Weinstein, his mate, has sold him out.Brought him to this warehouse saying he needs to have a meeting.Bernie and his boys will be waiting behind some of the packing cases with the guns.Two of the boys will be outside to close the doors, seal them in.Primrose won’t expect it.Roxy’s only really coming along because she deserves to see it happen, after what she’s been through.So she’s hiding upstairs in the warehouse with a peephole view down through the grating of the upper level, surrounded by boxes.She’s there, looking down, when Primrose arrives.Shutter open, shutter closed.Bernie and the boys are downstairs, they shout to Weinstein to get out of the way, and Weinstein does this thing, this shrug, like he’s trying to say, Hard luck, mate, hard cheese, but he ducks down anyway as Bernie and his sons advance, and that’s when Primrose starts smiling.And his blokes come in.So many more of them than Weinstein said he’d have here.Click goes the shutter.Primrose is a tall man, thin and pale.There’s twenty of his blokes here if there’s one.There are just more of them than Bernie’s men.Three of them have Terry pinned down behind a single wooden crate.He shouldn’t do that, she tries to shout, but nothing comes out.Roxy looks at her hands.There are long electrical arcs passing between them, even though she doesn’t think she ever told them to do that.She should do something.She pulls the little packet out of her jeans and sniffs up some more of the powder.She sees the energy running along her arms and hands.You were made for this.She’s on an iron walkway.There’s a lot of them down there, touching the iron or leaning against it.She sees what she can do all in a flash and it makes her so excited she can barely sit still.Her one knee starts jiggling.This is it, these are the men who killed her mum, and now she knows what to do.She waits until one’s resting his fingertips on the rail and one’s leaning his head against it and a third’s clutching on to a handle to lean down low to fire.One of them gets off a shot that hits Bernie in the side.Roxy breathes out slowly through pursed lips.You’ve had this coming, she thinks.She lights up the rail.Three of them go down, backs arching, crying out, fitting and gnashing and eyes rolled back.And then they spot her.There aren’t many of them left now.There’s thundering steps on the iron stairs, and two blokes try to grab her.One of them leans close to her, cos that’s scary to normal kids, to any little girl, and it’s just instinct, but she only has to put up a couple of fingers to his temple and let a jolt go across his forehead and he’s fallen to the floor, crying bloody tears.She’s learning it doesn’t take much to stop them touching her, and she feels pleased with herself until she looks down and sees Primrose heading out the door that leads to the back of the block.He’s going to get away.Bernie is moaning on the floor, and Terry bleeding from the hole in his head.Terry’s gone, just like her mum, she’s sure of that, but Primrose is trying to get away.Oh no you’re bloody not.She sees him veering left and she speeds up.She thinks of his men taking her mum by the throat.He made it come true.Her legs pump harder.The door was locked, wasn’t it.He’s got hold of a metal bin and he’s bashing at the window to break it and she dives down just like they’d practiced, slides and aims for his shin.Her one hand grasps his ankle, sweet, bare flesh and she gives it to him.He doesn’t make a sound the first time.