Spotting two cars that were parked in the alleyway, she hurried over and felt the bonnets; they were warm. She guessed there were two carloads, maybe a maximum of eight to ten men in all. She only had six – seven, including herself. She had to think quickly.

Aiming her gun at the dashboard of the first car, she fired one round. The bullet went through the glass and hit the steering wheel, setting off the alarm. She then did the same to the second car. Now both alarms were going off.

Quickly, she climbed back through the window and closed it behind her. Her heart was beating so fast, and her mouth felt as though it was filled with chalk sticks. She could hear banging, crashing, and two guns being fired. However, she couldn’t make out who was shouting and who was shooting. As soon as she heard heavy footsteps run past towards the cars, she reopened the window and aimed her gun.

There, dressed in dark, heavy coats were two lean but muscular men. One wore a scruffy bandanna, holding his long light-brown dreadlocks in place. He reminded her of an actor in the film Pirates of the Caribbean. The other guy was younger, possibly eighteen years old, and darker skinned, wearing a beanie.

Their bodies rotated around, anxious and desperate to see who had shot at their cars, while Zara quietly climbed out of the window again. As soon as her feet were planted on the ground, she called out, ‘Move, and I’ll fucking blast you away.’

Both Jamaicans heard a woman’s voice, and so instead of freezing to the spot, their instant reaction was to turn around and face the person behind the threat.

‘I said move and I’ll fucking shoot you.’

The man with the bandanna was the livelier of the two; his feet danced around although his hands were in the air.

‘Hey, sister, seriously! You wanna watch you don’t hurt yaself with that thing,’ he called out to her mockingly.

Her copper eyes snapped with fury.

The man with the beanie didn’t move. Standing to attention, he was taking her threat seriously. After all, even if she couldn’t aim straight, there was still a possibility someone could get shot.

‘Please, don’t underestimate me, or you’ll be sorry. You see, cunt, this is my restaurant, my dealers, and my punters. And you’ve really pissed me off.’ She took a step closer. ‘Get on your knees. Now! Place your hands in front of you, flat on the ground. And you, Captain Jack Sparrow, I hate people like you, so trust me when I say it won’t take a lot to make me pull this trigger.’

Defiantly, she managed to hold the gun perfectly still.