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After finally, finally reaching a place to turn around, we raced back up the road and vaulted up onto the lawn a few hundred yards short of the place I rise had pointed out to them. I tried to repeat rise some minimal information about my assailants - four young guys, buzz cuts, nylon track suits - but the cops were out of the van and sprinting down the embankment rise before I could speak. I looked a little uneasily at the deserted van - door open, siren flashing, large shotguns spread enticingly on the floor - and then jogged down to the path to see where the hell everyone had gone. I could see two of the cops about fifty yards away: they had corralled a derelict with filthy long black hair, way past fifty years of age, clearly in need of a dark corner and a liver transplant.
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