Cause And Effect

by Pete Adams

  ‘He found something out and was worried,’ the widow said.

  ‘Had he done undercover work before?’ Mandy asked.

  ‘Err, can I call you Mandy?’ the widow looked quizzically at Jack.

  ‘Please do,’ Mandy replied.

  ‘Yes,’ and she looked at Jack again, ‘he was onto something, and it scared him.’

  Jack was tearful. ‘We arranged to meet last night, but he didn’t show.’

  ‘Did he say anything else?’ Mandy felt as though she was intruding.

  The widow responded but continued looking at Jack, ‘He was protective of his family, and if he thought something would endanger him, he wouldn’t say. I wanted him to return to being an ordinary copper, but you know what he was like, Jack.’

  Mandy was looking at Jack, looking at the widow, ‘I’m going to get who did this and find out why, small comfort, I know. How’re the kids?’

  ‘Jack,’ she was going to break, her sister tightened the grip across her shoulders, ‘the kids, it’s not sunk in. They’re with my mum, I’ll deal with that tomorrow, Cindy will be with me,’ gesturing to her sister, and both women hugged and sobbed and Jack joined them. Mandy looked on resigned; Jack was definitely a girl’s blouse, but truthfully she already knew this.

  WPC Forbes returned with tea and separated Jack from the grieving women. Jack beckoned her to follow them to the door. ‘Are you with them all night?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Make sure everything is locked tight, someone will pick up his home computer, but as a precaution, phone in every two hours and make sure no volunteer twat gives you shite, and let Dawkins know that if you miss a call to get a squad car around, okay?’

  ‘Will do, Sir, you were wonderful tonight, and you of course, Ma’am.’

  ‘Thanks, Babes, get back to your tea, you must drink gallons of the stuff.’ She closed the door and he stayed until he heard the bolts strike home.

  ‘Did you mean that?’ Mandy asked.

  ‘Yeah, they must drink tea all the time.’

  Mandy bashed his arm playfully. ‘No, are they in danger?’

  ‘Don’t think so, just cautious.’

  Jack held the car door for her, she made to protest and let it go. Seated, she buckled up, Jack did the same, slowly, thinking if only Kate had buckled up; Kate never wore a seatbelt, used to say, “If a man had tits, he would've designed a better seatbelt”.

  ‘Jack, what are you thinking?’

  ‘You pulled your skirt down, suppose I’ll have to talk to you now.’ She chuckled and he thought she had the most wonderful smile, her face was aging, naturally, but she must be the most beautiful woman he knew, and in Jack’s mind, she was just blooming.

  She tugged her skirt, a little, ‘Penny for them, Jack?’

  ‘Fuck-off, it’ll cost you more than that.’

  Driving up to the rear of Jack’s house, they saw someone having a go at his garage door. ‘Jack, did you see that?’

  They dismissed it and went in. Mandy hugged Michael as he worked at the hob. ‘Are you sure you’re Jack’s kid, you’re so good looking.’

  ‘I saw him first Mandy, hands off.’ Colleen said, and Mandy hugged her, and Jack tried to press in; the women pushed him away.

  ‘Open the wine, Dad, I’ve done a chicken stir fry, one mild and one hot Thai, and there’s tortilla if you want to roll them.’

  ‘Mmmm, Yumbo Jumbo,’ Jack said as he dashed upstairs to change his shirt.

  Dinner was messy, on Jack’s part, but a tasty affair. Lots of it, and Jack was well satisfied; Mandy ate modestly. Colleen looked at Mandy and how she looked at Jack, and Jack looked at Colleen to see how she looked at Michael. Jack insisted he would clear and Michael insisted back, Colleen interjected, ‘Jack, when were you going to tell us about Martin?’

  Jack’s face morphed, guilt. ‘Well...’

  Michael put him out of his misery, ‘We know, Mandy telephoned, so did Jo-Jums.’

  ‘He’ll be okay, son.’

  ‘I know, Dad, we went to see him.’

  ‘You did?’

  Mandy relieved Jack’s remorse, ‘It’s okay, you may not have noticed, but what with a major bust, a Brahma of a ruck with Pugwash, a new bike, two briefings, several crying and sobbing incidents, and meeting Biscuit’s widow, you’ve had no time. So, unless you want to turn Roman candle on me?’

  ‘You forgot, Martin was appointed Police Dog.’

  ‘He was?’

  ‘Who did that then, Jack?’ Mandy asked.

  ‘I did, and I told the vet to tell him, so if it doesn’t happen and with a ceremony, he will be a disappointed hound.’

  Colleen and Michael were stunned because this was news, Mandy more so, because she knew Jack would expect her to arrange a ceremony. They sat around the table for another half-hour of convivial conversation, mainly talking about Michael and Colleen going off to college in September together.

  Colleen’s dad picked her up and looked at Jack in a funny way. ‘What the hell was that about?’ Jack whispered to Mandy.

  ‘Your son is having sex with his daughter. I remember you with Alana, it was all Kate and I could do to stop you manalising the guy.’

  Jack shrugged defensively, ‘She was only twenty-three.’

  ‘Fathers and daughters, Jack, and if it is any consolation, I feel the same way about my boy, but there is nothing you or I can do about it but be there as a safety net, as you so often say.’

  ‘Fancy a pint at C&A’s?’ he’d moved on.

  ‘No thanks, I’m off to Bedfordshire,’ and she stood and stretched.

  ‘I’ll be up in a minute.’ Jack said, ever hopeful.

  ‘In your dreams.’

  ‘I don’t intend sleeping, for five minutes anyway.’

  ‘Will you ever grow up?’

  ‘No, he won’t.’ Michael was back from seeing Colleen off.

  ‘Did you give her a big kiss in front of her dad, son?’

  ‘No, Dad, it’s bad enough as it is.’

  ‘Michael, you’re more mature than your dad. Thank you for a lovely dinner, and Colleen’s a treasure, look after her.’ Mandy kissed him and followed Jack to the back door.

  Jack opened the door and saw a silhouette on his garage roof, ‘Oi, you, bugger-orf.’

  ‘Jack, phone it in, this is making me feel uncomfortable,’ Mandy said.

  ‘Me too, d’you want to sleep with me tonight, I’ll protect you.’

  Twenty-Two

  After waving an exasperated Mandy off, Jack phoned the local police; they would keep an eye out.

  ‘Good one on Pugwash, Jane, he’s a wanker,’ the desk sergeant said.

  ‘That report was anonymous, Johnno, good night.’ Next call was to Gail, a nicer call, and he relaxed into his armchair. ‘How’s our little girl?’

  ‘Well enough,’ Gail answered, ‘though God knows what she’s been through. They’ve sedated her for the night. I’ll go back in the morning.’

  ‘You’re a wonderful woman, I’ll get to the hospital in the morning as well.’

  She was yawning, it made him yawn. ‘Goodnight.’

  He put the phone down, thought about phoning Bernie, but it rang. ‘Maisie,’ he listened, and a small tear came to the corner of his good eye. ‘Thanks, luv, I’m fine, honest, yes, I will bring her to see you, all the best to Fatso.’ Jack hung up and returned the call to Bernie, ‘Good one on Pugwash, nothing else, so feck off.’

  ‘Dad!’

  ‘It’s only Bernie.’

  ‘Oh, fair do’s. I’m off to bed.’ They hugged; it was something Jack insisted upon.

  Sparrow’s fart, six am, Jack woke as usual, no alarm, looked through the curtains to see what the weather was doing, and halfway down the landing forgot; had he looked? Kitchen, ‘Mocha pot on, muesli-doosley,’ he said to himself and rubbed his hands together ‘bloody 'andsome.’ His dad always said that. Sunday tomorrow, a fry up of smoked mackerel, bacon, chorizo and mussels, like his dad would do. Jack would n
ormally stay home weekends, but his conscience was plucked, thought of Mrs Biscuit sitting down with her kids; God love em. No call, so they must have got safely through the night. He leaned against the counter, looked out the window, not raining, but it had rained and the sky threatened more. His wet weather gear had been nicked with his bike; he still had his helmet and, stirred from his lethargy, he found it and put it by the door so he would fall over it rather than forget to take it with him, an old trick he used to do a lot, but Kate kept falling over the thing. He’d loved her, but she could be clumsy at times.

  'Bathroom; tom tit, rant and rave, Eiffel tower, done and dusted, Hampstead Heaths, bruises bluer around the boatrace, knees on the mend, toe still hurts, knuckles heeling, ego peaking, and body stimulated just by the thought of Mandy in his house last night, a quick look in the mirror, bish-bosh, lubbly-jubbly.’ The larks and conversation with himself made him feel better, then he felt miserable, and this is how it was, and even sadder; he was used to it. ‘You’re fucked-up, Jack,’ but he decided to ignore the bloke talking from the mirror; what did he know, and did you see the state of him?

  He called a cab, thinking he would cycle home on his new bike, and experienced a childish excitement, left a note for Michael: “Let's have a meal out tonight and give your sister a call; Saturday night's alright, alright.” Kate and he always used to use song words in notes, like wake me up before you go go, just a thing, and he always got the words wrong; the melancholy returned, along with the thing. The cab tooted, and he fell over his helmet. Jack really wanted to sit in the back and think nothing, but felt he ought to be sociable, a bit like feeling he ought to buy the Big Issue. "People pleaser," the psychiatrist had said. Jack just thought this is what people actually should do, so he got in the front and all the way the cabbie talked about Captain Pugwash, how his dad had told him about it on the phone last night, used to watch it as a kid.

  It wasn’t Sid or Dawkins on reception. Jack recognised the officer, but struggled on a name. ‘Morning, Jane.’

  ‘Morning,’ Jack replied, waving his Tupperware box, a look of concern on thingy’s face, as if Jack was going to tell him about how he made his Muesli; was that fear? ‘Anyone else in?’ Why did I say that?

  ‘Nobby’s in and the computer girls, don’t know their names.’

  ‘Confucius and Frankie.’

  ‘Which one’s which?’

  Jack turned back, started to say, then realised, left it at that and headed for the stairs.

  ‘Barney Rubble, you call me, but it’s actually Bartholomew Kibble; I prefer your version,’ Barney called out.

  Feck, how could I forget, Jack thought; old-timers, he presumed, maybe he’d been to bed with Amanda and forgotten. He chastised himself and resolved to put her out of his mind, thought he would take a leak but wished he hadn’t. If it was only Nobby and the dynamic duo in, then bugger me, Nobby, what has your mum been feeding you?

  ‘I’d give the bog a week or two if I were you, Sir, Dad and I had a couple of beers and a curry last night,’ Nobby hollered as Jack, gasping for air, made it through to the CP room.

  ‘No bleedin’ kidding, Tonto, you might have posted a warning on the door...’

  His fight for oxygen was disrupted. ‘Kin hell, Jack, don’t suppose you thought about going at home before coming in?’ Jack turned to Mandy, offended and innocent, neither expression would ordinarily have washed had not a beetroot Nobby confessed to the crime, but like many boys, he never knew when to stop. Jack made a mental note to pass on his wisdom about how to handle women. If Nobby was getting close to Alice, he would need all the help he could get. So, dipstick Nobby described to Mandy the curry and a few pints. Women never seemed to find this fascinating; Jack supposed men had a higher intellect, forgot what he was thinking, because Mandy looked striking in tight fitting, pale blue jeans and a baggy Arran sweater, and thought his gaze may have lingered too long.

  ‘Close your mouth, we are not a codfish.’

  Yep, he had. ‘Touché, babes, park yer jacksie,’ and he swung a wheelie chair out for her and pulled it next to him.

  Mandy swung it away, demonstrably. ‘You smooth talking bastard, you had me at touché. So, what’s occurring?’

  Jack shrugged with his mouth, thought he looked French. Confucius looked like she was going to say something, but couldn’t. Frankie rested a hand on her forearm, ‘We can tell you what we have now if you would like?’

  ‘Shoot, babes,’ Jack replied, and Frankie sighed.

  ‘The ferry traffic search is finished, we need just one thing from you, Jack.’

  ‘What?’ Jack was distracted looking at Mandy’s jeans.

  ‘What are we looking for?’

  Looking up to Frankie, ‘God knows, what else?’

  ‘We’ve trawled known people in white pride-type outfits, last known positions and so on, a couple of our guys downstairs have come up, we’ll pass onto Paolo at briefing.’

  ‘Leaflets?’

  ‘A small neighbourhood printer, Wallace and Kettle are calling in.’

  ‘Nobby, please,’ Jack gestured with his head to the crime wall.

  Frankie continued, aware Jack would remain monosyllabic all the time he looked at Mandy’s jeans. ‘Looked at Cyrano’s druggy names, mainly small time and likely a dead end.’

  ‘Got to follow the string, Franks. Now, the good stuff please?’ Jack smiled and looked up from the jeans to Mandy’s face, whispered something she couldn’t understand but did pick up, “....his computer department,” but was never sure when he used his frontier gibberish.

  ‘We followed up your note and have hit several previously unknown cells in the city. The radar is twitching for the spooks, should I make contact...?’

  ‘Anything concrete, if not, no,’ Jack replied, back looking at the jeans.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Frankie, don’t ask, and call me Jane, Jack, or whatever, unless there’s a senior officer present.’

  ‘Ahem.’

  ‘Oh, Mands, you’re one of the boys,’ and he smiled.

  Mandy grinned, lips tight. Jack looked, thought for a moment, but all her faces looked good to him. She murmured, ‘Don’t know whether to be flattered or pissed-off.’

  ‘Flattered, sister,’ Jack said, rising from his seat. ‘I’m off to the hospital, meeting Gail and hope to get a word with our little girl.’

  Mandy told him to park his imaginary motorbike. ‘You need social with you when you question her.’

  Dismissing Mandy with a hand gesture, he restarted his engine. ‘I’m just talking...cor why you no risten,’ and he gave her his Benny Hill salute, donned his cycling helmet, bent over to tuck his trousers in his socks making loads of oomph’s; Frankie signalled all of the lights had gone out. He put on his red anorak with the hi-viz jacket and made his way out, turning as he heard Mandy.

  ‘You don’t have much going for you, but when I see you like that, I get really hot.’ Frankie and Connie giggled.

  ‘I’m here to fulfil your Glance Armstrong fantasies,’ he shouted, as he revved up.

  ‘Feck-off, dope.’

  And Jack zoomed away, screeching his imaginary tyres. In the corridor, the radiation had still not cleared; a vindaloo, and Nobby went up in his estimation. See, girls wouldn’t understand that. Down the stairs, through reception, he braked, put his foot out and leaned to one side. ‘I knew you were Barney, it was the Bartholomew bit I struggled with.’ Face saved, Jack zoomed to the bike shed and collapsed laughing. There was a laminated sign on the door, Jack’s face on it.

  Have you seen this man, bike suspect,

  WANTED by the Royal Navy;

  contact Captain Pugwash.

  Brilliant, he thought, got his bike out, admired it, sung, ‘Flash, aah aah, saviour of the thing...’ Tour-de-France speed trials, as he cycled onto the road unaware of the white transit van that began tracking him. Jack sped through the North End shopping thoroughfare, flicked a look to the sky, he could stop off later and get some wet we
ather gear, pay Ron. As he approached the Safeway store, he saw Little Shoe Big Shoe, started to wave, when he was hit from behind. Jack spun through the air, crash landing beside Little Shoe, thought, should he buy a Big Issue, farted, then fainted.

  ‘An ambulance is on the way. Can you tell me if it’s hurting anywhere? You’ve taken a knock,’ a paramedic said as he fitted a collar.

  ‘No kidding, Tonto.’

  ‘I know you from the scene yesterday, Inspector Austin, isn’t it?’

  Jack lay back, wondering what he looked like in the collar, a Vicar? ‘Where’s my bike?’

  Little Shoe leaned over, ‘The bloke in the van nicked it and drove off.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I got the number, which is more than I can say about my pand.’

  Jack ignored Little Shoe’s indignation and looked to the paramedic. ‘Call this in, Amanda Bruce, tell her to get a search out for the van.’

  The medic looked fed-up, like he was being used, which he was of course. Jack used everyone, but he did it with a lot of charm, he thought. ‘I’ll call it in...’ sighed, ‘...the ambulance is here.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Well, it isn’t Dr Kildare, which is what you called me yesterday, it’s John.’

  He tapped the medic’s wrist, and in his best patronising voice, ‘John, express processing at the hospital, there’s a good boy,’ tried to get up, farted, and fainted again.

  Twenty-Three

  Jack recovered his wits in a narrow casualty bed, sounds of hubbub and rustling curtains, beeps, wires coming out of his chest and an irritating clip on his finger. Father O’Brien leaned over and they exchanged whispers, after which the Holy Ghost evaporated. A doctor entered as Jack was talking to himself, developing what Father Mike had related, into his own theory. ‘Hold up, Doc, I’m in the middle of a conversation.’ The doc asked him who the Prime Minister was. ‘Feckin Mackeroon and the slippery bleedin’ Blogg, I’m plotting their down fall this evening, so patch me up, Snotty, and get me out of here.’ Jack thought the doctor seemed more concerned about his outburst than his wounds. He could hear Mandy outside the curtains, a nurse explaining she had no authority here.