by Jack Rylance
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Then put your hands on your head and lie on the floor.” Again Pete obeyed, placing himself against the cool tiles, facing towards the doorway.
Instinctively he raised his head a little as two policemen rushed the room, adopting firing stances, pointing their guns at his face. Pete recognised one of them immediately – a Sergeant – the man most likely in charge. He belonged to the local precinct. The Sergeant also remembered him. “Your name is Pete, no?”
“Yes.”
“And you are definitely alone in here?”
“Yes.”
The sergeant gestured for his colleague to check the other rooms and stayed as he was, his firearm aimed at the suspect. This senior officer knew Pete as a petty troublemaker, a minor irritant. He was another who had dealt him a number of on-the-spot fines. Now he was busy re-evaluating that former opinion.
The other policeman returned to the lounge. “All clear,” he said.
The Sergeant nodded, lowered his pistol, and walked forwards. Then he made a lap of the Englishman stretched out on the floor. “Well Pete,” he said, “you appear to be in very deep shit.” There was something relaxed about the man’s attitude now that he knew his own life was not under threat. The presence of death clearly did not disturb him. It had decided on its victims for the day. He was to be excluded again from its number and this was a fact worthy of thanks
A third policeman entered the room and put a delicate hand on the Sergeant’s shoulder and drew him back to the doorway. Pete watched the two men conferring. Words were quietly exchanged and then the Sergeant finally nodded and the other policeman disappeared once more.
The Sergeant walked back to Pete and stood over him again. It seemed to Pete that he had in some way revised his original point of view, although nothing was said to this effect. He just kept staring down intently.
A minute later, the other officer returned with John by his side and together they entered the apartment. John was carrying the red sports bag in both arms, up against his chest, as if he was holding the answer to everyone’s prayers. He looked down at Pete and nodded at him gravely, and yet there was something victorious about his bearing as well, as if John had proven himself, to his own satisfaction, the equal of this hour.
Now John offered up the bag without a word and the Sergeant took it from him and proceeded to zip it open before withdrawing a single stack of twenty pound notes. He ran an index finger across their edges and flicked through the bundle of currency. Then he held it up to the light. “Shut the door,” he told his fellow officer.
The Sergeant continued regarding the bank notes in a state of silence. Pete expected John to break this silence with a comment, but he said nothing either, recognising this solemn occasion for what it was. Maybe he was growing up at long last.
Then the Sergeant looked briefly at his two colleagues and they give him the look he wanted in return. It told him that the decision was entirely his to make. He needed to find a way to bring this money into their safekeeping without any more questions being raised. All else was secondary to this consideration, including Pete and John’s lives. They might survive this equation or else they might not.
Closing the bag again, the Sergeant took firm hold of its handles. “You better get up,” he said to Pete.
They were all going for a ride. It was not clear where.
~END~
Afterword
Dear Reader,
I wanted to round off this book with a genuine word of thanks. In this frenetic world of ours, it means a lot to me that you would take time out from your schedule to digest this novel from start to finish. I very much hope you enjoyed the story and were able to immerse yourself in its world for the duration.
If you have the time and inclination, please consider referring Copacabana to other readers who might take pleasure from it. Also, if you could leave a review up at Amazon or Goodreads, that would be a great help. Finally, if you’d like to share any further thoughts about this piece of writing, please feel free to drop me a message via my website, www.jackrylance.com, as I would very much like to hear from you.
Warm Regards,
Jack