by Roger Busby
naked but for his socks, white shanks and buttocks in the foreground, his face framed between ample breasts as he “tucked it” to Christine Bailey with all the vigour of a young stud. A strangled gasp escaped from McGee’s throat as the hovering camera lingered over his bravura performance and his gaze cast wildly around the room; how was it possible! A croak was all he could manage as Jacko unplugged the stick, dissolving the images.
“Here’s a little story for your further education, mister,” Jacko savoured the moment. “In China, back in the days of the dynasties, whenever an emperor was banished, he took with him his retinue of eunuchs. Each eunuch carried a small pouch, just like this one,” Jacko showed him a little chamois leather pouch, “and you know what they carried in it?” The Hammer stared at the pouch, mesmerized. His lips moved but no sound emerged. Jacko made a show of dropping the flash drive into the little bag, pulling the draw string. “In the pouch,” he said, enunciating each word, “they carried their testicles.” The Hammer gave a strangled gasp as Jacko pulled up a chair and sat beside him. “Now why don’t we just cancel that conference call, and have a little chat eh?”
Detective Sergeant Peter Doyle walked into the office and looked around admiringly. “Second time I’ve been in here,” he said, “looked bigger before.”
Jackson smiled, “More fun that time eh? Did you give Trevor his toy back?”
Doyle said, “Oh yes, he was keen to know how well it had performed and if we wanted to order one for ourselves before he gave it back to his contact. I told him we’d think about it now I’d got my pilot’s licence. Launching out of her handbag when she tipped me the wink was a bit hairy but otherwise it was a piece of cake.”
Jacko’s smile broadened into a grin. “Well it worked like a charm, Peter,” he said, “Once I’d got his full attention I gave him the options, send it to Professional Standards, straight to the Deputy or the Currant Bun, post it on YouTube and start counting the hits. He got it in one.”
“So he bit the bullet?”
Jacko nodded. “Duodenal ulcer’s very hard to diagnose one way or the other. Cancelled Iron First and went on extended sick leave the same day. The old man was very disappointed. Unless I miss my guess McGee’ll be on his bike back to bonnie Scotland before too long.”
Doyle said, “Meantime you’re Borough Commander, eh guv’nor?”
“Acting up,” Jacko said, “and I hear you’ve got a new temporary detective constable in CID.”
“And very grateful she is too,” Doyle replied. “I told her as long as she minded her Ps and Qs, she could get DC confirmed in a month or two, was that OK guv?”
Jackson said: “Could be sooner if she comes up to scratch on a little covert job I’m putting you in charge of now Iron Fist’s in the bin. We’re going back into The Farm, Peter, gather the evidence and take out the ringleaders only this time the operation’s called Velvet Glove.”
THE END
Other Titles by: Roger Busby
Trafalgar - Dispatches
South Bank Blue
High Jump
Crackshot
Snowman
The Hunter
Fading Blue
Garvey's Code
New Face in Hell
Pattern of Violence
A Reasonable Man
Deadlock
The Frighteners
Robbery blue
Main Line Killer
Authors Website: Roger Busby.Com
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Biography:
BUSBY, Roger (Charles). British. Born in Leicester, 24 July 1941. Educated at Bishop Vesey's Grammar School for Boys; Aston University, Birmingham, certificate in journalism, 1968. Married Maureen-Jeanette Busby in 1968. Journalist, Caters News Agency, Birmingham, 1959-66, and Birmingham Evening Mail, 1966-73. Since 1973,