Young, Gifted and Deadly

by William Stafford

  Brough let out a squawk and disconnected.

  Gotcha! Miller grinned. She snuggled back under the covers. To her right, the broad back of boyfriend Darren Bennett slumbered on. He might not be a Hollywood superstar but he’s with me. Here and now.

  Smiling smugly, Melanie Miller drifted back to sleep.

  3.

  “If this is a fucking joke, it isn’t fucking funny any fucking more!” Chief Inspector Karen Wheeler stormed around her office - her new office. Superintendent Kevin Ball wisely remained near the exit.

  “Karen, please-”

  But Wheeler wasn’t listening. Ball decided to let her have her rant before trying to get a word in edgewise. ‘Let her’ - as if anyone ‘let’ the formidable, foul-mouthed Karen Wheeler do anything.

  “It wasn’t fucking funny in the first place and it sure as fuck ain’t fucking funny now, Kevin.”

  She seemed to have paused to breathe. Ball opened his mouth but before he could frame a syllable, Wheeler resumed her tirade, her little legs kicking out at anything and everything in her path.

  “First we have to sell off Serious because these fucking bastards in government think we can’t have nice things, like a decent police force, and so we move into this fucking shithole where there isn’t room to fuck a swinging cat, and now you’m telling me we have to up sticks a-fucking-gain and go and work in a fucking supermarket. You can stick that up your bastard arse.”

  Her shoulders heaving, she sank her fingernails into the back of a chair. Ball saw his chance and seized it.

  “This ‘shithole’ as you so eloquently put it, has served as Dedley’s police station for nigh on eighty years.”

  “So why the fuck are they closing it?”

  “It’s the latest raft of budget cuts.”

  “Huh! I remember when Budget Cuts was a cheap hairdresser’s on the high street. But a supermarket, Kevin! A fucking supermarket! How am I supposed to run a crack team of detectives in a fucking supermarket? Team briefings on the bacon counter? Set up an incident room in the fruit and veg aisle? Fuck that.”

  “Karen, Karen. You won’t have to. It’s only frontline services that will be moved to CostBusters. You and your team can still work here and you won’t be disturbed by walk-ins who’ve had their bicycles nicked or their handbags snatched.”

  That took the wind out of Wheeler’s sails a little. Slightly becalmed, she got her breathing back to normal.

  “So why are you telling me all this, Kevin? What’s this got to do with me? What’s this got to do with Serious?”

  Ball paled visibly. “Ah, well, you see...”

  “Out with it!”

  “To, ah, consolidate your position - your team’s position in the town - I mean, this is a prime retail spot; chain stores are queuing up to get this corner - it has been decided that you will oversee our colleagues down the road. At the supermarket.”

  He flinched and edged closer to the door. Wheeler’s eyes bore into him like dentists’ drills.

  “You want me,” she stepped closer to him with every word, “to babysit a bunch of braindead hobby bobbies who can’t be trusted to wipe their own arses?”

  “Babysitting is the wrong word.”

  “What then? Nurse-maiding? Zoo-fucking-keeping?”

  “Karen, let’s keep things in proportion. Perhaps I’ve come at this from the wrong side. What I should have said was that we need someone of your, ah, stature to ensure that any, um, teething problems that may arise are ironed out.”

  Wheeler glowered at him with murder in her eyes. “Who agreed? I never agreed.”

  “The, um, review board. It’s the best solution. With a limited purse-”

  “Oh, blow it out your arse, Kevin. Don’t bend me over a barrel, shaft me dry and tell me you can’t afford to spit on it first.”

  Ball turned red. “I am sorry; it’s the way of the world, Karen. This government-”

  “Can kiss my arse.” Deflated, Wheeler sat at her desk. She opened a folder. “These the details?”

  “Yes. I knew you’d see reason.”

  “Fuck off.”

  ***

  In an unprecedented move on his part, Logger was one of the first to turn up for school that morning. Rather than sloping across the field (via the gap in the railings) long after Assembly had started, he was there, not exactly bright of eye and bushy of tail, waiting anxiously for the caretaker to unlock the gates. He scoured the road in both directions, a leafy avenue of rather big houses, watching every approaching person and vehicle with keen interest.

  He reminded himself the specky twat used the bus. What time did that pull in? The nearest stop was a couple of streets away - should Logger linger there instead? He wasn’t sure which bus exactly. The only way to be certain was to wait at the main entrance.

  “Lawrence?” Mr Wazley paused in his briefcase swinging to examine the youth who had arrived at school before he did. “Well, well. This is encouraging, I must say. Or-” his eyes narrowed mischievously, “are you still here from last night’s detention?”

  Logger curled his lip. Mr Wazley chuckled and headed to Reception, a hallowed entrance reserved for Staff and Visitors only.

  “Sarky twat,” Logger muttered when the teacher was well out of earshot. He returned his attention to the street. More and more kids were arriving, many of them congregating in groups, making it increasingly difficult for Logger to have a clear view. He shoved a couple of Year 7s aside as a car pulled up onto the yellow zigzags at the kerb. The passenger door opened and a smart shoe, newly polished, touched the tarmac, but Callum Phillips’s mother wasn’t ready to let her son go yet. Above the soothing strains of Classic FM that wafted from the open door, Logger heard the strident admonitions of Mrs Phillips.

  “Look lively, Callum., for pity’s sake. You’ve been in a proper doze since you got in last night. Do you want me to walk you in? I could go in and have a word with that head teacher. Keeping you here until all hours, sending you home in that state. Anyone would think you’d been mud-wrestling, the state of your shoes.”

  “Mum...” said Callum. It was a warning and a plea. He had spotted Logger, who was approaching.

  “Is it a bully, Callum? Did he throw you down that slope?”

  “No!” Callum cried. He tried to get out but forgot he was still wearing his seatbelt. His mother released him and he sprang forward into Logger’s chest. Logger righted him and, turning on an uncharacteristic smile, waved cheerily to Mrs Phillips until she drove away. The smile dropped from his lips and he squeezed Callum’s elbow and steered him away from the gates.

  “But - Registration-” Callum pointed wildly at the building.

  “Bollocks to it,” said Logger. “You and me am going to have a nice chat.”

  ***

  “It’s all quiet on the West Midlands front,” Wheeler seemed unhappy to announce to the Serious Crimes team, who had assembled for a briefing. “Fucking dead as a dodo’s fucking doorknob.”

  Detective Inspector Harry Henry blinked and pushed his loose-fitting spectacles back up the bridge of his nose. “Don’t you mean ‘doornail’, Chief?”

  The correction earned him a glare from the diminutive chief inspector.

  “Dead as a doornail’s fucking doorknob then,” she spat, “as if that makes any fucking sense.”

  Detective Inspector Benny Stevens let out a laugh. He wiped drops of tea from his porn-star moustache. “Anybody’d think you want folk to murder each other, Boss.”

  Wheeler rounded on him. “Of course I fucking don’t. Although it would give you lot something to do. Honestly, here we am, facing another round of budget cuts - it’s like they want people to get away with murder. A big, juicy case right about now would make it easier to justify all our jobs. As it is, we’m all going to take on extra duties to keep us bu
sy.”

  Detective Constable Jason Pattimore raised his hand. He waited for Wheeler’s nod before posing his question. “What sort of extra duties, Boss?”

  “Ah, Jason, I’m glad you asked. You and Stevens am going into schools. Give them the old say-fuck-off-to-drugs bit. Chuck in some road safety while you’m at it.”

  Pattimore nodded and made notes.

  “Fuck sake,” Stevens complained. “Do we have to?”

  Wheeler answered him with a humourless display of her teeth. She turned to Brough and Miller.

  “David, Melanie, it’s the posh estates for you. Crime prevention. Give your advice on window locks and keeping sheds secure, all that bollocks.”

  “Um, why the posh estates?” Miller ventured to ask.

  “Because,” said Brough, “they’re the ones with stuff worth nicking.”

  “Oh,” Miller shrank back, blushing at her own foolishness.

  “Not fair!” Stevens pointed an accusing finger. “Why should they get the cushy job and me and Jase get thrown to the teenage shitheads.”

  “Just lucky, I guess,” said Wheeler.

  “Um...” Harry Henry raised a tentative hand. “What about me, Chief?”

  “What about you?”

  “What are my extra duties?” He was on the edge of his seat.

  “Filing.”

  “Come again?”

  “There’s still a shitload of boxes of shit from the Serious building, God rest its soul. Need sorting out. You’re the man for that job.”

  “Sweet!” Harry Henry’s face lit up. He even rubbed his hands in gleeful anticipation.

  “Hang about,” Stevens raised another objection. “How come he gets to sort through paperwork while me and Jase-”

  Wheeler cut him off. “Because you’re practically fucking illiterate. Now, if there’s nothing else,” she prepared to jerk her thumb toward the exit.

  “Hold up,” Stevens got to his feet. He towered over Wheeler - but then, most people did. “What’s your extra duties, if it ain’t a rude question?”

  Wheeler would not be cowed. “It is a rude fucking question. If you must know, I’m off to Costbosters to knock a couple of PCSO heads together. Perhaps I could warm up with you?”

  Stevens backed off, his eyes averted.

  “Good,” said Wheeler. Her thumb was primed. She used it. “Now, fuck off.”

  ***

  With the rest of the school ensconced in Assembly or Form Period, Logger skulked around the building and across the field to intercept Dogger and Bonk when they arrived through the fence. With his hood up, he would be unidentifiable from a distance but Logger was not entirely stupid; he had a note in his pocket excusing him for a dental appointment should he be intercepted by a member of staff.

  “All right, Log?” Dogger was amazed. Ordinarily, it was he and Bonk who were kept waiting for Logger. “What’s going on?”

  Logger’s eyes shifted from side to side. He gestured toward the bushes. “Got any fags, Bonk? I bloody need one.”

  Bonk produced a single cigarette from somewhere on his person. Dogger provided the lighter - it belonged to Bonk but he could not be trusted with flammable items. Logger received the offerings with curt nods of gratitude. He lit the cigarette and took a long, restorative drag. The others watched and waited.

  “I have just had a very interesting conversation with that specky wanker.”

  “Who?” said Bonk.

  “He means Callum. From last night,” Dogger translated but Bonk seemed none the wiser.

  “Told me all about last night, he did.” Logger stared directly at Dogger, his gaze burning as bright as his cigarette end. “Do you know if he has a history of mental health problems?”

  Dogger’s blank look indicated that he knew nothing of the sort.

  “He told me,” Logger’s voice was constricted more from emotion than the intake of smoke and chemicals. “He told me what he sid last night changed his life. I asked him to tell me about it in detail, like, and he only fucking did.” Logger’s lip was quivering, the cigarette sticking to it, forgotten.

  “He said it came from over there, faint at first, and shapeless but as it drew nearer it took on the shape of a man, a man in a hooded robe with an empty space where his face should be. And he said even though it had no face, he could tell it was looking right at him, and it pointed at him and all, even though it looked like there was no hand sticking out of the end of the sleeve. It pointed right at him. And then - whoosh! - it was gone.”

  Dogger and Bonk were speechless and open-mouthed. They looked across the field, so everyday and harmless-looking in the cold light of morning, and pictured the scene. Over there was the row of bushes where they’d told the King of Nerds to crouch.

  “So, he saw it then,” Dogger shrugged. “We’ve all sid it.”

  But Logger was shaking his head. “Not like this we didn’t.”

  “So, the boss has improved his special effects budget.”

  “That’s just it.” Logger took out his phone and held it at arm’s length so Dogger could read the screen. “Got that last night before I went to sleep. Only I didn’t get no sleep after that, did I?”

  Dogger squinted at the text message, frowning because Logger’s hand was shaking considerably. Dogger met Logger’s gaze. Together their heads turned to look out across the field.

  “Fucking hell,” they said in unison.

  “Here, Log,” said Bonk. “You going to finish that fag or what?”

  ***

  Brough tapped his foot impatiently while he waited for Miller to come out of the Ladies. She always seemed to take bloody ages. It’s different for women, he supposed. A man can just slide down a zipper or undo a few buttons. With women it was more complicated - and Miller was wearing tights.

  He reminded himself not to let his impatience show; he needed to keep Miller sweet enough to grant him a favour.

  At long last, she emerged with her hair brushed and a fresh coat of lippy applied. No bloody wonder she takes so long, thought Brough. Every trip to the lav is like a bloody visit to a spa. He noted with disdain a square of toilet paper dragging under her heel but refrained from mentioning it.

  “Miller...” he began as they walked to her car. “Mel...”

  “What?” She fished in her capacious bag for her keys. Why she couldn’t keep them in her pocket, Brough would never know. The workings of the female mind (and body too) were as unknowable to Brough as the dark side of the moon.

  “Your Darren...”

  “What about him?”

  “Has he got any gaps?”

  “How’d you mean? In his teeth?”

  “Any spaces. If he has, I’d like to fill one.”

  “I’m not sure I like the sound of this. A-ha!” She pulled her fist from her bag in triumph. She unlocked the car and got in, then reached across to unlock the passenger door.

  “So, has he?” said Brough, fastening his seatbelt.

  “Has he what?”

  “Any spaces. In his schedule.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He’s a personal trainer, isn’t he? I’d like to book some sessions with him.”

  “I bet you would.”

  “Not like that. So, has he?”

  “I don’t know, do I?”

  “Will you ask him?”

  “Ask him yourself.”

  “I can’t, can I?”

  “Why not?”

  “His phone’s out of commission, isn’t it? That ‘mix-up’?”

  “Oh, no; I sorted that.” Miller started the engine.

  “I’ll phone him later then.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  They drove out of the town centre and up a hill to th
e well-to-do Hemlock estate.

  “Um, Miller...”

  “If you want to phone him, phone him. I’m not his keeper.”

  “I will. But it’s not that. The box of crime prevention leaflets.”

  “Don’t tell me they’ve been nicked. I thought you had them.”

  “I did. I sort of left them on the roof of your car.”

  Miller looked in the rear-view mirror. Sure enough, a host of printed material was swarming in their wake. “Shit!” She pulled over.

  “Oops,” said Brough. He unbuckled and got out. Miller watched his reflection jumping around like a cat swatting butterflies. Usually she would be tickled by such a sight. But not this time. She chewed her lower lip, ruining its recently applied coat.

  Where’s your head at, David? Too caught up in your bloody vanity to keep your mind on the job.

  It was fortunate they had nothing more serious than a few crime prevention visits to make.

  ***

  “Come on, then.” Pattimore unfastened his seatbelt. Stevens was still gripping the steering wheel of his Ford Capri, even though they had arrived at the school’s car park minutes ago. Pattimore let out a laugh of amazement. “Are you scared? You are! You’re scared.”

  “Get fucked,” snarled Stevens. “I just don’t like schools, that’s all. Never have, never will.”

  “Aw,” Pattimore teased. “Have a hard time, did you? Did those nasty big boys flush Benny’s head down the bog?”

  “Piss off. I was the nasty big boy.”

  “Somehow I believe that. Now, are you coming in or are you going to wait in the car like a neglected doggy? I can wind the window down a bit if you are.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Not what?”

  “Not fucking scared.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I’ll show you who’s scared.” Stevens snatched the key from the ignition and climbed out of the car. He looked at the oblong building of concrete and glass before him. “It hasn’t changed a bit,” he observed, his moustache quivering.

  “What?” said Pattimore. “You went here? You went to Hangham High?”

  “Yup. It was a shithole then and it’s a shithole now.”