by Ken Bruen
Brant smiled, said, ‘Spiro!’
Spiro’s eyes darted to Sarah and Brant said, ‘It’s OK, she’s a good ’un.’
He took a long look at the injuries, then asked, ‘Who did it?’
‘I dunno Mr Brant, I was attacked from behind.’
‘Sure you were.’
Spiro’s eyes pleaded to Sarah and he said, ‘I am very tired, I must sleep.’
Brant moved closer, said, ‘I don’t need you to say a dicky-bird. I’m going to mention a name and if it’s correct, just nod. That’s all and we’re gone.’
Sarah felt useless, gave Spiro a small smile.
Brant said, ‘Tommy Logan.’
For a few moments nothing; Spiro had closed his eyes. Then, a small nod.
Brant said, ‘OK, you need anything?’
Head shake.
Brant turned to Sarah, said, ‘Let’s go.’
They were on the ground floor before Sarah got to ask, ‘Who’s Tommy Logan?’
‘A murderin’ bastard is who.’
Things are entirely what they appear to be and behind them there is nothing. (Sartre)
Falls was shopping. With an air of total abstraction, her eyes kept wandering to the booze counter. The bottles called out, ‘Come and get us, ple-eze.’
She sure wanted to. Just crawl into a bottle and shout ‘Sayonara, suckers’.
Block out everything.
The Rapist,
Brant,
McDonald,
…And especially Rosie.
But she wasn’t certain she’d return. Her father had climbed in and never emerged. Without awareness, she was shredding a head of cabbage. A voice said, ‘I don’t think it will improve.’
She looked up. A man in his late-forties was smiling at her. He indicated the cabbage, said, ‘Like life, it doesn’t get better with the peeling away.’
Jeez, she thought, He is one attractive guy.
His hair was snow white and he had a three day beard, which was dark brown. Then the eyes, deeper, holding brown. They held her.
He said, ‘According to the experts, shopping is the best way to meet members of the opposite sex.’
She didn’t think such gibberish deserved an answer so she said nothing. If it bothered him, he hid it well, said, ‘My Mother believed you should go out the door you came in.’
‘Which means what, exactly?’
‘That I’m backing off; sorry to have interrupted your shredding.’ Then he turned and walked off.
Falls said quietly, ‘Oh that’s great, frighten him right off.’
Her eyes turned again to the booze and she made her decision, shouted, ‘Hey!’
He stopped, and when she caught up, she said, ‘Tell me more about yer old Mum.’
Brant was going against his instincts but, hell, he felt reckless. As he and Sarah returned to the station, he asked casually, ‘What’s yer plan for this evening?’
She took it easy, answered, ‘I’m going out with friends.’
‘Have a good time, eh?’
‘I’ll try.’
After she’d gone, he sat in the car and tried to figure out what he was feeling. Took out a cigarette and lit it. As the nicotine hit, he tried not to admit that he was disappointed. Then he looked up to see Sarah and McDonald leaving the station.
Her head was thrown back, laughing.
Brant said, ‘Fuck.’
Tommy Logan was hyper, roared, ‘See what happens to those who fuck with me.’
His men grunted in agreement. What they mainly hoped was he’d be brief.
More: ‘Not even the cops can come at us. I had a chief inspector try, eh … Where is he now?
‘His DS, the hard case Brant, what had he to offer? Bloody zero, that’s what. I’m throwing a party on Friday, the biggest fuckin’ bash in south-east London. This is just the beginning.’
Flushed, he wiped his brow and waited for applause. Applause wasn’t really in their vocabulary but they knew a response was required. A few hip-hips were produced and it had to suffice. Tommy turned to his right-hand man, said, ‘Get the invitations out. Let it be known it’s the event.’
‘Sure, guv.’
He was the only one Tommy trusted. The rest he knew would sell him for a pony.
Ideally, Tommy would have loved to get Johnny Logan singing for the party, but he’d found out he was lost in cabaret in Western Australia. Still, he might do a song himself, it depended on the crowd.
The party invitations went out. Harry, the solicitor’s name went on the invites. Thus, a broad cross-section of people could be invited. Including the Super.
The Super rang Harry, ‘Harry, it’s Superintendent Brown.’
‘Superintendent, how are you?’
‘Fine, fine. Thank you for the invite.’
‘A pleasure. Will you and your lady wife be able to attend?’
‘Wouldn’t miss it.’
‘Splendid, the theme is law and order.’
‘Highly commendable.’
‘The Lodge will be there.’
‘Better and better, Harry. Any help I can give?’
Harry paused, gave it the momentary respect, then, ‘Any chance some of your lads might assist with security?’
‘They’d be delighted to.’
‘Well, that’s a load off my mind. See you at the party, then.’
‘Absolutely, thanks again.’ The call concluded.
Both men felt they’d done pretty damn fine.
Drinking lights out
‘I don’t think I’ve had pina coladas before.’ Sarah I had two empty glasses in front of her, working on a third. It was unlikely she’d had a drink of such calibre before.
McDonald knew the barman and had signalled, ‘doubles’, on each round. What used to be called a Mickey Finn but now was simply referred to as ‘loaded’. McDonald was drinking scotch-singles-and watching Sarah go down.
Feeling the alcohol, she said, ‘My Mum would forgive a man anything if he was handsome.’
McDonald posed the obvious, ‘Would she have forgiven me?’
Sarah gave him a shy look, said, ‘You know the answer to that.’
He gave a modest nod which came across as smarmy. She said, ‘My father could dance on the side of a saucer.’
She pronounced it ‘soo-sir’ as the coladas kicked in.
McDonald gave the obligatory chuckle, asked, ‘Fancy one for the road?’
Emboldened, she asked, ‘One what?’
Music to his ears.
Another drink and it would be Ride City.
Band
‘Own us’ were an up and coming band. A cross twixt Oasis and Verve, they were still hungry. Word of mouth was beginning to repeat their name and a record deal was in the air. When approached to do Tommy Logan’s party, they didn’t hesitate a moment, said, ‘No.’ Relayed back to Tommy, he said, ‘Fuck ’em.’
Then, ‘Burn ’em.’
Tommy’s right-hand man proposed he have a chat with them. Tommy asked, ‘Why, Mick?’
‘Cos they’ll get us lots of press.’
‘OK, have a shot but if nothing’s doing, screw ’em.’
‘They’ll agree, I guarantee it.’
The lead singer was named Matt Wilde (sic). He had acquired the mandatory mid-Atlantic drawl for rock stars. Plus, he scratched a lot. Mick found them rehearsing in a warehouse at the Elephant. He listened to their set and thought, Christ, they’re bad.
Matt called a break and signalled to Mick. Being summoned by a nineteen-year-old pup was energising. The star was scratching his neck, asked, ‘What’s yer bag man?’
‘I’d like you to reconsider doing the Law ’n’ Order party gig.’
‘No can do man, never gonna happen. It hasn’t got, like, cred. You hear what I’m saying?’
Mick shrugged, asked, ‘Do any Vince Gill?’
‘What?’
‘You have a mobile?’
‘Course.’
‘Tell you what, give Kate a buzz.
’
‘Kate?’
‘Is there an echo in here? …Yeah, Kate, yer model girlfriend.’
Matt was less sure of himself, took up his mobile and, as required, dialled. ‘Kate?’
‘Matthew, hi.’
Mick said, ‘Ask her if there’s a blue Datsun parked outside.’
He asked … waited, then, ‘There is … OK.’
Mick nodded, said, ‘There’s a bloke sitting here, he’s got an acid container … need I paint a picture.’
Matt jumped at him and got an almighty blow to the solar plexus. The band members murmured but didn’t move.
Mick said, ‘Copyright infringement but we’ve got it sorted … haven’t we, Matt?’
Matt, still on his knees said, ‘I’ll go to the cops.’
Mick hunkered down beside him, said, ‘That would be very silly. Where would Kate get a new face, eh? You have a little think about it.’
Mick stood up, patted Mart’s head, said, ‘I think coffee break’s over.’
‘There’s no such thing as unconditional love. You just find a person with the same set of conditions as yourself.’ (Mark Kennedy)
Falls wasn’t sure what to wear. She had been through her wardrobe, rejected it all. He’d said, ‘Let’s have a drink, see how we go?’
Out loud she said, ‘Meaning, if I don’t bore the arse offa him, we’ll move to level two.’ And instantly chided herself.
If she was to get out of the mire, she’d need to change her attitude. Decided to go down-home-folks, pulled on tight worn 501’s and a UCLA sweatshirt. Pair of red baseball shoes and she was Miss Selfridge.
‘What do I call you?’ she’d asked.
He thought about it, then, ‘Ryan.’
‘Like Ryan O’Neal?’
He smiled, ‘Not really.’
They’d arranged to meet at The Cricketers. When she arrived he got out of a car, said, ‘You’re on time.’
‘Oh, was it a test?’
He stopped, said, ‘You’ve some mouth on you.’ But he was smiling so she let it slide.
Inside, the pub was hopping and he explained, ‘Darts night.’
‘Oh.’
She’d made a commitment that come what may, she’d tell the truth. Even if he asked what she did. Most times, say you’re a cop, they’d say, ‘You’re never!’
What hung there was not a woman being a cop but a bogey, a black woman. Most legged it. So she’d tell the truth, all down the line.
Okay.
He asked, ‘To drink?’
‘Bacardi and coke.’
Got a table away from the dart players. He came with the drinks, scotch and water chaser, said, ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers, Ryan.’
A tight smile as his drink hit, then he asked, ‘What do I call you?’
‘Yvette.’
First lie.
‘Nice, I like it.’
‘Do you work?’
‘Customer services.’
Second lie.
She crossed her fingers, a third lie was outright wicked so she asked, ‘Are you married?’
‘That’s fairly direct, does it matter?’
‘If we’re planning an engagement.’
He traced his finger on the rim of the glass, said, ‘I’m married with two kids, I’m not planning on leaving her.’
Falls was taken aback. At the very least, he could have whinged that his wife didn’t understand him.
She said, ‘Yet…
‘What?’
‘You’re not planning on leaving her yet.’
He gave an uncertain smile and she added, ‘Give a girl a bit of hope.’
‘Oh.’
Jeez, she thought, is he going to be as thick as two planks.
Then he said, ‘I don’t like lying.’
‘You must have an amazing wife … shit, I mean life.’
He finished his drink, grimaced, then: ‘I said I don’t like it, not that I don’t do it.’
The music got louder and Falls asked, ‘Like this?’
‘Yeah, I do, but I don’t know it.’
‘It’s Ocean Colour Scene.’
‘I believe you.’
‘Called “Beautiful Thing” with PP Arnold on there.’
‘You like music?’
‘C’mon Ryan, what colour am I?’
‘Sorry … look Yvette, could you cut me some slack here. I’m nervous and it cuts my banter into shit.’
She felt her heart jump, touched his hand, said, ‘Nervous is good.’
Later, they drove up the Edgware Road for bagels and lox. You have to know someone real well or not at all. Plus, it helps if they like lox. She did.
That night, after they’d made loud, sweaty, exhilarating love, she said, ‘Is it just me, or does lox sound slightly obscene?’
Crying time
Falls was bubbling. She bounced into the canteen and wanted to shout, ‘Oh yeah!’
She saw Sarah sitting alone. Head down, the picture of misery. Walking over, she said, ‘The star’s a little dimmed.’
Sarah looked up, said nothing. The skin above her left eye was bruised.
Falls sat, asked, ‘What happened?’
‘Why, do you care?’
Falls touched her hand, said, ‘Wise up, I’m here.’
Sarah mumbled, ‘Thanks.’
‘Listen, we could do like in Cagney and Lacey.’
‘Go to the Women’s Room?’
‘No … cry.’
Falls stood up, went and got some tea and danish. On the way back she put four sugars in the tea, plonked it on the table, said, ‘Here.’
‘Oh I couldn’t.’
‘It’s for the sugar rush but it won’t last, nothing does. You can tell me on the upswing.’
Come the upsurge, came the story.
Like this: ‘I was having a drink with … with McDonald. He was getting me pina coladas. I’ve had them before but not like this. By the time we left, I was near legless. Next thing I know, we’re in the front seat of his car and he’s trying to push … his … thing in my mouth. I hit my eye against the door and then I vomited all over his … his, lower part. He got so angry, he pushed me outta the car. I was lying on the pavement, and this I do remember, he leaned over to shut the door and said, “Yah useless slag.” Then he drove off.
‘I dunno how I got home. Can I have some more tea, it was lovely?’
Falls got the tea, then asked, ‘What ya going to do?’
‘I dunno. Will you tell me?’
Falls took a deep breath, then, ‘You could charge him.’
‘Oh God.’
‘God won’t help and neither will the brass. They’ll drag you through it and make it impossible to stay in the job. You might-big might-make some trouble for him but they’ll massacre you.’
Sarah looked set to cry again, said, ‘So, he gets away with it?’
Falls grabbed her wrist, said, ‘I never said to let it go, I just told you about the official method.’
Hope now in Sarah’s eyes, ‘There’s another way?’
Falls gave a smile that Brant would have understood, said, ‘Course there is.’
Once we were worriers
Brant was drinking a Sauza sunrise. A close relation of The Eagles’ ‘Tequila S’, it consists of
two shots of Sauza Tequila,
and …
lightly carbonated orange juice.
Brant was able to tell this to Roberts with some expertise mainly because the barman had just told him. There’s a tapas bar on the corner where Kennington Road hits Kennington Park Road. Brant had arranged to meet Roberts there.
‘Why?’ asked Roberts.
‘Cos I’m feeling Spanish.’
‘You are a weird person, sergeant but, why not?’
Brant got there first. A barman in near flamenco gear, said, ‘Hi.’
Brant said, ‘Buenos tardes.’
‘Senor, habla espanol?’
‘Naw, that’s it, I do have another wor
d but I’d like to ration it.’
The barman, not sure if this was humour, smiled. He was sure Brant was el polica. He’d be mucho cautious.
Brant said, ‘I dunno all this stuff from shit. What d’ya recommend?’ And thus he was enjoying his second.
Later, he told the barman he’d try taco, enchillados, cerveza, if he could stand up.
‘Bueno,’ said a very nervous barkeep. The waitress was in her late ambitious thirties. Her mileage showed but she’d made the best of it. A raw sexuality danced in her eyes. She said to the barman, nodding at Brant, ‘Now, there is a bull of a man, a real el toro.’
The barman sighed. He was going to apply for income support.
Roberts tasted his drink, said, ‘You could get a liking.’
‘Good man, that’s the spirit.’
Roberts, the only person who ever got to use Brant’s first name, said, ‘Tom, I hate to worry you but…
Brant was shaking his head, ‘I don’t worry.’
Roberts stood back from the bar, said, ‘My mistake. You’re a warrior, yeah.’
Brant had the grace to look ashamed, said, ‘Oh gawd, do I sound like a horse’s ass?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK … What’s worrying you?’
‘A new sergeant being transferred to us. Starts Monday.’
Brant shrugged. ‘I know.’
‘Do you? Oh shit, you’re still bugging the office.’
‘Course … might I add, they dislike me.’
‘That’s true.’
‘I hadn’t finished, but they outright hate you.’
‘Jesus!’
‘Yeah. The new guy’s named Porter Nash.’
‘All together?’
‘And he’s a good cop.’
Roberts asked for a beer. The barman got it, said, ‘Una cerveza.’
Brant lit up. ‘Ah, that’s beer.’
‘It’s Don Miguel, senor, mucho gusto.’
‘Yeah … later Juan.’
Roberts asked, ‘Are we gonna eat?’
‘Let’s get a bit pissed, then we won’t care what we eat.’
‘That’s your plan?’
‘For the moment. Anyway Porter Nash ain’t going no further than sergeant, despite having a degree in criminology.’