Keegan ambled over to the table in his heavy, bow legged gait. He grabbed a chair turned it around and straddled it. He folded his meaty arms akimbo over the chair’s back.
‘How you been then lad?’
‘Fine thanks Sarge not too bad at all, and you?’
‘Not bad lad - keeping the streets safe and all that cobblers. How’s that shoulder of yours? Heard about what you did with young Chev, you showed some ticker there son.’
Despite himself, Darrin felt a surge of pride at the big man’s thumbs up - Keegan was not renowned for giving out the bouquets.
‘Thanks Sarge - I appreciate it.’
‘Still enjoying the D stuff are yer? How’s that all going? Heard you had a possible lead on the lad that was found in the skip.’
Keegan’s grin remained on his face but the eyes were scoping him now, steel plate hard and very intense. Fuck knows what Keegan would be like in the interrogation room - scary.
Darrin shifted around in his seat a little, he folded his arms and then willed himself to unfold them.
‘Yeah, well yer know how it is Sarge, the kid might have just been covering his arse, yer know fishing for a break. We had him bang to rights for the weed. He was fucked on that one.’
Keegan nodded a few times in solemn appraisal then he lifted the big bison head and resumed the optical work out. Not fucking finished by any means.
‘Heard you rattled that dumb ass nutter Bazzer Dougan’s cage too - how’s he fit in with it all yer reckon?’ Keegan took a casual little look at his thumbnail.
Darrin didn’t miss a beat.
‘Not sure really Sarge, the kid I collared reckoned the dead lad made a call to somebody called Bazzer and that he’d talked about a party, down the Quays somewhere like. Bazzer gave us fuck all though, he was tighter lipped than the pharaohs, that mad-eyed gob-shite.’
That got Keegan rubbing his jaw - the big man looking inwards now.
Darrin ploughed on like a boat slipping irrevocably from its moorings and out to the rough open sea - fuck it. ‘Yeah spouting shite he were, talking a load of crap about the top end of town and about him being protected.’
Keegan snorted at that, spraying a light plume of saliva over the table and onto Darrin’s sleeveless left arm, ‘who’d protect that no mark arsehole - not even his fuckin mum would protect that scrawny cum stain.’
Yeah, yeah, he’d got the message - Dougan was a cunt - unanimous.
‘Yeah right enough Sarge, I think he was trying to lay a false trail. You know, puffing himself up a bit. I know a bloke who knows a bloke, the usual bollocks.’
Keegan leaned across the table and patted him lightly on his forearm, Darrin didn’t move and he smiled right back into those hard eyes.
‘Getting a name for yourself you are young Darrin, fair enough too. You’ve come a long way for a guy who was riding a forklift a couple of years back.’
Darrin continued looking into the eyes, Darrin smiled again, matching Keegan’s shit eating grin with one of his own.
‘Yeah, right, thanks Sarge. I guess you’re right about that. Of course there is always the exhumation angle too.’
‘Exhumation - what you mean?’ a little quick in his response maybe - for Keegan.
Keegan leaned forward, lifting the back legs of the chair off the ground as he did so, his heavy brow now some six inches or so closer to his own.
‘Yeah you know Sarge, if he did go to a party at the Quays just before he ended up in that skip. It might be worthwhile, you know to check him out, for any foreign DNA like. They might have missed something, you know in his clacker, stomach contents and that. You know how they are Sarge, they can be a bit rushed and sloppy without a prod in the right direction and before the new info, well, there was no possible sex angle then, was there?’
Keegan shook his head at him and gave out a mirthless harsh laugh that bounced off the canteen walls.
‘Nah Constable nah, you’re jumping way ahead there son. They’ll only usually do that around cause of death and I thought they’d nailed it with the toxicology reports, overdose, that new crap they’re all smoking and sticking into their veins.’
There was a few moments of silence between them, Keegan pushed out his lower lip and looked towards the drinks machine, which was over to the left of Darrin’s shoulder - his face was impassive and impossible to read.
‘Well it’s an interesting thought young Daz. Run it by the brass, you never know, they might be up for it.’
Darrin nodded into Keegan’s face, aware of his raised pulse and the adrenalin that was making his legs tremble under the table.
Keegan heavily pushed himself up - the fucker had to be knocking eighteen stone and apart from a mid-size paunch little of it was excess.
Keegan put the twinkle back in his eye and the hale and hearty back in his voice.
‘Alright then son take it easy - keep up the good work-very impressive.’
Darrin held the big man’s gaze again, as benign as a light breeze.
‘Thanks for that Sarge, I will.’
Keegan rolled away and Darrin watched him turn right into the corridor, heading off towards the lifts.
Darrin folded the paper up and put it under his arm. He’d finish it off when he got home. He had a fair bit of thinking to do.
Junior had texted him asking him if it was cool that he come up to the ref. Pasquale told him to contact the office first and try and make an appointment for just after lunch. That would give them some time before whichever one of the youth team arrived to take him to the cop station, if he was lucky it would be Leah - she was fit for an older bird and just sitting in the car with her was enough to give him a raging hard on. Luckily, Rob was on shift and he agreed to Junior visiting, but only with plenty of fucking conditions attached. He had to let Rob know that Junior had arrived as soon as he got there, there was to be no leaving the grounds of the refuge during the visit, and the visit was to be capped at half an hour max, after that Junior had to be on his way.
Junior showed about two, right on the dot - he was on foot, no bike, wearing his back pack and he had a folded soft grey cap held tight in his right mitt. The three others were sat outside at the tables and they showed no inclination to move away - so he and Junior stayed put in the lounge room. Rob silently checked it out and then went back to the office to finish off playing his computer chess. Before he left, Rob reminded him of the ground rules, as if he would have fuckin’ forgotten them, particularly emphasising the thirty minutes tops.
The TV was on low, some daytime drivel that even Neil and Jess couldn’t be bothered to watch. Junior was quiet, but, there again, he usually was. He did a couple of laps of the lounge room with his eyes then casually handed the cap to him.
‘Here you go P. You might want to stash that in your room - right away like.’
Pasquale glanced at him, stood up and made his way through the kitchen and into the corridor that led past the office. He could hear Rob, not so busy on the office phone murmuring to somebody, probably that porky bird of his. Pasquale went quickly into his room and he unfolded the cap with his back pressed hard against the closed door. It was all there, a nice thick wad of twenties and tens, just under two and a half grand. Junior had even put a plastic band around it. He stashed the money in his kit bag in the wardrobe then returned to Junior in the lounge.
He sat down and extended his palm and Junior touched hands with him.
‘Ta bro.’
‘No worries P - you earned it.’
Junior looked at him levelly for a moment.
‘They took Dwayne in - nobody’s saying it were down to you though.’
‘Yet.’
Junior nodded, ‘yeah, yeah you’re right, yet.’
‘It’s all quiet up there - nobody’s stepped up either.’
Junior dipped his head then glanced up at him.
‘Thanks too P for - yer know.’
‘It’s all right man, we’re partners.’
Juni
or smiled at that.
Pasquale decided to tell him, it was weighing heavily and not letting it out was not making it go away.
‘I told them about Bazzer though Junior.’
‘What, you mean the gear?’ Junior looked startled.
‘No, no man not that, the phone call that M made to the prick - the party and that.’
Junior looked at him quietly then gave him the nod.
‘Shit, no shit, fair enough I suppose. He ain’t gone nowhere though, still kicking on the Barrington, as far as I know anyways.’
Pasquale thought about that for a while, ‘maybe they thought I was shitting them.’
Junior shrugged, ‘yeah maybe - they ain’t talked to me again either.’
Pasquale thought it prudent to remind him why that was, he knew that Junior would be a little ambivalent about letting the coppers know about the call.
‘Well you weren’t mentioned were you? You got to pull back though, that copper that nabbed me must have seen yer.’
Junior leaned back into the sofa and breathed out heavily towards the ceiling. Pasquale could hear Junior’s cogs whirring, trying to process all the angles.
Pasquale kept quiet and looked at the TV for a while, some bloke with plenty of jowl was rapidly chopping up a cabbage whilst talking to the camera.
‘Next Thursday eh?’ Junior said.
‘Yeah, pretty soon.’
‘They told you what you’re likely to get?’
‘Yeah, kind of, Sonny reckons it’ll be one of those secure units - it’ll be fucking miles away from here. Like a big ref he reckons, but stricter; no smoking, bed early, up early. You get your own room but.’
Junior nodded, ‘hmmm, that part of it don’t sound too bad.’
‘Lessons every day though, most of the time you got to stay locked up in there and the workers always go outside with yer for any excursions, appointments and that.’
Junior smiled, ‘might be some fit birds in there mind, eh blood.’
Pasquale shook his head and grimaced, ‘I think it’s all lads.’
‘Shit,’ Junior said, ‘don’t want you coming out a there a turd burglar P.’ Junior had an involuntary glance in Neil’s direction, he and the girls still busy back there, doing nowt.
Pasquale looked at him and Junior softened it up with a laugh, ‘kidding man, kidding.’
‘What you decided then Junior, hanging around or what?’
‘Dunno P, spoke to my mum bout Haringey again. She reckons they’re OK with me going down there to stay.’
‘Go for it man, get out of this fucking dump.’
There was a volley of raucous laughter from the back of the building, which momentarily distracted them. They both looked outside to see Neil shimmying along to some tune in his head, the girls lapping it up.
Pasquale looked over and smiled and then he had a pang of impending loss. He was going to be saying a lot of goodbyes.
Rob walked into the lounge and gave them the final bell.
‘Ty is here in ten Pasquale - take you to the police station.’
Even Rob was making a point of spelling it out - how he’d fucked up.
They stood up and looked at each other with shy half smiles and then Junior stepped forward and embraced him - something that they’d never done before.
They stepped apart and Junior promptly made for the back door, he slid it open and then half turned back into the room.
He saluted him with a nod and a little wave from the hip.
‘Later then bro.’
‘Later Junior.’ Junior turned away and, with a few long strides, he was gone.
Tommy had taken a half-day off at the Centre in preparation for the trip to Brighton, Mick’s words still replaying in his head about the need for him to leave the nest. On balance he knew that Mick was right but it was a compromise that he was willing to make while the old man was still sunny side up. He was intrigued at the prospect of visiting a place that had only really registered on his radar whenever he had listened to the Who’s Quadrophenia and he hadn’t listened to that odyssey of teenage angst for at least twenty years. He knew fuck all about the place but Lee had waxed lyrical about it during their last phone call, which had pricked his interest a little. He hadn’t heard such enthusiasm from his friend since he and Bern had first set up their own recording studio back in the late eighties.
He made Euston just after eight and an hour or so later he was ensconced in Lee’s kitchen with some red wine, pizza, an animated Bern and a chilled out Lee. Bernie was right into the Brighton thing, non-stop jabber from her about both the trip and their probable plans for moving down there in the future. He got it out of the way and talked a little about Donna and the kid. Bernie said that she liked her - but just couldn’t see it somehow, the two of them as a couple.
‘Any reason why Bern?’
‘Don’t know really - maybe just coming from a different place somehow - in some ways she’s just too straight for you Tommy - you have that wandering gypsy soul.’
Lee smiled at that and Tommy laughed, ‘gee whiz, I guess coming from you that would be a compliment eh Bern?’
She nodded at him, earnestly straight faced and sincere, ‘definitely.’
They killed two bottles of the plonk but they had an earlyish night as the plan was to be down at Victoria by eleven at the latest. Then it would be straight to the hotel, off out for lunch and a meet up with a couple of friends of theirs, a pair of fellow musicians who had made the break to the south coast a couple of years ago.
Tommy woke up in the charcoal grey of the pre-dawn. It was just after six according to his mobile. On checking the time he remembered that he’d left his fucking charger at home, again, and the battery was nearly gone so he clicked the phone off. Ah well, he thought, it would be good to be out of range for a day or two, make it feel like more of a break. Anyway, he had a couple of hours up his sleeve and the lounge room was nice and warm - more kip was the order of the day.
He went to change position slightly but found that when he went to move his legs they wouldn’t respond at all. He tried again but no, nothing. He could still feel the limbs but they were dead weight, lifeless. He didn’t feel panicked at all, more like he was strangely detached from the experience somehow, both the observer and the observed. Tommy heard a voice in his head, his own but, there again, not quite his own. It was separate somehow, outside of him. A male voice though and it was very calm, sonorous and measured.
‘This is what it feels like to die,’ the voice said.
Clear as a bell and, again, a second time.
‘This is what it feels like to die.’
He lay there bemused, he couldn’t equate the words with the experience, as freaky as the experience was, because he knew he wasn’t dying - it was all so fucking odd. He waited twenty seconds or so, still calm, still unpanicked, with no more incoming messages from James Earl Jones either. He tried once again and, this time, his legs responded, normal service resumed; there was no ache in them, no pins and needles, no cramping and, yeah, he supposed, no worries. Tommy thought about it for a little while - it should have been alarming but that wasn’t how he felt, maybe he’d get alarmed about it later. The experience had felt matter of fact, and that residue, that feeling of acceptance and inevitability was somehow consonant with the tone of that voice.
Bernie came in and roused him just after eight and he mentioned the experience to her as they sat in the kitchen together drinking coffee. But his lack of alarm at the experience elicited a muted response from her, just a quizzical look and a cocked eyebrow.
They arrived at Brighton Station pretty much on midday. A half full train had got a bit of a lick on and had made the trip in just over an hour. He liked the town’s station. It was an elegant throwback to the age of steam that reminded him of Mick’s old workplace but without the patina and ambience of grit.
The place was packed with loads of young and not so young people milling around the cavernous forecourt. The three
of them made their way to the taxi rank, swerving and zig-zagging through clusters of foreign students as they did so. Groups of French, Italian and Spanish youngsters notably relaxed yet with the natural animation and liveliness of youth. They were fresh faced and had none of the wary, watchful swagger of many of the home grown younger end.
They jumped in a cab near the wide station entrance. He took the front and Lee gave the driver the destination, which was a two mile drive down to the hotel in Hove. The driver was a ruddy-faced middle-aged Saxon whose sedentary work had had a marked impact on his girth. He immediately took a right turn off the main road, which looked as though it ran south all the way down to the sea, and drove on west, staying parallel to the Channel, the blue of which Tommy could glimpse through the narrow street vistas that led down to the seashore. A mile or so later the driver took a left and then turned right into what was another busy main road; plenty of cyclists of all ages, posses of double-decker buses and cars and, unlike the now relatively empty streets of his home town chock full of pedestrians too. Lee and Bern had enthused about that the fact that Brighton was a ‘walk anywhere’ city. Less than a mile later they took another right-angled left hand turn, which gave them a clear vista of the glass like water. They drove slowly down a wide street that was buttressed by two lengthy rows of four storey, big windowed brick town houses, all of which looked to have been broken up into flats.
The hotel was right down at the bottom of the street, its architecture consonant with the sentinel town houses - Regency according to Lee. In itself the hotel was nothing grand but it was pleasant enough. It had a bar which doubled up as a reception and a large restaurant area off to the left of that which was opened for business but empty. The three of them checked in and agreed to meet back in the bar in half an hour so that then they could take off for a stroll down to the nearby seafront.
His room was small but clean, the only view from it that of the neighbouring building’s large side wall - so it would be for sleeping purposes only. Tommy took his time getting ready as he knew that Bern would surely be taking hers. He was down the bar nursing a beer for nearly twenty minutes before Lee came in through the room’s double swing doors with a raising of his eyebrows and a grimace of apology. Bern came bustling in a few strides behind him, head down and looking for something in her large handbag. She was always rushed that girl, yet never on time - amazing.
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