by Ford, P. F.
“Well, well, well,” he said. “If it isn’t the one and only Blonde Bobby. I suppose I should consider it an honour to meet the woman who’s been confirmed as the best shag in the county. You must be so proud of your achievement.”
She didn’t say a word, but let out a long, impatient, sigh.
“It’s lucky for you we’re not arresting anyone tonight, don’t you think?” he continued. “I mean, that would have been a bit embarrassing for you, wouldn’t it?”
Still she said nothing.
“If you’re worried about showing me what you’ve got,” he said. “It’s a bit late. I got a good look at the full frontal along with all the other guys who were watching. Very nice, by the way. It’s clever how you manage to keep your face hidden behind the blonde wig. It adds a bit of mystery. I always think that’s such a nice touch. Does your husband know what you use his car for when he’s out of town?”
“Is this going to take long?” she said, wearily. She shifted her position so she was now sitting back, her knees drawn up in front of her, facing him, defiantly staring at him.
“Oh sorry,” said Slater. “Are you too busy to speak to me?” He looked around in mock surprise. “Oh dear, the queue seems to have disappeared. Looks like it’s me, or no one.”
“I suppose you’d better get in and take your turn then, if it’ll keep you quiet,” she said. “I know you’ve always fancied your chances. Now I’m giving you the opportunity to find out what you’ve been missing, and just why I’m the best.”
He reached forward angrily into the car, snatched hold of the wig and pulled. It came off without much difficulty, revealing the short, neatly styled, dark hair he recognised. He flung the wig in her face.
“Just so you know,” he said between gritted teeth. “I never have ‘fancied my chances’ with you. Yes, you’ve got a beautiful body, but you’ve also got an evil temper and a shite attitude. For that reason alone, I wouldn’t waste my time. I also happen to know your husband, and I never cheat on my mates.”
“You know Alan?” she said in disbelief. “But you’ve never said.”
“I’ve never felt the need to,” he replied. “And do you really think I’m that desperate I would want to get it together with someone who enjoys being passed around like this? Being the best shag in the county must make you what? Top Dog? I can’t think of a more appropriate title, can you? Except, perhaps, ‘cheap little slut’.”
All the colour had drained from her face and with it, her confident attitude. Slater watched as she shivered and tears filled her eyes.
“What are you going to do?” she said, sobbing. “I don’t want to lose my job, or my home or anything.”
“Yeah,” he said. “You’ve just realised how deep that pile of shit is that you’re in, haven’t you? It’s funny how people suddenly realise what they’re going to lose when they get caught.”
Slater kicked at the back bumper of the car in frustration.
“You’re so bloody stupid.” he said, sighing. “You can be bloody good at your job, when you put your mind to it. You could go a long way, and yet you’re prepared to risk your future and everything you have, for what? A quick shag in a car park with these sad tossers? Even Dick Waver, the Phantom Flasher, was watching and wanking all over your car bonnet.
“That must be quite an achievement in itself. You arrested him this afternoon and had the chance to end his career as Tinton’s biggest wanker, and now here you are, just a few hours later, fulfilling one of his wildest fantasies.”
He kicked the car again.
“And have you never heard of safe sex?”.
“But what are you going to do?” Blonde Bobby wailed, tears running down her face.
“What am I going to do?” he echoed. “What I’d like to do is arrest you and drag your sorry arse down to the station so all your colleagues could see what you do in your spare time. That’s what I’d like to do. But my remit was just to come up here and frighten the crap out of everyone. I think I’ve done that, don’t you?”
“But what about me?” She sounded desperate now. “What will happen to me? Will you tell Alan? Will you tell everyone? Please don’t. I’ll do anything. Just say it, and I’ll do it.”
He looked at her sadly and shook his head.
“I probably won’t see Alan,” he said. “And if I do, how do I tell him his wife’s the best shag in the county? Right now, I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I will tell you what you can do. You can go home and stay there while you consider whether you’re a fit person to be a police officer.”
“Stay there?” she asked, looking confused.
“Phone in and tell them you’ve been exposed to something nasty. Looking at the sad bastards you mix with I’m sure you probably have. Take a few days off sick. That way you won’t get in my way. And think, long and hard, about whether you should come back. Now get dressed and bugger off out of my sight.”
With that, he slammed the hatch down and stomped angrily back to his car, where a pissed-off Biddeford was waiting with an equally pissed-off Dick Waver, who was handcuffed to the roof rack.
“I couldn’t put him inside,” explained Biddeford. “You locked it.”
“Of course I bloody locked it,” said Slater. “I didn’t want that dirty bugger dribbling jungle juice all over my car seats. There’s a plastic sheet in the boot. Put that on the back seat before you put him in there.”
Then Slater turned his attention to the prisoner.
“When we get back to Tinton, you’re going to be locked in a cell for the night and then I’m going home,” he said. “My colleague here will be back in the morning with another colleague, and then the three of you are going to have a nice cosy little chat.”
Biddeford manoeuvred the prisoner onto the plastic sheet.
“Hey. This is cold on my arse,” the flasher said.
“Tough shit,” snapped Slater from the driver’s seat. “If you weren’t walking around half undressed it wouldn’t be a problem would it?”
“It’s bloody police brutality, that’s what it is,” Dick Waver muttered from the back of the car. “First I get kicked in the balls, for the second time today, and now you make me sit on a feckin’ freezin’ plastic sack.”
“Look,” shouted Slater, swinging round in his seat to face the prisoner. “I’ve had a bloody gut full today. If you don’t stop complaining, I’m going to drag you out of that bloody seat, and show you what real police brutality is all about. Right now, I’m in just the right mood to give a demonstration. All I need is a volunteer to beat up. One more peep out of you and you’re that volunteer. Understand?”
The Phantom Flasher gulped loudly and nodded his head. Slater turned back to the steering wheel, breathing heavily. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Steve Biddeford staring at him, puzzled. But he was in no mood to explain what had happened.
There was no further comment from anyone on the way back to the station.
Chapter 21
When he finally struggled out of bed on Sunday morning, Slater felt pretty wretched. He had hardly slept last night, having spent most of it agonising over what he should do about Phillipa Flight. How could she be so bloody stupid? Doing it right on her own doorstep like that, she could have been caught at any time. But then he knew that just made it even more risky for her, and at the end of the day, it was the risk, rather than the sex, that made her come alive.
All in all, he had concluded it was a desperately sad situation, but one that she would have to sort out for herself. He knew which course of action he was going to follow. What happened after that was down to her.
To compound his crappy morning, he had just discovered there was nothing to eat. There was food, but only in the loosest sense. None of it was edible. He’d binned a loaf of bread that was so hard even mould wasn’t growing on it, some distinctly green-looking bacon, and a carton of milk that appeared to have turned to yogurt, and smelt even worse than it looked. At least he had eggs, he’d though
t, until he opened the box and found it was empty.
He tossed the box into the bin and realised he was just going to have to face up to it. It might be Sunday, and his first day off in ages, but he needed to go shopping.
As he pulled into the supermarket car park, it occurred to him that the need for this journey was symptomatic of his current situation. This never used to happen. He always used to be organised. He always used to manage to go shopping regularly. He even had a social life once. But over the last few months, his life seemed to have become all about work. It was all he seemed to do. The fact was, he’d lost control of his own life. He didn’t even have time to go shopping, for God’s sake.
It was still early enough to find plenty of parking spaces and he crawled slowly around the car park, lost in thoughts about his dismal life, until a pink Mini Cooper caught his attention. The colour would have caught his eye anyway, but it was the ‘anywhere will do’ style of parking that made him decide to park next to it. He promised himself it was just a coincidence and that he wasn’t working, and he certainly wasn’t going to interview her.
It didn’t take him long to find her, but then there weren’t that many well built, leggy blondes, in tight white jeans and tee shirt, tottering around on high heels in the supermarket this early on a Sunday morning. She was wandering along gazing into the frozen food cabinets when he spotted her, and he decided he would contrive a chance encounter and see what happened.
He approached her from the opposite direction, and coughed loudly just before he reached her. She swung round at the sound and looked straight at him. For a moment, he thought about changing his mind, but then she recognised him.
“Oh, hi,” she said brightly, smiling.
It was the sort of dazzling smile that made his stomach do somersaults. But just as it was obvious she had recognised him, it was equally obvious she had no idea where she knew him from.
“Hello, Miss Maine,” he said, to help her out. “It’s DS Slater. From yesterday. We came to speak to Mr Bressler.”
“Of course,” she said. “I’m sorry. I can remember a face, but I’m not so good with names. But please call me Cindy. Miss Maine is far too formal. And surely you’re not on duty today, are you?”
“Well, no,” he said laughing. “I’m just out shopping. Even police officers have to eat.”
“And do police officers have names when they’re off duty?” she asked.
“What? Oh, yes.” He blushed. “It’s Dave.”
Slater thought everything about her was attractive and she had an easy grace about her movements. Not for the first time in recent months, he found himself envying the sort of men who seem to have relationships with beautiful women like this. But what chance did a hard-up copper who was always at work have?
“Do I pass?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts.
“I’m sorry?” he said, his face turning red.
“You’re looking at me as if you’re weighing me up. I was just wondering, did I pass?”
“Errm, no. It’s not that.” He flushed, embarrassed that his thought process was so obviously transparent. “I was just, err. You see, the thing is, it would help if I could talk to you about Mr Bressler, but it’s Sunday, and… No. I’m sorry. Forget I mentioned it. It’s Sunday and I’m off duty and I shouldn’t be bothering you.”
“Do I look bothered?” she asked, laughing. “And what if it is Sunday? Rudy’s away for a few days so I’m in no rush, and I was just thinking about coffee anyway. Why don’t you join me? Unless you’ve got something better to do, of course.”
Her directness was totally disarming and, right at this moment, Slater couldn’t imagine it would be possible to find anything better to do than have coffee with Cindy Maine. She was looking straight into his eyes, and he hoped she couldn’t read his thoughts.
“That’s settled then,” she said. “Come on. Mine’s a cappuccino.”
Slater followed obediently in her wake, struggling to keep his eyes off her backside and his mind on the job as she swayed along ahead of him.
“So, what would you like to know?” she asked, placing her coffee cup carefully back on the saucer.
“I’d just like to confirm my opinion of Rudy, really. You’d know him better than anyone, so I’d like to hear what you think of him. Maybe he’s spoken to you about what happened all those years ago.”
“If you’re hoping I’m going to dish the dirt on Rudy and his business dealings you’re going to be very disappointed. And if you’re hoping I’m going to tell you he beats me up and treats me like a slave, or anything else like that, you’re still going to be disappointed.”
“You make him sound like some sort of saint,” said Slater.
“Not at all,” she said. “But he’s never lied to me, he’s treated me very well, and I’ve never had reason to doubt him about anything. As for his business, he doesn’t tell me and I don’t ask. That’s how the deal works.”
“Deal?” asked Slater, his curiosity aroused. “What deal?”
“You surely don’t think this is a real, genuine relationship, do you?” she asked, surprised.
The question totally threw Slater. His mouth opened and shut, but no words came out.
“Oh, you do, don’t you?” She laughed, shaking her head. “How old fashioned of you.”
“I’m sorry,” said a baffled Slater. “But you’ve lost me.”
“Hmm.” Cindy sighed, drumming her fingers on the table. “I suppose I’d better explain what I mean, but goodness knows what you’re going to think of me now.”
“Yes,” Slater said, still totally baffled. “I think an explanation might be a good idea...”
“Isn’t this Sunday supposed to be a day off?” Norman’s voice came down Slater’s mobile.
“Yeah. If you’re busy it can wait.”
“Ha! If it could wait you wouldn’t have called,” Norman said, and Slater smiled at his colleague’s perception. “It just so happens I’m not busy, as you well know, so how about I grab a takeaway and come over for lunch?”
“No.” Slater thought about the paunchy and pasty Norman standing next to the strapping Rudy Bressler. “Forget the takeaway. You eat far too many takeaways. I’ve got a better idea. Be here in an hour. I’ll cook lunch.”
“I’ll be there, bearing a case of lager,” said Norman, surprised at the offer. “This I have to see. And eat.”
“So the deal is, she stays with him for five years, then he dumps her, and finds a younger replacement.” Slater was relaying the story Cindy Maine had told him about her relationship with Rudy Bressler.
“And they all have to fit the ‘attractive, blonde, big boobs and long legs’ mould?” asked Norman.
“And be 25 years old,” said Slater.
“When we saw her the other day I thought she looked a lot like Sandra,” said Norman. “Now I see it’s no coincidence. It’s like he’s reliving those first five happy years he had with her.”
“That’s exactly what the deal is. They fill her place for five years, then when they get to 30 they step aside and make way for the next 25-year-old replacement.”
“Jeez. That’s kinda weird, and rather unhealthy, don’t you think?” asked Norman. “That man needs help. He has to have some sort of psychological disorder.” He took a sip of lager. “And these girls are happy with this arrangement?”
“They effectively sign a contract that means they exchange five years of their lives for a million pounds,” explained Slater. “That’s 200 grand a year, tax free. And, according to Cindy, Bressler is the perfect gentlemen and never makes any unreasonable demands. They get treated well, and live a jet-set life with no expense spared. It’s not a bad deal, and invested wisely they’re getting a pretty good start in life.”
“And you think this proves what?” asked Norman.
“It could indicate that he really did love Sandra like he claims, and he’s never been able to move on.”
“Or, like I said, it could prove he’s nuts and n
eeds professional help,” Norman said. “And she volunteered this information? You don’t think she was put up to it by Bressler?”
“I think she was for real. For one thing, she had no way of knowing she was going to meet me this morning. I didn’t even know I was going to be there until I found I had no food in the house. And her deal’s just about to come to an end. She’s got a matter of days to go, but she doesn’t seem remotely bitter about it. It all seems very matter of fact and business-like.”
“So how many of these girls has he gone through?”
“She’s number three,” said Slater. “Apparently number four will move in when Cindy moves out.”
“You mean to say you met up with that gorgeous woman, who will shortly be available, looking like that?” said Norman, grabbing another lager from the case he had brought with him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Slater, slurping from his own can.
“Well, if you don’t mind me saying, you’re not exactly looking your best.” Norman looked at Slater scathingly. “In fact, to be honest, you look like shit. Do I have to drink out of a can? Don’t you have any glasses?”
“Drink from the can. Glasses have to be washed up,” said Slater. “And have you looked in a mirror today?”
“Ah, yes,” Norman said, nodding. “I take your point and accept your insult. But the thing is, I always look like this, whereas you normally look pretty good.”
“Look. I didn’t know I was going to meet her, and I don’t have any plans to include her in my future.”
“Just as well. Because, you’d have no chance looking like that. You haven’t even shaved. I’m just telling you because it’s a slippery slope. If you’re not careful you’ll end up looking like me.”