Ken Bruen - Her Last Call to Louis MacNeice

I got that done, put cups, milk, sugar on a tray and some strawberry jam delights. Put the spread before him, he said, ‘Now, isn’t this cosy.’

And took a biscuit, bit cautiously, said, ‘Mm… m… that is good, Marks and Spencers?’

‘Sainsbury’s.’

‘First class. I might go another.’

And he did. Then said, ‘Bit o’ news you’ll find fascinating.’

‘Oh yeah, and what would that be?’

‘The Met are to be issued with longer acrylic batons. The Home Secretary wanted to know if the longer length made a difference in physical impact injuries and has finally approved them.’

‘That is fascinating. Acrylic eh, and machine washable.’

‘I doubt you’d pop them in yer local laundrette. Meanwhile, the villains load up on Uzis and M-11’s.’

‘I do appreciate your hoppin’ round to tell me, Inspector but you could have phoned.’

‘And miss these treats, I do believe I’ll have another. That your Astra outside?’

‘It’s a repo, I’ll drop it off later.’

‘Don’t doubt it for a minute. Who’s going to play silly buggers eh? The reason I wished to see you is, I wondered if you’d any new ideas on those robberies.’

‘Not a one.’

‘Mm… m… you’re not having tea.’

‘Bit early for me.’

‘We know it’s the same two men. They nick a car and hit at random, almost like they stuck a pin in a map. What do you think?’

‘No idea.’

‘Well, that’s my job eh, but I’ll pop round from time to time let you know how the investigation’s going.’

He stood up, noisily drained his cup, headed for the door. I said, ‘It isn’t really necessary you know.’

‘Of course I know it isn’t fuckin’ necessary Cooper. When it gets to that, I’ll send Quinn.’

Doc was close to shouting.

‘What did you do to antagonise the prick.’

‘Do me a bloody favour Doc, I gave him tea for crying out loud.’

‘And he definitely said WHEN not IF.’

‘You think I misheard him, that it?’

‘Fuck fuck fuck.’

‘That’s a big help.’

I was round at Doc’s place. He lived off the Clapham Road in an old draughty house that never got warm. Laura, his common-law wife, was doing household shit and noisily. A small intense brunette, she’d a vicious temper. I don’t think she liked me but it wasn’t personal. She didn’t like anybody, even Doc seemed to bug her and they’d been together eighteen years. He shouted, ‘Laura, for fuck’s sake, will you stop bangin’ things.’

‘When you stop bangin’ young wans.’

He gave a huge smile, said, ‘The mouth on that woman, strip paint off a gate. Hey Laura, wet a sup o’ tea.’

‘Wet it yerself.’

They had a sixteen-year-old daughter, currently at a posh boarding school. Doc said, ‘Everyone in this house-hold does time.’

Laura sighed, ‘But I’m the only one doing life.’

Round at Lisa’s, I’d called with flowers. The logo shouts ‘Say It With Flowers’. A bunch of pink roses, they didn’t have a whole lot of chat. Lisa said, ‘They’re lovely.’

What else could she add. She’d answered the door in nowt but a slip.

‘How does the postman react?’ I asked.

‘To what.’

Well fuckit, cancel the witty repartee. She gave me a large scotch and as I got behind that, I noticed she’d a gold chain round her ankle.

‘Why do you wear a chain on yer foot?’

‘It’s called a slave bracelet.’

‘That must set women’s rights back a few years.’

Not appreciated. Anger made her face ugly, blended with the knowledge she’d suspected the very same thing.

‘Are you calling me a bimbo?’

‘Whoa, slow down babe, you can hang it from your ass, see if I could give a fuck.’

She bent down to get a book, giving me a flash that hit like hope.

‘I read things you know. Look, I’ve got Carrie Fisher’s book.’

‘One of the greats.’

‘Do you read her?’

‘Bloody hell, I can almost quote her.’

‘Do you know this bit?’

“Here’s how men think:

Sex

Work

Food

Sports

Relationships.”’

She looked so eager as she read this. I felt a complete bastard but I’d signed on, so I said, ‘Not much escapes the bold Carrie. And, how do women score.’

‘Oh she’s so right, she says women think:

“Relationships

Relationships

Relationships

Work

Sex

Shopping

Weight

Food.”’

I said, ‘Wanna sit over here babe?’

‘OK.’

I got my hand under that slip and got hot. As we got to the deposit till, she pushed me off, said, ‘Don’t be so rough.’

Alas, I’d gone a tad too far down the jackpot road, was in the area of sexual bravado, whispered, ‘You’re a slave, do what the master commands.’

And she threw a drink in my face. I roared, ‘The fuck you think you’re doing?’

‘I want to be wooed.’

‘What!’

‘Romance – and the cinema. You don’t respect me.’

I stood up, headed out, added quiet, ‘Bolix.’ I wanted only Cassie, blind to all else.

The flowers were by the door but they’d nowt to add, not even goodbye.

Outside, I experienced the sense of being stalked. I had to figure it could be cops but it was too eerie. Physically shook myself to get back on track. Muttered ‘get real’, or failing that, ‘get real bloody vicious’.

I’d been handling Cassie all wrong. Coming on hardass was where she lived. If there was a next time, I’d be Mr Diplo-fuckin’-matic till I cornered. Then, we’d rock ’n’ roll.

A wino was witnessing ‘I was never a social drinker, only a social security drinker.’ I’d asked Doc if his boozin’ had been as serious as he told it. He’d answered, ‘Lemme put it this way. I was living in Bradford for six months before I realized it was Darlington.’

Quite.

I still had the Astra, I dunno why. It’s a woman’s car in truth. If you need a second car, then it’s as good as any. But for the main event, the numero uno, the big friggin’ cheese, it’s window dressing. Got home and planned a slow evening of strong drink. The phone went.

‘Dave?’

‘Yeah… hey… Doc, is that you?’

He never called me by my Christian name, I actively discouraged it. Only when heavy shit went down did he resort to it. Right now, I’d swear he was sobbing, his voice sounded broken.

‘Dave, it’s Laura – she’s dead.’

‘What!’

‘It’s true Dave – she went under a train… oh God.’

Now he was sobbing, I said, ‘I’m on my way buddy, just hang tight… OK.’

‘OK.’

The flaming Astra wouldn’t start. Then I realized I was flooding the engine and forced myself to calm down… OK… OK… try again. Burned rubber outa there.

As I drove I could hear Doc in my head, the thousand things he’d said. Once, ‘You never hear of Tom Leonard?’

‘No.’

‘Ah, you ignoramus, he proposed that long-term prisoners be given the freedom to purchase their own cells.’

The police cars were parked outside his house. I went in and came face to face with Quinn. What appeared dangerously close to a smirk was plastered on his grey-hound snout. He nodded.

Doc was sitting in an armchair, a bottle of Scotch between his legs. I crouched down, said, ‘I’m so sorry buddy.’

He looked blank, asked, ‘I dunno, should I drink whisky, Laura says it makes me cranky.’

‘How about some tea?’

‘I’d like some tea, two sugars please.’

A uniformed cop was in the kitchen, his shoulder micro-phone emitting squawky messages. I asked, ‘Do you know what happened?’

‘It seems she’d been shopping and was changing trains at the Oval for the Northern Line to Morden. She went under at approximately five forty-five. Rush hour, it didn’t half bugger up the timetable. We got her name from her handbag.’