James Craig - The Enemy Within

‘And, anyway, the alternative is very appealing. Unlike this, it’s easy money,’ Dom mused.

‘There’s no such thing,’ Carlyle grumped.

‘Okay, well it’s easier money. And you’re not doing some bastard politician’s dirty work to boot.’

‘True.’

Dom looked at him closely. ‘So, if I do it, you’d be interested, then? It would be good. We make a good team.’

Nah. ‘I’ll think about it.’

Dom gave him a mock hurt look. ‘Not exactly biting my hand off, are you?’

‘We’ll cross that bridge if we get to it,’ Carlyle yawned. The booze had kicked in and he was beginning to feel sleepy. But, even in his wearied state, the young constable knew that his friend’s plan was a non-starter. If Dom did leave the police for the private sector, good luck to him. But Carlyle would not be joining him. However ambivalent he felt about drugs that would simply be a step too far.

‘It’s a firm offer.’

‘Sure,’ he smiled. ‘Thanks.’

‘Good,’ Dom grinned. ‘Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I’m off for a quick smoke. Then I’ll get the drinks in.’

Stepping outside the Queen’s Larder into the cold night air, Dom yawned. Zipping up his jacket, he pulled a box of matches from the back pocket of his jeans. Sticking the blunt between his lips, he struck a match, shielding the flame from the breeze as he lit up. Tossing the spent match in the direction of the gutter, he inhaled deeply, holding in the smoke as he walked round the side of the pub and plonked himself down in one of the white plastic seats in the otherwise deserted beer garden.

Peace at last.

Reluctantly releasing the smoke, he watched it disappear into the sharp night air. Marvin Gaye’s ‘What’s Going On’ started playing in his head and he began humming along. Taking another drag, he thought about Natasha, an adventurous Dutch girl that he’d met in a bar on the Fulham Road. That was less than a fortnight ago, just before he’d left London to come on this ridiculous caper. It felt like a lifetime ago. While he was dodging bricks, Natasha had been heading for Greece, in search of sun, ouzo and some nice local boys to corrupt. He flicked through the dates in his head; she should be due back in London quite soon. The thought made him smile. Would they manage to hook up when he finally got back to civilization? Maybe. Maybe not. Even if they didn’t, there would be someone else. That was the great thing about London, there was always someone else.

Not like this dump. What’s going on. . ha! Sweet fuck all. That’s what’s going on.

Exhaling another lungful of smoke, he closed his eyes. Poor old Marvin, shot dead by his dad. What a bummer.

After a while, he re-opened his eyes, aware of a figure hovering at his shoulder. Half turning, he looked up through the haze of smoke to find a pretty girl in a bright red Puffa jacket smiling at him.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’ Despite the darkness, Dom could make out the lines of her cheekbones, not to mention the naughty twinkle in her eyes. What have we here? A gentle gust of wind had her swaying slightly on her feet. He guessed that she was slightly intoxicated, if not actually drunk.

‘Want some?’ he asked, offering the joint.

‘Thanks.’ Slipping into the chair beside him, the girl placed the roll-up between her lips and took a deep drag, holding in the smoke for several beats before blowing a perfect smoke ring into the inky sky.

‘Nice,’ said Dom as he watched the smoke ring disappear.

‘I’m Sam, by the way,’ she grinned, ‘Sam Hudson.’ Pushing her hair behind her ear, she took another drag before handing back the spliff to its rightful owner.

He nodded. ‘Dom Silver. Dominic.’

‘Nice to meet you, Dom.’

‘You too.’

She gestured towards the illuminated back window of the pub. ‘I saw you inside with your friend.’

Dom shifted in his seat, so that he could lean closer. Friend? What friend? ‘Yeah.’

Leaning back in her chair, she draped a leg over one arm. ‘Are you from round here?’

‘No.’

‘I didn’t think so,’ she smiled. ‘You’re cops, I take it.’

Dom shrugged. ‘Is it that obvious?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Well, it’s not a crime, is it?’

‘I don’t know about that,’ she laughed.

‘Oh?’

‘Right now, around here, quite a few people might think it was.’

‘Ha! Good answer. Anyway, whatever people think, there’s a lot of us about at the moment. So, there’s safety in numbers.’

‘But it’s unusual to see cops wandering about at night,’ she mused, ‘off duty. Are you looking for trouble?’

‘No, no. Not at all.’

She looked him up and down in a way that made him shiver. ‘You’re not a spy, are you?’

‘Hardly. I’m just a normal plod.’

‘But I thought you were all strictly confined to barracks. When you’re not on the picket lines, that is.’

Dom shrugged. ‘A boy’s got to have some fun.’

‘I suppose so. I just didn’t know you were allowed out.’

‘We’re not. But it’s so boring being cooped up on that base.’

‘I can imagine.’ She gestured limply past the pub, towards the rest of the village. ‘So you’re not worried about the locals, then?’

‘Should I be?’ Dom took another drag on the joint, the end flaring in the darkness. He had a good buzz going now, and was feeling really rather pleased with himself. Somehow, he had managed to hook up with the only pretty girl he had seen since he’d got here. And she was interested in more than just a smoke; he knew it. ‘Anyway, you don’t sound like a local yourself.’

‘I’m not,’ she smiled.

‘So where are you from?’

‘Richmond.’

Richmond, Richmond, Richmond. What did he know about one of the most upmarket parts of south-west London? ‘Near the park with the deer?’

‘Yeah. You know it?’

‘Not really,’ he had to admit.

‘The park’s about a five-minute walk from my parent’s house.’

‘Nice. Very posh.’

‘It’s not that posh.’ She gave him a playful tap on the arm.

‘It’s a lot posher than Walthamstow.’

‘Is that where you live?’

‘Yeah. Where my parents live. More or less.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever been there.’

‘You’re not missing much.’ He took another drag on the joint. It was almost done now, but that was okay. He had another couple in his jacket. The night was still young. ‘So here we are, just two lost souls. .’ He let the thought peter out; now was not the time to start quoting Pink bloody Floyd. ‘You’re here on your own?’

‘I came down the pub with some of my comr. .’ she corrected herself, ‘with some mates. They went home.’

‘Aha.’

‘We’re sharing a house just off Market Street.’

‘Mm.’

‘It’s a bit crappy but we’ll only be here for a little while.’ She gestured towards the joint. ‘Are you going to finish that?’

‘Here,’ he grinned, handing her the remains of the spliff. ‘Knock yourself out.’

In the end, he bought himself another drink. After twenty minutes feeling increasingly self-conscious sitting on his own, pretending to watch the television, Carlyle stepped outside to look for Dom. Unable to find any trace of him he hovered on the pavement, unsure about what to do next. Should he wait? Or make his way back to the base?

‘Oi, copper!’

Turning, Carlyle saw a large bloke, with lank black hair down to his shoulders, lunge towards him.

Shit!

Grimacing, he staggered backwards as a beer bottle reared up in front of his face, followed by a crunching noise and an explosion of stars.