Ken Bruen - Taming the Alien

Two hours later she put the baby stuff in the garbage.

The following morning she was as sick as a dog, but she dragged herself to the shower and readied her energies, knowing she was going to need them.

Arriving at the station, the desk sergeant exclaimed, ‘Good God!’ Then tried for composure. What was he to offer — sympathy, encouragement … what? He did the procedural thing — he passed the buck. ‘I’ll let the Super know you’re here … ahm … take a seat.’

Like Joe Public.

Various colleagues passed and seemed embarrassed. No one knew how to respond.

The Sergeant said, ‘The Super will see you now.’ He gave a dog smile as if he’d done a good turn. She felt her stomach somersault.

She wasn’t invited to sit by the Super. He asked, ‘How are you doing?’

‘Not too bad, sir, fit for duty.’

He frowned, looked down at his hands, then, ‘Perhaps it would be best if you took some time … the criminals will still be here, eh?’

He gave a police manual laugh. This has absolutely no relation to humour. Rather, it’s the signal for shafting. Falls waited and eventually he said, ‘Take a month, eh? Catch up on the ironing.’

Even he realised this was hardly PC, but she answered, ‘Thank you, sir, but I’d like to get back.’

Now he cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible … there may be an enquiry.’

Falls was astonished. ‘Why?’

‘There’s a question of … recklessness … Going after a villain alone … the powers that be … (here he paused to let her know: hey, this is not my idea ), ‘frown on … mavericks.’

She was going to argue but knew it was useless.

He said, ‘You’re suspended on half-pay pending an enquiry.’

She considered for only a moment, then said, ‘I don’t think so.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I resign.’

‘I don’t think …

She got out her warrant card, laid it on the desk and turned to go.

He blustered, ‘I’m not quite through WPC.’

And she gave a tiny smile. ‘But I am … all through.’

Twenty minutes later she was home with a fresh bottle of gin.

No mixer.

Fenton could hear Celine Dion with ‘You Are The Reason’ and wasn’t sure was it real or a memory.

He stared intently at the almost empty tequila bottle. No worm at the bottom.

The Alien had followed Stella into the poor part of town. At least he thought it was her. He’d yet to catch up on her, see her full face. She was always an elusive ten yards away. Gradually, he’d been lured into the shanty area. All the evidence of dire poverty escaped him. Spotting the sign ‘CANTINA’, he’d stumbled into a shack. Now he shouted to the bartender, ‘Where’s my worm?’

‘Que?’

‘I can’t see him! Jesus … unless I ate the fucker … Can yah eat them?’

The barman shrugged his shoulders. He was about to close as the wind was up and howling. The Alien had a mess of dollars before him. The barman pocketed them, shoved a bottle of mescal into Fenton’s arms then got him outside. ‘Go, Senor, the hurricane ees here.’

‘Fuck off.’

Fenton slumped down against the shack, opened the mescal, drank deep and shuddered. Then he closed his eyes.

When the hurricane hit, the poorer areas took the brunt.

The tourist hotels, resort and apartments escaped.

Down in the shanty the Cantina was practically demolished.

It took a long time for the rescue teams to find Fenton, and by the time they got him to hospital, it was too late to save his legs.

Brant was finishing his first doughnut. A second, heavily sugared, sat expectant.

Nancy said, ‘I hate to rush you.’

‘You won’t, don’t worry.’

She looked at her watch. ‘You wouldn’t want to be late.’

He bit into the remaining cake and Nancy added, ‘You’d slide right into the NYPD.’

‘Think so?’

Nervously, she produced a package. ‘It’s for you.’

‘A present?’

‘Well, to remind you of your trip.’

‘This travel lark is a blast — people keep giving me stuff.’

Without finesse, he tore open the package. Inside was a Macys tag and a hat. He said, ‘It’s a hat.’

‘Like Popeye Doyle.’

‘Who?’

‘In the movie “French Connection”.’

Then she saw him laughing and she blustered, ‘I didn’t know what you’d wear — a fedora, a Trilby, a derby …?’

‘But you knew I’d wear it well.’

For one awful moment she thought he was going to sing.

He stood up, said, ‘I hate to rush you.’

As they drove to Kennedy, she didn’t know whether she would be relieved or sad at his going.

Brant thought: ‘The hat’ll be a nice surprise for Roberts …

A room had been set aside for the transfer of the prisoner. As Brant and Nancy waited, he signed the ton of paperwork. Then he took out his Weights and checked the wall. Yup, right there: SMOKE FREE ZONE.

He lit up. Nancy ignored him.

As he fingered the Zippo, he suddenly acted on impulse, said, ‘Here, it was my Dad’s.’

Nancy looked at the offered lighter, said, ‘Oh, I couldn’t.’

‘OK.’ And he put it back in his pocket.

The door opened and Josie was let through. In chains. A belt round her waist joined manacles from her wrists to her ankles. Naturally, it impeded movement and she had to shuffle pigeon-toed. Four guards with her. Brant said, ‘For fucksake!’

Josie gave a rueful smile, said, ‘I’ll never get through the metal detector.’

As the handover was done, all the chains were removed and then a new long handcuff was placed on her right wrist, the other cuff offered to Brant.

Before he could respond, Nancy said, ‘It’s regulations.’

‘It’s bloody nonsense.’

But he took the cuff. Josie said, ‘Like we’re engaged.’

Nancy said, ‘We accompany you to the aircraft, then it’s all your show.’

They were boarded before the other passengers and right at the rear of the plane. Two rows ahead would be kept empty.

Nancy said, ‘You better not smoke.’

‘Me?’

The guards left and Nancy had a word with the Chief Steward, then she stood before Brant. ‘I guess it’s been fun.’

‘Don’t let me keep you, D’Agostino.’

She turned and was half way down the aisle when he shouted, ‘Yer a good un, Nance.’

Not sure what that meant, she decided it was complimentary, and hugged it thus.

Josie asked, ‘Did yah ride her?’

‘Watch yer lip.’

Brant reached over, unlocked the cuffs. She massaged her wrist. ‘Thanks.’

‘Any messin’, I’ll break yer nose, OK?’

Josie gave him a long look. ‘I could give you a blow job.’

He laughed in spite of himself. What was amazing to him was she was kind of likable. In a twisted, selfish fashion, he felt almost protective. He tried to dissipate that with: ‘You’ll get some reception in prison — you being a police killer.’

She nodded. ‘Least I’ll get a decent cup o’ tea.’

‘You’ll get a hell of a lot more than tea, me girl.’

She looked out the window. ‘I’m afraid.’

‘You have good reason, lass.’

‘No, I mean … of flying.’

Brant nearly laughed again, said

‘Jaysus, you’d be better off if we crashed.’

‘Can I hold yer hand for take-off?’

Brant shook his head and then she left a piece of paper on his knee. He asked, ‘What?’ And uncrumbled it to find a five dollar bill. Soiled, worn, torn, but hanging in there.

She said, ‘I’ll buy the drinks.’

‘How did you hide it?’