Ken Bruen - The McDead

‘I’m the man giving the money.’

People began to move to the right and Nash said to Falls, ‘Get the staff moving.’

She did.

The stocky guy marched up to Nash, asked, ‘Wotcha gonna do tomorrow?’

‘Eh?’

‘When I start another fight, will you give me more money.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Les.’

Nash moved closer, said quietly, ‘Can I give you fifty quid?’

‘You what?’

‘Tomorrow, it won’t be my problem but I need to look good today … know what I mean?’

Les considered, then, ‘Is that fifty on top of my dole?’

‘Of course.’

‘OK.’

‘Let’s step outside, keep it discreet.’

Falls watched the two men leave. They seemed almost friendly. With Les out, the riot fizzled away. The DSS manager approached, said ‘Thank you, it could have turned nasty.’

Falls nodded, and the manager, anxious to please, asked, ‘Any suggestion on how to proceed now?’

‘Yes, try treating them with a little respect.’

She went to find Nash. He was sitting in the car, no sign of Les.

She asked, ‘Where did he go?’

‘To pastures greener … or Peckham.’

Then she saw his knuckles were raw and bleeding and he said, ‘Hands-on policing.’

‘Oh.’

He moved to the passenger seat, asked, ‘Will you drive?’

She did.

No words for a while, then she said, ‘I have a question.’

‘OK.’

‘What is it with Barbara Streisand and you lot?’

He laughed out loud, said, ‘Only if you answer a question too.’

‘Sure.’

‘What is it with the baseball caps?’

McDonald was anxious. He’d yet to see Sarah and he was fearful of her reaction. He wasn’t sure if:

A She’d physically attack him,

B She’d verbally attack him,

C A and B.

Or, worse, report him.

He was playing these various scenes when she appeared in the corridor and … she was smiling! Jeez, he thought, has she a knife? His experience linked women’s smiles to violence.

‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Oh right … listen, about last night … I… She waved him quiet, said, ‘I’m the one who needs to apologise. I blacked out after the pub, you must have taken me home.’

‘Ahm … yeah … I did … you don’t remember?’

‘I am mortified. Please let me make it up to you.’

‘What?’

‘Dinner at my place, Friday … eight o’ clock … do you eat curry?’

‘Curry … sure, that’s great … I’ll bring some wine.’

She gave a shy smile, ‘Just mineral water for me. I want to remember this night.’

‘Sparkling?’

‘I’m lit up already.’

Brant stirred, thought, oh no, not again.

But OK … he wasn’t dying. Went to stretch and his left hand touched a face.

‘Jesus!’ he roared, sitting straight up.

Took a quick look:

A woman … thank God.

Then he looked again: the Spanish woman.

Yahoo, he’ d scored … way to go, Brant!

For one horrible moment a movie flashed through his head. Jane Fonda comes out of a blackout to find a corpse beside her.

If he could just remember her name. Weren’t all these Spanish women called the same?

His hangover, though not a killer, was jamming his mental faculties. Isabella! Yeah, didn’t they even have a queen with the name?

He went to get some tea and clothes. Took another peek at her, not bad at all. Made the tea and dry swallowed aspirin.

Rough.

Got some toast done then took it back to the bedroom. Thought it was a shame to wake her, because then she’d start to talk. Touched her arm, said, ‘Isabella?’

No movement.

Poked harder.

‘ Que? ’

‘ Buenos tardes , Isabella.’

She took a moment to focus, landed, asked, ‘ Que es Isabella … who is this … is evening?’

‘No, it’s morning.’

She sat up, none of the modest grabbing for sheets.

Let it show.

‘You said, Buenos tardes. ’

‘It’s kinda all I got.’

She tasted the tea, went, ‘ Caramba!’

And leapt out of bed, said, ‘This is no good, I’ll make us Spanish coffee.’

‘But I don’t have anything from Spain.’

She put her hands on her hips, asked, ‘And what am I?’

‘Oh … right.’

She disappeared into the kitchen with a shopping bag. Time on, she’s back with coffee and baked or heated toast-sorta. Brant tasted the coffee, said, ‘It tastes like … vanilla…

‘ Bueno, now eat, and then you’ll make fiery love to your woman.’

Brant was less sure about the last bit. Mornings were not a passionate time for him. He asked, ‘So what, you carry mini meals around with you just in case?’

‘It’s my shopping and I didn’t get home.’

He thought the coffee wasn’t half bad. Could vanilla taste bitter? This did.

Took some toast and said, ‘I never ate sweet toast, like it’s got edge.’

‘Now we make love.’

He stood up, time to take charge.

Went and got her a T-shirt, said, ‘You go and shower, I’ve got to go to work.’

She put on the T-shirt and it reached her knees. On its front were the words:

I am a natural blond

Please talk slowly

It amused him all over again. He gave her a slap on the arse, said, ‘Let’s move it, toots.’

As he headed for work, she said, ‘My name is Concheta.’

For one bizarre moment, he thought she said ‘Cochise’.

He said nothing and she added, ‘Those close to me call me Cheta.’

‘OK.’

‘Please, one time, say it.’

‘What … oh … all right … Cheta.’

‘ A muy buena, you are mucho simpatico. ’

He looked at his watch, said, ‘I’m bloody late is what I am.’

That evening, Brant was saying to Roberts, ‘I swear, guv, she stayed the night.’

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘Straight up, guv-and mad for it. Got to go.’

Roberts was impressed and envious, said, ‘You always land on yer feet.’

Brant gave his lucky smile, answered, ‘Always.’

Outside the station, the rain was lashing down. To Brant’s amazement, he saw two white teenagers about to break into his Volvo. If not exactly broad daylight, it was brazen.

‘Oi!’ he shouted and came running.

Grabbed one by the neck. A long steel bar slipped from the kid’s hands, clattered on the kerb. Brant was about to launch forth when an incredible pain wound up his insides, sweat poured down his face.

He dropped to one knee, near doubled in agony.

The first kid asked, ‘What’s with ’im?’

The other kid, marvelling at their deliverance, said, ‘Bugger’s sick he is.’

Brant pushed out his left hand to grab the car for support.

The second kid said, ‘Jeez, look at the watch, it’s a Tag.’

‘What?’

‘Take the bleeding thing.’

The first kid was dubious, ‘Is it a fake?’

Through his pain, Brant tried to say yes but it emerged as a grunt. The second kid moved forward, grabbed Brant’s wrist and took the watch, said, ‘Let’s go … quick.’ Brant lay on the pavement, rain caressing his face.

Brant threw up and that made him a little better. He managed to get to his feet and, after four attempts, he got the door open. Fell in behind the wheel and let his head rest. Every inch of him was soaked. He almost passed out, then came to. Weak as a kitten but better. Put the car in gear and drove slowly home.