Ken Bruen - The McDead

He didn’t intend reporting this. Him, mugged by kids. He’d lose his rep. The Tag he’d get back, by Christ, see if he didn’t. But his rep, he couldn’t jeopardise that. Like luck it was near impossible to recapture. At home he fell on the bed, damp clothes an’ all and slept for ten hours.

Roberts, as per deal, bought a copy of the Big Issue every week. His vendor knew he was a cop and seemed unfazed. He was eating from a tub of Haagen Dazs ice-cream.

Roberts said, ‘Bit cold for it, isn’t it?’

The vendor moved aside, said, ‘Look.’

Behind him was a large box with maybe another dozen tubs.

Roberts asked, ‘You also sell ice-cream?’

The vendor laughed, ‘A while ago a Daimler pulled up at the kerb. The window rolls down and a woman said, “You there, come here”.’

He mimicked the posh to perfection, continued, ‘I thought it was Liz, come to give me an MBE.’

Roberts laughed.

‘Ere, I’m serious, guv … they gave one to a traffic warden last year. So, I goes over, took me cap off and this woman, leans out, asks, “Are you one of the homeless chappies?” ’

‘I said, we sell the Big Issue for the homeless, yes Ma’am.

‘She says, “Righty ho, my driver has something for you people.” Then she tapped the glass partition for the driver and shuts the window on me.

‘The driver gets out and he’s in all the gear, peaked cap and boots. Like a nazi!’

The vendor stopped and sold two copies to two girls and gave them a tub each. They were delighted.

He winked at Roberts, said, ‘Like loyalty cards, a little bonus for my regulars. Any road, the nazi opens the boot and takes out the ice-cream. I asked, “What am I supposed to do with that?” He gave me the look, said, “Try eating it”.’

The vendor took another taste, said, ‘It’s not bad if you put a touch o’ lager in it.’

Roberts took out his change, had only a fiver … The vendor said, ‘We take all the major credit cards.’

Roberts gave him the five, got change, then waited a moment … no tub. Roberts said, ‘Well, see you next week.’

Dejected, he was walking away when the vendor shouted, ‘Oi, you forgot yer Haagen Dazs.’

Falls smiled as she recalled Ryan’s reaction to A Cry In The Dark when she put on the video.

They’d planned an evening at home, her home, where they’d:

Make love

Eat

Make love

Watch a video.

He cried, ‘Oh Jesus, no, not Streep again. C’mon darlin’, I watched Out Of Africa with you, but I swear, I can’t go another session with her.’

They watched The Untouchables instead.

She’d been seeing Ryan for two weeks, twice he’d stayed over. On the video nights. Little did he realise, she’d planned on the whole Streep catalogue. Most days she felt:

Queasy

Exhilarated

Nervous

Giddy

Had no appetite

Phone fixated.

And realising, said, ‘Oh shit, I love him.’

She was acting like a schoolgirl, trying out his name, projecting babies, wanting to talk about him incessantly. Tried to burst her own balloon with:

He’s married,

Kids,

Said he won’t leave.

But no, that balloon of hope just climbed on up there.

He’d said, ‘You look good in red.’ Changed her whole wardrobe. Oh yeah.

She turned on the telly, got local news, London Tonight.

The top story was:

RETURN OF THE CLAPHAM RAPIST

She felt dizzy. Another attack had taken place, the details were the same: a black woman, a knife, an alleyway.

‘It can’t be!’ she cried.

A local councillor followed demanding an inquiry into police methods. And then he asked, ‘Who was the man killed in a police decoy operation?’

The phone rang. She picked it up, heard, ‘You and McDonald in the Super’s office at nine sharp.’

‘Yes, sir.’

She rang Brant. He sounded groggy and she told him the news. He didn’t reply for a moment, then, ‘It’s a copycat.’

‘But what about the guy who attacked me?’

Deep intake of breath and he snarled back, ‘When a guy jumps you in a dark alley, and puts a knife to yer throat, he’s up to no good, believe me.’

‘But maybe he wasn’t the Clapham Rapist.’

‘Well he was some bloody area’s rapist and good friggin’ riddance.’

He slammed down the phone. She started to cry … wanted to drink, then rang Ryan.

He answered, ‘Yeah?’

‘Help me.’

‘I’m on my way.’

She tried to compose herself. Decided she’d only tell him a little.

When he arrived, he put his arms round her and she told him the lot. He’d made her a cup of sweet tea and held it while she drank. When she’d finished her story, he said, ‘I’d never have took you for a copper.’

‘Because I’m black.’

‘Cos you’re beautiful.’

Neville Smith was doing good. A stockbroker, he had a house in Dulwich, two kids at boarding school, and his new car. An Audi. As he gazed at it he said, ‘ Vorsprung Techniquo. ’

It was that and more.

Neville liked to drive fast and just a tad recklessly. He truly believed that ninety percent of drivers had no right to be there. They all had the look of National Assistance. He liked to cut them up and take the road. Austin Micras, Ka’s, Datsuns, ‘all garbage,’ he said.

There’d been a diversion so he found himself heading for the Elephant roundabout. If he could make the light, he’d gain time. He swerved in front of a Rover almost touching the fender. He definitely took paint and made the light. He could see the driver and his passenger shouting at him. The adrenalin rush made him near euphoric and he put up the two fingers.

Through the lights and he accelerated, shouted, ‘Morons!’

The Rover pulled in near the park and Tommy Logan asked, ‘You got the number?’

‘Sure did, guv.’

‘Good man, I want to know who he is by lunchtime.’

The driver was speed dialling, said, ‘I’m on it.’

Two days later, Neville was relaxing over a gin and tonic. His wife asked, ‘How about sushi?’

He took his cue, followed with the expected line, ‘If you knew sushi like I know sushi…

They both laughed, not so much humour as the ease of familiarity.

‘Will you open the wine darling while I prepare the table?’

‘Of course.’

He’d done that and was about to glance at the news when the door bell rang.

He said, ‘I’ll go.’

Opening the door, he saw two heavy set men. One asked, ‘Do you own an Audi?’ And gave the registration.

‘Yes I do … why?’

The first said, ‘You’ve got dirt on the side.’

‘What?’

Then he was pushed backwards and the men followed him in closing the door. The first man began to slap Neville across the face. His wife came running, started to scream.

Tommy Logan kicked her in the stomach, said, ‘Don’t start.’

Now Tommy moved over to Neville and spun him round, face down on the stairs. Tore Neville’s pants down and said, ‘Do yah want it, eh? Want some of this?’

Tommy stood back, asked, ‘Have I got yer attention?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know who I am?’

‘No.’

Tommy lashed out with his fist, roaring ‘I’m the guy you cut up in traffic.’

Another blow and, ‘And gave the two fingers to.’

‘Oh God, I’m sorry.’

‘You’re sorry now, sorry we caught you.’