Ken Bruen - The McDead

Brant said, ‘Guv.’

Roberts straightened up, took a deep breath, said, ‘I’ll frigging have you.’

Tommy tried to fix his suit, looked at the shirt, whined, ‘Yah tore it. Eighty nicker and he rips it.’

Now he spoke to Brant, ‘I have juice … oh yeah … you don’t mess with Tommy Logan. I have connections.’

Brant said, ‘You’re going to need ’em pal.’

On their departure, Roberts said to Tina, ‘He’s going down, be smart and don’t go with him.’

Tommy slammed the door. He moved over to Tina, raising his fist, said, ‘Yah stupid cow.’

The ringing of the phones in the outer office couldn’t disguise the sound of the beating.

At their car, Roberts put a hand against the door, took a few deep breaths.

Brant said, ‘Just one question, guv.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Were you the good or bad cop back there?’

Rosie couldn’t stop sobbing. Falls had her arm round her, didn’t know what to say, said, ‘I dunno what to say.’

‘Tell me I’ll be OK.’

‘You’ll be OK.’

Rosie gasped, said, ‘Jeez, put a bit of conviction in it. Lie to me for heaven’s sake.’

‘I’m a bad liar.’

Rosie held up her heavily bandaged hand, said, ‘It hurts so bad.’

‘Didn’t they give you anything?’

‘Two aspirin.’

‘Oh shit.’

Rosie went quiet, said, ‘He’s eighteen! God, I have shoes older than him!’

‘Maybe he isn’t HIV.’

‘It’s the waiting. The doctor said it could lie dormant for years. How am I gonna tell Jack?’

‘I said a dog did it. A mad dog … It was true, though, wasn’t it? I won’t be able to make love to Jack, I mean I couldn’t.’

Falls felt lost, tried ‘Maybe if a third-party told him? He’s a good man, he’ll support you.’

‘No … later he’d start to hate me. Think I should have been more careful.’

She started to cry again.

Falls hugged her, said, ‘You have to hang in here, it will be all right.’

Both wondered how on earth it could ever be that.

Falls was on her eighth night of trawling. Jeez, she thought, this life of single bars and clubbin is boring. Every guy in south-east London with the same prized line: ‘Grab yer coat, you’ve pulled.’

At least the women had variety-‘Lemme apply yer lip gloss’ through ‘Same old pricks, hon, try something feminine.’ Like that. Earlier she’d vented on McDonald, ‘I hope you’re watching my back.’

‘Don’t you fret doll, you’re not supposed to see me.’

‘Well, I haven’t, not once.’

‘I’m there, count on it.’ But she didn’t.

Asked Brant, ‘Is McDonald reliable?’

‘No.’

‘Sarge?’

‘What?’

‘Gimme some encouragement.’

He handed her a canister, said, ‘Take CS gas, it’s encouraging.’

‘Isn’t it illegal?’

‘I doubt yer attacker will report it … though, nowadays…

Brant was quiet, then asked, ‘Would you carry a shooter?’

‘You’re joking … aren’t you?’ He gave her the look.

She took the CS gas.

Rosie was at home. Jack was working nights. She lined up twelve sleeping pills, all in a neat line. Took another hefty swig of the rum, the litre bottle going down. She was gently singing, ‘I like sailors cos sailors like rum and it sure does warm my tummy, tum, tum.’

Dressed in a worn pink dressing gown, it made her feel domestic, said, ‘Now to pop two of those lads, there yah go.’

It was the best she’d felt in weeks, thought, Oh God, the note … the police hate it when there’s no note.

She got one of her special notelets, a Christmas present from Falls. They had a rose motif and along the top it read ‘Because Rose Cares’. She carefully cut that off. Then wrote the note quickly.

The bath was nearly full and she turned the tap off. It sure smelled wonderful. She’d put in patchouli oil and mandalay scent. The steam had obliterated the mirror. Not that she’d have looked. Considered very briefly as she popped more pills what the verdict would be. How many times had she heard ‘death by misadventure’? Well, she was a Mrs … could they put Mrs Adventure.

She had been so careful with the pills. Christ, the last thing she wanted was to throw up. The rum she’d mixed with blackcurrant cos it was her favourite. The bottle was empty. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I’m a greedy guts.’ No more pills either. A half remembered ditty from her childhood:

‘Now I lay me down to sleep

I ask The Lord

My hair to keep.’

No, that wasn’t right. She could feel her mind shutting down and took off the robe. Just before she got in the bath, she left the plastic bag on the side. The water was divine and she gave a shudder of pleasure, said, ‘Please remember, don’t forget.’ Reached for the plastic bag, ‘never leave the bathroom wet, Nor leave the soap still in the watta, That’s a thing you never oughta.’

Pan back from the bathroom and there, at the door, are her fluffy slippers, Snoopy dogs on the front. Pan further back into the living room and there’s the note. Reads:

‘I’m so sorry Jack.

I love you.’

As Rose ebbed away, Falls was leaving a club in Clapham, thought, This isn’t working, and walked quickly past a dark alley. Then stopped. It was a short cut but you’d never dream of taking it. Not at night. Thought, Girl, you have to start moving like a victim.

The alley looked extremely forbidding. She checked for the CS canister in her pocket, took a deep breath, muttered, ‘Oh shit, let’s go.’

Turned in.

Barry Lewis had nearly given up on this one. She’d always stuck to the bright side of the street. Was about to turn for home when the victim stopped. He couldn’t believe it! Was she going to risk the short cut? The endless stupidity of women! She took her time, debating. Under his breath, he urged, ‘Go on, go on yah black bitch, daddy’s waiting.’

It worked!

He began to quicken his pace, the adrenalin building to hyper.

Back at the club, McDonald clocked Falls leaving. He had just scored with a neat little number from Peckham and was comfortable. The girl said, ‘I’d love a harvey wallbanger.’

He’d been about to leave, shrugged and figured what could five minutes hurt. Turned to the girl, his smile electric said, ‘Yah go for wallbanging, eh?’

Falls was about half way down the alley when Lewis hit her. She barely heard the footsteps when a shoulder crashed into her, send her sprawling. Then he was kneeling on her back, tearing at her tights, muttering, ‘Gonna give it to yah doggy-style and then I’m going to turn you over, cut yer fucking throat.’

His weight was overwhelming. Falls tried to function … where was the gas? Then the weight was gone and she heard a crash. As she turned, Brant’s voice asked, ‘You OK, love?’

Lewis was hunched over, groaning.

Falls got shakily to her feet, asked, ‘How?’

‘Gotta watch out for our own.’

‘McDonald?’

‘No doubt keeping it warm.’

Brant picked up the knife, moved over to Lewis, said, ‘Let’s see what we got here.’

Lewis was recovering fast, said, ‘Big deal, you can’t prove nothing.’

Held out his gloved hands, added, ‘Can’t even prove the knife is mine.’

Brant said, ‘Me too.’

Showed his gloves. It confused Lewis and Falls. Brant was tapping the knife against his palm, said, ‘Worst scenario, you’d get two years, be out in six months. That how you figure?’

Lewis was nodding, looking at Brant, said, ‘Yeah, and then guess who I’ll come looking for.’

Brant said, ‘Wrong pal.’