Ken Bruen - The McDead

‘Never you mind, pet, the teas are on me.’

Not a grand gesture, just a moment of kindness and Sarah wanted to hug her. The woman nodded at Brant, said, ‘Watch that ’un, he’s an animal.’

Brought the teas over and Brant asked, ‘No biccies?’

‘Oh.’

‘Never mind but you’ll know next time. I’m partial to the club milks.’

She said, ‘Could I ask you something?’

‘As long as it’s not for cash, if s a bit early.’

‘Oh Good Lord no. It’s about my predecessor.’

‘Rosie?’

‘Yes. I know I’ve no right but … what was she like?’

‘A loser.’

She was shocked and maybe a tad relieved. Brant finished his tea, said, ‘Yeah, she got to pull the ultimate sulk you know-na-na-na-na-na-you can’t catch me, like never. Everybody gets to feel guilty and she’s outta here.’

Sarah thought a defence of some calibre should be shown, said, ‘But if her state of mind was disturbed?’

He stood up, his closing words, ‘She was a cop, yer mind is always disturbed, otherwise we’d be social workers.’

The Super’s wife was a dowager. Leastways, she looked like one. She was never young but, when she got seriously aged, she’d be Barbara Cartland, or Windsor, or both.

Her home was in Streatham Vale but she was a Belgravia wannabe and managed to mention said place in every conversation. Her car broke down near the Oval and she had to abandon it. Walking down towards the cricket ground, she was in fear of her life. Her husband did bring his work home.

She saw a black cab. Oh merciful God! A man stepped up beside her and grabbed her arm, pinned it under his and neatly removed her Cartier watch, shoved her back, said, ‘You can ’av this piece o’ shit,’ and slung a Lorus at her.

Brant, on being told by Roberts, said, ‘I love it.’

‘The Super’s on some warpath.’

‘Even better, I know how to solve it.’

‘You’re kidding, unless…

‘What?’

‘You mugged her!’

‘Close, but no. So, who do we want to do well?’

‘Let’s give it to the new kid, see how she cooks.’

‘The Yid it is.’

Brant caught up with Sarah later in the day. He said, ‘Apprehend me.’

‘What?’ She hoped it wasn’t sexual.

‘During your training, didn’t they show you how to arrest someone?’

‘Yes.’

‘OK, then. Picture this. I’m a suspect standing at … let’s say, the Oval station … OK?’

‘OK.’

‘So arrest me.’

‘What have you done? Oh, I’m sorry, what have you allegedly done.’

‘For Christ’s sake, what does it matter?’

‘I want to be prepared.’

‘Oh, I get it, you’re a method police person.’

She nearly laughed but stuck to her guns … ‘Sarge, it’s the degree of force. I don’t want to club you to the ground if it’s only a parking ticket.’

Brant smiled. ‘Good point, though personally I prefer the clubbing method regardless. Let’s say I’m a mugger.’

‘A what?’

‘Christ, a bloody… And next thing he knew he was flat on his face, his hands held behind him.

She said, ‘See, I distracted you.’

‘I’m impressed … where’d you learn that.’

‘Girls’ boarding school.’

‘My favourite. You can let me up now, I think you’ve got the hang of it.’

Brant was impressed. The girl had some moves and would be worth cultivating. She and Brant drove to the Oval the next day. Parked opposite the entrance, she asked, ‘Why are we here?’

‘You’ll see.’

After an hour, the man appeared, took up his habitual position. Brant said, ‘See ’im?’

‘Yes.’

‘Go get him.’

‘Arrest him?’

‘As if you meant it.’

Brant watched her go. The kid was a definite comer and not bad looking. Nice legs. He saw her approach the man, then bingo, she had his arm behind his back, marched him to the car. Brant got the door open and pulled him in the back, said to Sarah, ‘You drive.’ The man was protesting … ‘I didn’t do nuffink … hey … wait a mo’ … I know you !’

Brant grabbed the man’s testicles, squeezed, said, ‘Repeat please: I never saw you before. ’

He repeated.

When they got to the station, Brant said to Sarah, ‘When you’re bookin’ him, check his arms.’

‘For tracks?’

‘Not exactly.’

Sarah was the heroine of the hour. To such an unprecedented extent that the Super emerged from his office and addressed those gathered.

‘Today we have reason to be proud. A rookie applied the tried and tested methods of policing and got a result.’

He flourished the Cartier in all its gleaming glory, continued, ‘If this is an indication of the standard of new blood entering the service, then I say the Met has very little reason for concern for the future.’

Cheers, congratulations, and camaraderie filled the station. Quite overcome, Sarah retreated to the ladies. Falls already there, said, ‘You’ve arrived in style.’

‘Beginner’s luck.’

‘Or the hand of Brant, perhaps.’

Sarah was tempted to ask, ‘Touch of the sour grapes?’

Falls looked directly at Sarah, said, ‘Is he fucking you?’

‘My God, of course not.’

‘Yeah, he’s doing it to you one way or another, he puts it to everyone.’

Now Sarah went for it, ‘Don’t worry, no one’s moving in on your manor.’

Falls laughed, ‘Well, you’ve got spunk, I’ll give you that.’

Sarah eased up, said, ‘Maybe we can have a drink sometime.’

‘I doubt that.’

And was gone.

Brant and Roberts were in the pub. Drinking vodka because it doesn’t smell of desperation, leastways, not for a while. Roberts said, ‘I’ve been warned off.’

‘I know.’

‘What?’

‘I told you, I’ve got it taped.’

‘Was it the Masons?’

‘Yup.’

‘Fuckers.’

‘What now, guv?’

‘I dunno.’

‘But you’re not like … giving up?’

For an answer, Roberts just looked at him and Brant said, ‘Good, I’d hate to chase him on me lonesome.’

Roberts laughed. Of such moments are the best friendships sealed. They ordered some more vodka and Roberts said, ‘Shouldn’t we eat something?’

‘I suppose.’

‘Want something?’

‘Naw.’

‘Me neither.’

Let the silence build a while and allow the booze to do its number. Then Brant said, ‘The woman’s the key.’

‘His missus?’

‘Yeah, get ’im through her.’

Roberts was uneasy, said, ‘I kinda like her. I wouldn’t want her to get hurt.’

‘There’s always fall-out, guv.’

Roberts chewed on that. Then, in an exact imitation of Brant, said, ‘You’re right, fuck her.’

Despite the best efforts of the vodka, they didn’t get any further along. Then, as is the wont of alcohol, it flipped sides and Roberts thought about Smokie, thought, At least Brant won’t have heard of them either.

Aloud, he said, ‘Don’t suppose you’ve heard of Smokie?’

‘The group?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Sure, “Living Next Door To Alice”.’

‘You know that, too?’

Brant looked almost happy. ‘They were like a cross between the Small Faces and The Hollies. Their lead singer got killed a time back, I was sorry.’

And he looked it.

Next morning, Brant was sick as forty pigs. That’s real bad. Dragging himself to the shower he swore, ‘Never again.’

Yeah. Fragments of the night returned.

How when the pub closed, that’s when they got hungry.

Off to the Chinese where they drank bamboo wine … Could that be right?