Ken Bruen - Ammunition

Coleman had a hundred questions, but she cut him off, said:

‘Drink-ees first, then we’ll nice have a chat.’

He was happy to do that, asked:

‘Can I know your name?’

She gave a beautiful smile, said:

‘Sweetie, you can have whatever you want… I’m Angie.’

Falls was summoned to the Super’s office and, alas, at the time when he was taking his morning tea. This was a ritual, legendary in the station. Because of the biscuits, Rich Tea, his habit of dunking them in the cup, then slurping the soggy portion into his mouth was a test of endurance for any sane person. He was mid-slurp when Falls entered, he said:

‘Have a seat, Sergeant.’

Crumbs littered his shirt and she resolved not to hear the sounds he’d make. Instead, she focused on his use of… ’Sergeant.’ Good sign. He gave her a wide smile, not a pretty sight. With particles staining his teeth, he said:

‘Fine work on that Happy-Slapper case, I intended pairing you and Lane together again, but he has requested a pairing with somebody else.’

He waited, drank some tea or rather gaggled it, Falls said nothing, and then he asked:

‘Was there a problem with him?’

She said:

‘He doesn’t like women.’

The Super considered this and said:

‘He’s an old-fashioned cop, taking orders from a woman would be very difficult for him, his type of copper. They’re on their way out.’

Falls wanted to say, Pity they wouldn’t take the Super with them. She nodded at the apparent wisdom of his insight. He drained the last of his tea, belched, said:

‘I’m putting you with Andrews, she could learn a lot from an old pro like you.’

He leaned on the word pro, letting the slur linger. Then he surprised her by asking:

‘How much influence have you got with our Sergeant Brant?’

She told the truth, said:

‘I don’t think anyone has much sway over him.’

Hefrowned, then:

‘I hear he’s coming back and you know, a smart resourceful person like you, if you saw a way to persuade him to resign, the sky would be the limit in your own career.’

Translate as:

Help me shaft the bastard.

Falls said she would do what she could, and the Super beamed, said:

‘That’s my girl. I felt I could rely on you, I see you and I doing great things.’

Appointing her his new hatchet person, she knew what had happened to McDonald, but she was smart enough to play along. She said:

‘I’ll give it my full attention, sir.’

Thinking:

Like fuck I will.

She was dismissed with more praise ringing in her ears. She walked straight into Roberts, who said:

‘I believe you’re the new golden girl.’

She and Roberts had a varied and complicated history, having each seen the other at their lowest ebb, they weren’t so much friends as uneasy allies. She asked:

‘Do I look delighted?’

Roberts gave her his slow look, then said:

‘What you ought to do is look over your shoulder, often, and very carefully.’

Gee, like this was something she didn’t know.

She found Lane in the canteen, an uneaten sandwich before him and a glass of milk, she didn’t ask if she could join him, just sat down opposite him, demanded:

‘What’s your fucking problem?’

He stared at her, said:

‘I rang a check on our Mr Coleman and, guess what, he’s clean. Never been in trouble in his life, and just finished a course in computer studies.’

Falls didn’t like the sound of this, not one bit, snapped:

‘Hey, you saw him swaggering down the street, bumping into people.’

Lane pushed his sandwich away, the end of the bread had curled up. Like a bad rumour, he said:

‘He’s an intense young man, perhaps he was just preoccupied.’

Falls gave a bitter laugh, one that Brant would have been proud of, said:

‘Well, he certainly has plenty to be preoccupied about now.’

Lanelooked at her, his eyes a watery blue, like denim on its last legs, said:

‘It’s his birthday today’.

Boy, she was finding Lane a real pain in the arse, asked:

‘Whose birthday?’

Lane let out a long sigh, like a wounded animal, said:

‘Our suspect, he’s twenty-one today’.

Falls knew it was time to lay weight, said:

‘The Super is happy, the media will be delighted, we look good, we’re off that shitty detail, everybody wins.’

Lane was shaking his head:

‘That young man doesn’t.’

Falls had had enough of his whining, said:

‘Shit happens. He’ll get what, a slap on the wrist, maybe a nominal fine, and he’ll be a law-abiding citizen for the rest for his life. We’ve actually put him on the right road.’

Lane was now wringing his hands. She noticed his fingernails were bitten to the quick, he said:

‘Sergeant, you know that’s not going to happen, they’ll make an example of him, the press want it, the Super will demand it, that kid is looking at least two years.’

Falls stood up, warned:

‘You’re not thinking of doing anything stupid, are you, that would be a really bad move?’

Lane said, more to himself:

‘You know, I haven’t led a very distinguished career, but I’ve never done anything I couldn’t sleep about, I don’t want to end my time with that ruined life on my conscience.’

Falls put her face right in his, said:

‘Don’t fuck with me, Lane’.

And she got out of there. She was worried. If Lane came clean, not only would she lose her new stripes, she’d be thrown off the force and probably arrested. She was fucked if she’d let that happen. She’d need to see Brant and soon.

Roberts was in the corridor, summoned her, said:

‘Come into my office, we have a situation.’

Jesus, she thought, what now?

Roberts sat behind his desk, moved all his papers aside, said:

‘Last Friday night, in Balham, a group of vigilantes put some local hard cases in the hospital, shot one in the knees, broke the jaw of the ringleader.’

Falls, like most cops, secretly admired vigilante justice. It got the job done and reached the untouchables. She’d been on the fringes of the same justice herself and more than once. She knew for a fact that Brant frequently operated in such a manner.

She said:

‘So, we have one less gang of thugs to worry about.’

Roberts gave a grim smile, said:

‘Normally I’d agree with you, but one of the vigilantes got knifed, died of a subsequent heart attack. The man who brought him to the hospital was detained by a cop from Balham.’

Falls couldn’t see the problem. So one of the vigilantes bought the farm, as the Yanks say, so what. They were thousands of pissed-off citizens out there more than ready to pick up the cause.

Roberts wasn’t finished, continued:

‘The dead guy, get this… he was seventy-five years’

Falls laughed, said:

‘Pensioners kicking arse, it’s a new twist.’

Roberts was staring out the window, said:

‘His mate, the one who was detained, he had a fairly intriguing allegation.’

Falls couldn’t wait to hear it, said:

‘I can’t wait to hear it.’

Roberts turned round to face her, said:

‘He alleges that they were organized and led by… a cop.’

Took her a moment to digest this, then she said:

‘That’s impossible.’

Roberts expression suggested it was highly possible, he said:

‘I want you and Andrews to investigate this. If the press get wind of it, they’ll hang us out to dry. Go and see this guy who’d made the allegation and whatever it takes, make it go away, you understand me?’