Stuart MacBride - 45% Hangover

Steel chomped on her toast, melted buttery spread glistening on her chin. ‘Hurry it up, going full-on football studs here.’

Gloom enveloped the back garden. Two small patches of light spilled out through the kitchen window and the open back door, just enough to make their breath shine in the cool evening air.

Logan unpegged his pants from the whirly. ‘Close your eyes.’

Steel raised an eyebrow. ‘In this cold? It’ll be all shrivelled up like a half-chewed fruit pastille anyway. Get a move on.’

He hauled them on, then took his trousers off the line and pulled them on too. Then ditched the Laura Ashley loincloth. The shirt was more of a challenge — could only get it on over one arm, buttoning it up across his chest as far as possible, the other sleeve hanging limp at his side. Same with the jacket.

Steel popped the last chunk of toast in her mouth, then sooked her fingers clean. ‘Where’s mine?’

‘You were eating.’

‘Make with the bras and pants, you unchivalrous wee sod.’

He passed her the underwear, trying really hard not to see how red and lacy it was. Then stood there, cheeks like barbecues, as she struggled into both. Shifting around, handcuffed wrist twisting so she could fasten her bra behind her back.

Don’t touch her bare skin, don’t touch her bare— Agh... too late.

The figures reflected in the kitchen window looked like something from a Cohen Brothers movie. Steel with her random hair — fully suited, except for the one bare arm and shoulder — Logan her taller, slightly less scruffy, mirror image.

She scowled, then scratched at her naked armpit — where the rogue bra strap dangled. ‘Off-the-shoulder’s no’ a good look for you. No’ with those pasty arms.’

‘How am I supposed to know what he’s done with our keys?’

‘Still,’ she shrugged, ‘on the bright side: there’s no risk of you flashing your horrible man bits any more. Thank heaven for tiny wrinkly mercies.’

‘Yes, because you’re Keira Knightley meets Marilyn Monroe, aren’t you?’ He tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her through into a utility room, just off the kitchen. It smelled of warm laundry. The contents of their pockets were piled up on the work surface above the washing machine: phones, keys, cash, wallets, warrant cards, and all the other bits and bobs. ‘Yes!’ He grabbed the keys and flicked through them. ‘No.’

She peered at the silvery collection in his hand. ‘No what?’

‘No handcuff key.’

‘Must be. Give.’ She did exactly the same thing that he had. With exactly the same result. ‘Bugger.’

‘I told you, didn’t I? Honestly.’

‘Blah, blah, blah.’ She picked her e-cigarette from the pile of stuff and clicked it on. Sooked hard on the mouthpiece. Closed her eyes and sighed. ‘Ooooh, God, that’s better...’

Logan powered up his phone. ‘I’ll give Stoney a ring and—’

A thump came from somewhere above.

They both looked up at the ceiling.

Steel curled her free hand into a fist. ‘If that wee scumbag’s wriggled free, he’s getting a flying lesson out the nearest window.’ She dragged Logan back into the kitchen, then out into the hall.

His left thumb skiffed across the screen, never hitting the right button. ‘Would you slow down?’

‘No.’ Up the stairs to the first landing.

‘How am I supposed to—’

‘Shhh...’ She put a finger to her lips. ‘Listen.’

Another thump. Not overhead this time, but off to the left.

She pointed at one of the three doors. Mouthed the words, ‘Three. Two. One.’ Then a nod.

Logan grabbed the handle and twisted. Threw the door open. ‘POLICE! NOBODY... Oh.’

It was a single bedroom. And there was a man on the bed. Well, not so much ‘on’ as ‘chained to’ by the arms and legs. Naked except for an adult nappy, with a ball gag in his mouth. Middle-aged, pasty skin, with receding brown hair, wide sunken eyes, and a stubbly beard.

Steel pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. ‘Aye, aye, someone’s been naughty.’

He writhed on the bed, mumbling behind the ball gag.

Logan hauled her over to the bed. Then glanced down at his own half-on-half-off clothing. ‘I know it doesn’t look like it, but we’re police officers. I’m going to unbuckle the gag, OK?’ He reached forward, pulling Steel’s arm with him, and fiddled with the buckle.

‘Gaaaah!’ Red weals cut across his cheeks, where the leather strap had been. He coughed a couple of times, then spat. Hauled in a breath. ‘Oh God, you have to get help! Please! He’ll be back soon!’

Logan frowned down at him. Take away the beard and... ‘It’s Chris Browning, isn’t it? We’ve been looking for you for weeks .’

‘Guv? Hello?’ Stoney’s voice came through the locked door. His silhouette rippled through the patterned glass on either side. Probably trying to see into the house. ‘Hello?’ Then he knocked. ‘Guv, you there?’

Steel squatted down and levered up the letterbox flap. ‘Give me your handcuff keys.’

‘Guv? Can you unlock the door?’

‘You deaf or something, Constable Stone? Keys, now.’

He stepped back. ‘Someone’s there with you, aren’t they Guv? Are you being coerced? Stand back, I’m breaking the door down!’

Logan slammed his free hand into the glass at the side, setting it booming. ‘Just post your sodding keys through the letterbox!’

‘But—’

Steel poked her hand through the nylon brushes. ‘Give me the keys, or I’m going to reach down your throat, grab your pants, and haul them back out through your gob!’

The second ambulance pulled away from the kerb, lights spinning in the sunset. Steel pulled her e-cigarette from her pocket, clicked it on, and took a deep drag. ‘Ahhh. That’s better.’

Logan rubbed at the thick red line encircling his right wrist. ‘There you go, we just saved an influential “No” campaigner.’

She shrugged. ‘Win some, lose some.’ She sniffed, then spat into the neat front garden. ‘Anyone asks, the naked thing didn’t happen. Understand?’

Goose pimples raced up Logan’s arms, coming together at the back of his neck. ‘Ack... I’m probably going to need therapy.’

‘Official report, we were handcuffed to a radiator or something. No naked. No bed. No piddling.’

‘Agreed.’

She turned and stared up at the building. ‘So, come on then — how did you vote?’

‘None of your damned business, that’s how.’ He lifted his chin and walked toward the waiting patrol car. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to get very, very drunk.’

She shambled along beside him. ‘Good idea.’ Then reached out and took his hand again. ‘You’re getting the first round in, though.’

And however bad the hangover was, they’d just have to deal with it tomorrow.