Neil White - LOST SOULS

‘Are you okay?’ repeated Alison, her voice concerned, quiet.

Her hair hung forward as she leaned over the table, her hand out. Sam wanted to take it, just hold it in his fingers, feel her warmth, a woman’s touch.

He looked away as he thought about Helena. She had once been warm like that. Then the drinking had started. Just social at first, a glass of wine with dinner, and then the bottle. He knew it was partly his fault, because he was never there to give her something else to think about. Their lives didn’t feel good. It was all routine and arguments. Sam hid at the office. Helena hid in the bottle.

‘Typical liberal lawyer,’ Jon said, as he warmed to his theme. ‘You came out of law school to change the world, but then you met the crooks and realised that they don’t want change.’

‘That’s a dismal view from an ex-cop,’ said Sam.

Jon waved him away. ‘You enjoy your conscience while you can, because it will wear you out. Me? I’m just out to make money.’

‘Didn’t you care when you were in the police?’ asked Alison, her eyes full of innocence.

Jon snorted. ‘I did thirty years and made no difference. I just helped move the money around. All those wages. Prosecutors, court staff, ushers, forensic scientists…An economy all of its own.’ He tipped his bottle towards Sam. ‘Even those ambulance-chasing bastards are doing the same thing. You know the ones. A firm dealt with a case last year, a bus crash. By the time the claims people had been round the estate, two hundred people had been on that bus. They must have been hanging off the fucking roof. If someone crashes into you, take a picture, because by the time it gets to a claim, the other car will have been full. But the money keeps swirling. Insurance assessors, claims farmers, lawyers. Don’t forget the lawyers. And when the damages cheque arrives, it’s spent. The shops stay busy, the taxes get paid, the country stays afloat.’

Even Sam was smiling now. Jon had that knack. ‘So I’m being patriotic?’

Jon shrugged. ‘You’re in it for the money, for the glory. For this,’ and he waved his hand around, ‘sitting in a pavement bar that can’t decide if it’s in Paris or Blackley, paying more for your beer because the girl who brings it to your table has got bouncy little tits and an arse you want to grab the next time she goes past.’

‘You must have had a conscience once?’ asked Alison.

Jon smiled at that. ‘I watched them all walk free. Rapists, child-killers, robbers. All set free by some clever defence work, and the lawyers were the ones going home in the Mercs. Maybe I just thought it was my turn.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Just take the cheque, Sam.’

Bobby held my hand as I waited outside the police station for Laura.

It felt strange—his fingers were tiny in my palm—but nice, secure.

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