Deadheads

'About scratching them cars.'

'Oh no,' said Singh who had received his assurance, albeit in what he regarded as a typically grudging fashion, from Sergeant Wield.

'We both admitted it. That Pascoe fellow said we both admitted it. He stressed it, like.Both of us, not just one.'

Singh listened to the protesting tone and began to get some feel of what this was about.

'That's right,' he agreed again.

'That wanker, Marsh, he told the others it were just me. He said it were me as blew the whistle on all of them.'

'Aye, that's Jonty,' said Singh philosophically. 'Always liked to look big.'

His philosophy was not infectious and Feaver said angrily, 'Big mouth, that's what's big about him. He's been saying things about you as well. He says you're dead friendly when you're chatting to your old mates but then you go straight down the nick and tell 'em everything you've heard.'

'Is that what he says?' said Singh.

Feaver was obviously disappointed in the reaction and said viciously, 'The black pig, that's what he calls you. The black pig.'

Singh sipped his tea. It was strong and rather tannic, nothing like the delicate infusions which his mother would be serving up at regular intervals during the day to his father in the shop. His father was a gentle but strong-minded man who took family obedience as his natural right and Singh had no quarrel with that. But something in him, or perhaps something outside of him in his Western environment, had resisted the idea of being a lifelong underling, which was what helping in the shop would entail, so he had joined the police cadets. To turn back now would be difficult, almost impossible. But as he sat here in this miasmic atmosphere and learned how short a step it had been from 'old Shady Singh' to 'the black pig', he yearned to be in his father's shop, receiving meticulous instructions on the best method of stacking tins on the long shelves.

'You put 'em right, though, Mick?' he said. 'About what really happened.'

'That's a laugh,' said Feaver, fingering his cut lip. 'This is what I got when I saw them wankers last night. You're all right, but. They daren't touch you.'

His tone was envious, accusing, scornful. It left Singh no route back to their old, casual, uncomplicated schooldays friendship.

'Do you want to make a complaint,' he said formally.

'No, what good'd that do?' said Feaver surlily.

What good indeed? wondered Singh. Over Feaver's shoulder he saw Mrs Pascoe who had been glancing impatiently at her watch rise suddenly and organize the baby into her papoose basket. She caught his eye, smiled a farewell, and made for the door. As she passed through it, Singh glimpsed the solid frame of George Wedderburn talking to some old acquaintance on one of the open vegetable stalls facing the Caff.

'My mate's on his way,' he said. 'He'll be here in half a minute.'

‘It's Jontv Marsh,' said Feaver in a sudden rush. 'You know how he's always going on about his brother, Arthur, what a hard case he is and all that?'

'Yeah, I remember.'

'Well, a week back, while I was still knocking around with that lot, Jimmy Bright said something about Arthur, like, what's he doing now? something like that. And Jonty said, keeping busy, but like, he meant more. And Jimmy said, you mean he's nicking stuff like before? And Jonty said no, that lark's for kids like you; you know, sounding big again. And it got up Jimmy's nose and he said, well, he got nicked doing kid's stuff, didn't he? So how's he managing to do something really clever all by himself? And Jonty got narked and said there was a few of them in it and it was big operations they did, not just breaking kitchen windows and nicking a few transistors, but big houses with good stuff they needed a van to cart away.'

He paused and Singh looked into his tea mug because he couldn't look at Mick Feaver, this weak, uncertain but basically good-humoured lad whom they'd all tended to protect a bit, and who was now his first grass. His silence worked where words might not have done, for after one deep breath, Feaver took the final large step, from the general to the particular.

'He said that Arthur had invited him on the next job. He said they were short-handed because there'd been a bit of an accident. Jimmy said it was all a load of crap, anyone could say that, and next time there was a big job say they'd been on it. So Jonty said all right, it was the first weekend in July and if Jimmy could read the papers, he'd read all about it. The first weekend in July and the house was called Rosemont.'

He was finished. The door opened and Wedderburn came in. Mick Feaver stood up and Singh raised his eyes till they met the boy's gaze.

'See you,' he said abruptly and turned and left, pushing by George Wedderburn violently enough to make the big policeman glare after him.

'Mate of yours?' he said, sitting himself in the chair vacated by Feaver.

'That's right,' said Singh, looking at the closed door. 'Just an old mate, that's all.'

4

 

BLUSH RAMBLER

(Climber. Very vigorous, flowers profuse in summer but little thereafter, blush pink, large-headed, resistant to weather but not to mildew.)

Pascoe approached the offices of Masson, Masson, Grey and Coatbridge, Solicitors and Commissioners for Oaths, with no great expectation of success. It was a sad fact that the Law's guardians and the Law's practitioners generally regarded each other with a great deal of mutual suspicion. Only the readiness with which Mr Edgar Masson had agreed to see him gave him any hope at all.

The reason for this readiness became apparent in the course of a chat with a very friendly Irish receptionist. Old Mr Edgar, she revealed, was the senior partner, and officially retired, but still retaining his office which he