Brant sighed, ordered:
‘Two of them Miguels and before Tuesday.’
Brant reached over to Caz’s cigs, read the packet — Ducados — took one, fired it up, coughed, said:
‘Jeez, what a piece of shit.’
He didn’t stub it out, said:
‘First off, I’m not your amigo, got it? You ever call me that, I’ll break your nose. Second, you are now working for me and I need information. Everything on Ray Cross and the blonde chick he ran with, I need this like yesterday.’
Before Caz could reply, Brant held up his hand, said:
‘This is not negotiable. I don’t want to hear dick about how hazardous it might be, ‘cos I’m the most dangerous item that can fall on you. Now, are we clear, amigo?’
They were.
‘It’s ungovernable… Psychosis is everywhere, in your armpit, under your shoe. You can smell it in the sweat in this room… we’re all baby killers, repressed or not… how do you measure a man’s rage? Either we behave like robots, or we kill. Why do you expect your police force to be any less crazy than you?
27
Caz surprised everyone, especially himself, by coming up with the goods so quickly. He met with Brant at the Cricketers, said:
‘I got a result.’
Caz was wearing what could only be described as a garish shirt, something Elvis would have worn for Elvis in Hawaii. He was even wearing a large gold medallion on his exposed chest. Brant, yet again in a bespoke suit, asked:
‘Where did you get the shirt?’
‘Like it? I can get you one just like it, or would you prefer a more colourful shade?’
The horrendous thing was, he was serious.
Brant stared at the medallion.
Caz said:
‘It’s Our Lady of Guadeloupe… but I can’t get you one as my sainted mother, God rest her, gave it to me when I escaped from El Salvador.’
This was far too much data for Brant, who said:
‘El Salvador? I checked on you, boyo, you were brought up in Croydon.’
Caz looked defeated — crestfallen just wouldn’t do justice to how his face appeared — and he tried:
‘Not too many people know that.’
Brant gave him a hard slap on the face, said:
‘Get the drinks in. You behave yourself and you can be from fucking Nigeria if you like. Now hop on up there. A large Teachers for me, and some cheese and onion… go.’
Caz was attempting to focus, whined:
‘But don’t you want to hear my news?’
‘What’s the hurry?’
And Caz got the look. He moved rapidly to the bar. The barman had a pony-tail, a checked waistcoat and an attitude. The attitude, of course, would cost extra. Caz ordered and the guy kept the smirk in place.
So Caz asked:
‘What?’
The guy chuckled. It’s hard to credit that a human being in this era of global terrorism would seriously make such a sound, and worse, think it was clever. He said:
‘That’s Brant you’re keeping company with.’
‘And that means what?’
Another chuckle, then:
‘Don’t let the big boys hear about that.’
Caz didn’t do threats well, unless it was from Brant, which was a whole other country. But some git in a pub? He fingered his stiletto, said:
‘I’ll tell him what you said.’
And got the guy’s full attention. He pleaded:
‘Jesus, don’t do that. Tell you what, how would it be if I gave you these drinks as a treat from me, how would that suit?’
It suited fine. Caz told Brant anyway. Brant was delighted and raised his glass to the guy who busied himself with glass-cleaning and wished he’d kept his frigging mouth shut.
Brant asked:
‘Where is she?’
Caz produced a slip of paper and said:
‘She’s shacked up with a stripper. And Ray… Ray is in Brighton. Both of them have changed their appearance.’
Brant was seriously impressed. He didn’t show it of course but did concede:
‘Nice one.’
28
At the hospital, the doctor gave Andrews some painkillers after he cleaned up the bite.
He said:
‘You’re lucky, the woman who did this, she doesn’t appear to have any… how shall I say?… condition that might raise cause for concern.’
Falls, trying to suppress the rage that still boiled, said:
‘She has a condition now, all right.’
The doctor looked at her questioningly and she said:
‘Assaulting a police officer, that will get her two years. You might say she’d got a fucked condition.’
The doctor was appalled at the use of language, not to mention the glee and venom of the words, and he said:
‘I’m sure the poor woman needs help.’
Falls wanted to lash him, and she hated how, like Brant, she was starting to see liberals as a serious pain in the ass. She kept the steel in her tone and asked:
‘Are you married?’
He read it wrong and, flattered, conceded:
‘Ahm, yes, but we’ve been… ‘
Falls cut him off with:
‘And if some bitch took a chunk out of her neck, how much would your heart bleed?’
He wanted to get away and thought he might put a call through to his MP about the type of person wearing a uniform these days. He said:
