a look, get an idea of what’s involved. I expect film rights will sell or at the very least, TV interest.’
Brant perked a little at this, but again she waffled on and finally concluded with:
‘So, Sergeant, when can I see the manuscript?’
Brant smiled, said:
‘If you’d like a nightcap, we can swing by my place, take a look at my opus.’
She thought that was super.
When Falls entered the Oval, she’d prepared herself for the worst. Expected to see a shattered McDonald, possibly cringing in the darkest corner, a hunted and haunted man. To her amazement, he was sitting at the bar, full of merriment, chatting and laughing with the barmaid. He was dressed in what appeared to be a new black tailored leather jacket, faded jeans, white shirt, and, if she wasn’t mistaken, was that a pimp bracelet on his wrist? What the hell was going on? He saw her, shouted:
‘Here’s my girl.’
The barmaid gave her a sour look and who could blame her. McDonald was positively shining, he asked:
‘Liz, what’cha having, babe?’
Liz!
She wanted to drag him off the stool and lash the bejaysus out of him. She said:
‘Mmm, a vodka and slimline tonic’
Could have bit her tongue to say ‘slimline’ in front of the barmaid who gave a sneering nod which echoed slimline, the subtext being, like, honey, you think that’s going to make the slightest difference?
McDonald, waving a fifty note, said:
‘Give my girl a large vodka, Stoli if you’ve got it, hit me again and, of course, one for your good self, bring ‘em on over to the table, there’s a sweetheart.’
He positively leapt off the stool, waved Falls ahead of him, and followed. Falls had done enough nose candy to know the signs and especially the behaviour when you poured booze on the mix. She sat and he sat opposite, a grin plastered on his face. She noticed the line of perspiration on his brow.
He produced a pack of Dunhill Luxury filters. She didn’t know he smoked and thought this brand had disappeared, said:
‘I didn’t know you smoked?’
He winked, said:
‘There’s a lot you don’t know, babe.’
She leaned over and, to her horror, he seemed to think she was going to kiss him. How much of the white powder had he snorted? She said:
‘Don’t call me babe, don’t call me Liz, okay?’
His smile faltered but the shit in his system took it in stride, and he laughed:
‘Whatever you say toots… whoops, sorry, it’s just I’m so up.’
She stared at him, said:
‘Yeah, I noticed.’
The barmaid brought the drinks, leaned over to let McDonald see cleavage, put the change on the table, smiled, and said:
‘You need me, just whistle.’
That cracked him up, he looked like he was about to give her a slap on the rump, but she bounced away. Falls thought she’d throw up but instead picked up her glass and before she could get a sip, he raised his. Clinked her glass, said:
‘To fallen angels and their triumphant return.’
She shuddered and knocked back a healthy amount. As he raised his glass, his jacket opened, and she saw the gun butt in the side of his belt. She asked quietly:
‘Are you packing?’
Took him a moment to grasp the meaning then nodded solemnly, said:
‘The fuckers are after me.’
No need to ask who they were, on coke, it was the world and any attendant demons.
His face was now deeply flushed and he rushed on:
‘Bastards won’t catch me napping. I’m frigging tooled.’
She stared at the bracelet, asked:
‘What’s with the jewellery, I didn’t have you down as the type.’
He raised his arm, let the thing slide up and down his wrist, obviously an action he’d practiced, said:
‘A soul brother gave it to me.’
She had no idea who this new McDonald was save he was out of his tree on dope. He suddenly jumped up, said:
‘Whoa, gotta pee.’
And was gone like a bolt. Falls knew that deal, you were cruising on the coke and suddenly it roared, MORE. You rushed for the nearest toilet to refuel. He was awhile and she finished her drink, was considering a second, when McDonald returned, lit up like Piccadilly Circus. He signalled to the barmaid for more drinks, said:
‘Your money’s no good here, this is my show.’
He sat, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. Falls leaned over, wiped a smudge of powder from his nostril, said:
You missed some.’
A moment as he watched her, then:
‘A little something to help me out, you know how it goes. Shit, you wrote the book on the marching powder, am I right? You wanna do a little toot? Get you up to speed. I’m a bit ahead of you here and I need you up to gauge.’
He couldn’t shut it, verbal diarrhoea poured out as the drug lashed through his system. He was off again:
‘See, Elizabeth, I’ve a master plan, and I want you in on it, get you some kudos too, gonna like share.”
She sighed and the barmaid brought the drinks, a regular tonic, said:
‘Oops, I forgot you were watching your weight, maybe you’ll get away with one, live a little.’
Falls gave her the fish-eye and she took off. McDonald said:
‘Gee, I don’t think she likes you, how can that be?’
‘Maybe because she’s a stupid bitch.’
McDonald smiled, asked:
‘A touch of the green-eyed monster, eh?’
Falls was all out of patience, said:
‘Listen up, you’re way off the chart here.’
‘Alistair.’
‘What?’
‘My first name, it’s Alistair.’
Falls sighed, she of all people should know you can’t reason with a cokehead, stood up, said:
‘You’re seriously fucked. You get your act together, give me a call.’
He appeared stunned, whined:
You’re leaving, how can you be leaving, what about our sharing?’
Falls threw a poisonous glance at the barmaid, said:
‘Tell her, she’s interested.’
McDonald stood, went:
‘But my plan, it’s a winner.’
Falls shook her head and headed for the door. The barmaid shouted:
You come back soon, hear?’
I have since learned that in the terminology of the recovery movement this is called ‘being really fucked
