Coleman was charged with happy slapping, termed… an attack on the private rights of an individual… incitement to public disorder and… more serious, an assault on a police officer. They threw in resisting arrest to round it off.
A solicitor was called and three hours later, Coleman was released on bail, due to appear in magistrates’ court in a month. His brief said:
‘You’ll have to do jail time, I might be able to plea bargain that you didn’t realize the woman was a cop, but I won’t lie to you, they’re keen to make an example of a Happy Slapper, you’ll have to serve at least a year.’
Coleman, still in shock, made his way out of the station, to the taunts of various cops, who shouted:
‘Smile, you’re on Candid Camera.’
He ran into Falls on the steps, asked:
‘Why… why are you doing this to me?’
Falls, feeling like Brant was speaking for her, said:
‘Because I can.’
Coleman stared at her for a minute, resolving to get this bitch, one way or another. He stumbled down the steps, feeling like he might pass out, his whole life had gone down the toilet. He looked back at Falls, said:
‘It’s me twenty-first birthday today.’
She gave him a wide-eyed look, said:
‘Say cheese.’
He did what you do when you’re suddenly fucked out of the blue, when your whole life has turned on sixpence, he went to the pub. He grabbed a stool at the counter, and for the life of him couldn’t get his mind into gear. He wanted a drink but didn’t know what to order. A woman took the stool beside him, said:
‘Can’t decide, huh?’
He looked at her, a gorgeous blonde, lovely face with very striking eyes. She added:
‘You poor lamb, you’ve had a terrible ordeal. Let me order for us.’
Her stress on us gave it a sultry sound, and to his amazement, he got a hard-on, put it down to shock. His frigging body didn’t know what was going on. The barman was all over her, leching openly at her full cleavage, lust reddning his cheeks, he drawled:
‘What will it be, darling?’
She rubbed her scarlet lips with her tongue, said:
‘Two large gins, with slim-line tonics. A girl has to watch her figure.’
The barman glanced at the young man who seemed to be totally zoned, said:
‘You got it, babe.’
She said:
‘And something for your own self, how would that be?’ That would be fucking hunky-dory.
Coleman had a hundred questions, but she cut him off, said:
‘Drink-ees first, then we’ll nice have a chat.’
He was happy to do that, asked:
‘Can I know your name?’
She gave a beautiful smile, said:
‘Sweetie, you can have whatever you want… I’m Angie.’
The best way to kill a man is not to confide in anybody.
13
Falls was summoned to the Super’s office and, alas, at the time when he was taking his morning tea. This was a ritual, legendary in the station. Because of the biscuits, Rich Tea, his habit of dunking them in the cup, then slurping the soggy portion into his mouth was a test of endurance for any sane person. He was mid-slurp when Falls entered, he said:
‘Have a seat, Sergeant.’
Crumbs littered his shirt and she resolved not to hear the sounds he’d make. Instead, she focused on his use of… ’Sergeant.’ Good sign. He gave her a wide smile, not a pretty sight. With particles staining his teeth, he said:
‘Fine work on that Happy-Slapper case, I intended pairing you and Lane together again, but he has requested a pairing with somebody else.’
He waited, drank some tea or rather gaggled it, Falls said nothing, and then he asked:
‘Was there a problem with him?’
She said:
‘He doesn’t like women.’
The Super considered this and said:
‘He’s an old-fashioned cop, taking orders from a woman would be very difficult for him, his type of copper. They’re on their way out.’
Falls wanted to say, Pity they wouldn’t take the Super with them. She nodded at the apparent wisdom of his insight. He drained the last of his tea, belched, said:
‘I’m putting you with Andrews, she could learn a lot from an old pro like you.’
He leaned on the word pro, letting the slur linger. Then he surprised her by asking:
‘How much influence have you got with our Sergeant Brant?’
She told the truth, said:
‘I don’t think anyone has much sway over him.’
Hefrowned, then:
‘I hear he’s coming back and you know, a smart resourceful person like you, if you saw a way to persuade him to resign, the sky would be the limit in your own career.’
Translate as:
Help me shaft the bastard.
Falls said she would do what she could, and the Super beamed, said:
‘That’s my girl. I felt I could rely on you, I see you and I doing great things.’
Appointing her his new hatchet person, she knew what had happened to McDonald, but she was smart enough to play along. She said:
‘I’ll give it my full attention, sir.’
Thinking:
Like fuck I will.
She was dismissed with more praise ringing in her ears. She walked straight into Roberts, who said:
‘I believe you’re the new golden girl.’
She and Roberts had a varied and complicated history, having each seen the other at their lowest ebb, they weren’t so much friends as uneasy allies. She asked:
‘Do I look delighted?’
Roberts gave her his slow look, then said:
‘What you ought to do is look over your shoulder, often, and very carefully.’
Gee, like this was something she didn’t know.
She found Lane in the canteen, an uneaten sandwich before him and a glass of milk, she didn’t ask if she could join him, just sat down opposite him, demanded:
‘What’s your fucking problem?’
