He clicked back, said:
‘Tea…, right, won’t be a mo.’
And disappeared into the kitchen. Newspapers were spread on the coffee table, to the Situations Vacant section. Ads for security personnel red lit.
She figured the only job he was getting was in the nick.
To her surprise, he returned with a tray, a clean cloth on it, and a pot of tea, two cleanish cups. He seemed more composed, and she reckoned he’d done a line… or two in the kitchen. He smiled, asked:
‘Whasssup?’
She levelled her eyes on him, said:
‘You’re in a shitload of trouble.’
Didn’t faze him, she knew the coke was whispering:
‘No biggie.’
She gave him the whole nine, the testimony of Tim Peters, the vigilante debacle, the seriousness of a charge of inciting vigilantes, and, worse, organizing and leading them. He listened, said:
‘They can’t prove shit.’
She leaned over, said:
‘You stupid prick. The guy got a photo of you.’
This got his attention, and he shouted:
‘Jesus, who’s seen it, where is it?’
She was tempted to let him sweat it, but he was far enough gone already. She said:
‘I got it and it’s at the bottom of the Thames.’
Took him a minute to digest that, then he asked:
‘Why would you help me out. You’ve always hated me.’
Hated.
She wanted to say:
‘Listen fuckhead, you’d have to get an awful lot more important for me to hate you.’
She said:
‘You’re a cop, I don’t want to see any of our own go down.’
The coke went to another level, and he sneered:
‘Mighty white of you.’
She thought she should just leave him to it, fuck him, but tried:
‘You’re not out of the woods yet. There’s going to be an investigation, your description has been given, and the duty roster has you outside the shopping centre the day Bill said he met you.’
His face took on a scared hue, but he fronted with:
‘Fuck ‘em, bring it on.’
She stood up, said:
‘I’ve covered for you, but if there’s a full investigation, I don’t know if anyone can save you.’
He waved her off. She knew he was already seeing the next line of coke, waiting in the kitchen, she knew that song, he said:
‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist, I can handle it.’
At the door she was going to offer for him to call her if he needed her but then she thought:
Screw it.
He was already in pre-coke preparation, said:
‘Mind how you go, darling.’
As she got outside, she wondered if she’d been as fucking stupid her own self in her nose-candied days.
Probably.
19
Porter was in a real black-dog mood, toying with a tepid cup of tea in the canteen, when Wallace breezed in, full of hearty bonhomie, Porter hadn’t been laid in like… six months… fuck.
He glared at Wallace, asked:
‘What is it exactly you do, besides swanning around, getting loaded, swaggering as if you owned the place?’
Wallace gave what the literary writers call, when they want to slum, a shit-eating grin, asked:
‘You wanna see what I do, get your ass in gear, buddy. I’ll show you.’
Porter thought:
What the hell.
And said:
‘I’m game.’
Wallace gave him a funny look, the one that read… Aren’t gays always, like… ‘game’?
Outside, Wallace had a black BMW idling, and Porter whistled, asked:
‘This your car?’
Wallace got in the driving seat, said:
‘Pimp my ride.’
Try answering that.
Porter didn’t.
Wallace said:
‘We got us a suspect, linked to what appears to be another plot to bomb this fair city of yours.’
Porter asked:
‘Shouldn’t we have backup?’
Wallace was driving fast and with an ease that personified his confidence, the big car purring under his control. He sliced through a traffic snarl up, then pulled back his jacket, revealing what looked like a fucking Magnum in his belt. He said:
‘I got you, buddy, right and this here little baby in my belt.’
Then he looked at Porter, asked:
‘You ain’t gonna punk out on me, bro?’
Before Porter could answer, Wallace said:
‘I had you pegged for a get go kind of guy. Don’t tell me I picked a putz, did I? You not up for this fellah, holler now and I’ll let you out right now, you hear what I’m saying?’
It was hard not to as he was practically bellowing, Porter said:
‘I’ m in.
Wallace gave a chuckle, one that came right up from his belly, said:
‘Sweetest lines a guy can say, yeah?’
Porter wished he were carrying more than his wallet.
Never stand beside another officer while searching a crime scene. By separating, you present a smaller target and can view the scene from two different perspectives.
20
