Inspector, can you honestly think of anyone who doesn’t want to shoot the said misfortunate?’
Click.
The bastard was gone.
Roberts whirled round to the desk jockey, shouted:
‘Did you trace him?’
The sergeant asked:
‘Oh, did you want a trace?’
Roberts nearly went over the desk, reined it in a bit, said:
‘That’s what my bloody hand signals were for, you moron.’
The sergeant, not missing a beat, said:
‘Ah, I thought you were asking for tea? Speaking of which, shall I order you up a nice cuppa, you seem a touch overwrought?’
Roberts spun on his heel, snapped at Andrews:
‘What are you standing around for, bring the damn car.’
Andrews felt it was a bit ripe to take it out on her, but kept her thoughts to herself.
Roberts comforted himself with the thought that all calls into the station were recorded as a matter of course and maybe they’d get something off those. He ordered the desk guy to have the tapes in his office… pronto.
The desk sergeant muttered:
’Seig Heil.’
3
Falls was between exhilaration and depression. One moment she wanted to scream in triumph, then was plunged into the depths. Her third attempt, she’d passed the sergeants’ exam.
Well, cheated on the sergeants’ exam.
Brant had gotten the papers for her, and she’d made the requisite protest when he’d offered to get them. She’d said:
‘Oh, I can’t do that.’
Brant had given his wolf smile, said:
‘Fine, but you’ll fail again and guess what, babe, there ain’t going to be a fourth try.’
That she had to agree was true on both counts, she said:
‘I’ve been studying, really trying.’
Brant laughed out loud, said:
‘Bollocks. You’re black, they already have their quota of minorities in place and you, you’ve got some very… colourful… form.’
No argument there, she’d more screwups than Liza Minnelli, so she had to ask:
‘And what will it cost me?’
You did business with Brant, it always cost, a lot, and if it was only money but no, something you had to compromise yourself with. He said:
‘I’ll think of something.’
She asked:
‘How will you get the papers?’
He laughed out loud, then:
‘Do you really want to know?’
She didn’t, and he said:
‘Thought so.’
Then he added:
‘Sergeant.’
And here it was, the official confirmation of it. All those years of slogging away and now she was Sergeant Falls. Years ago, she’d been the wet dream of the nick, all the coppers had the hots for her, and her blackness only added to her appeal. But the job, the job had turned her into a female Brant almost, and the appreciation of her went down the toilet. And the new bitch, Andrews, she was the current prize. Falls had fallen prey to coke, booze, and she knew they suspected she’d had some involvement in the death of a notorious cop killer. She’d managed to block that whole episode out of her head.
Sometimes, in her nightmares, she’d see a hammer and on waking, drenched in sweat, she’d resolve not to dwell on it, muttering:
‘Just more bad shit.’
The past was not so much another country as a minefield of horror. She shook herself, physically ridding her psyche of bad karma, whispered:
‘Moving AYEon, girl.’
Focused on her new status… status… Sergeant… Sergeant Falls, had a ring to it, the ring of a winner. The phone went and she figured Brant. The price to pay. It was Porter Nash. They’d been the best of mates once, minorities battling together.
Hadn’t lasted.
Mores the Brixton-ed pity.
Porter Nash got right to it, said:
‘Brant’s been shot.’
Hit her like a… hammer?
Took her a moment to grasp, and she asked:
‘Is he…?’
Porter said:
‘He’s in intensive care. We won’t know for a few hours yet.’
He gave her the name of the hospital, and she said she’d be right over. It was after she’d put the phone down that she realized she’d forgotten to tell Porter she’d made the grade. Didn’t look like there’d be any party to celebrate now and, hating herself, she thought maybe she wouldn’t have to repay Brant, then said aloud:
‘Get a grip, Sergeant.’
How to dress for a hospital? She went with her off-duty gear: jeans, plain sweatshirt, sneakers, but hold a mo. Hospital, cute doctors, right? She went with short skirt, medium heels, some light lippy, and her best jacket, a black blazer, it accentuated her colour, and gave her that casual style that seemed like an afterthought, not the hours of agony it had been. A doctor seeing her was going to go:
‘Hold the bloody transfusions.’
Yeah, that was going to happen.
Checking the mirror with total concentration, she found new lines around her eyes and lied:
‘Laughter ones, is all.’
Her life had been such fun. It was only surprising she hadn’t more, lines that is. Her car, a newish Datsun, had an envelope stuck under the wiper, she reckoned, pizza flyer or such till she saw the handwriting on
the front, it read GIRLFRIEND.
With a sinking heart, she got in the car, looked nervously round, then got the hell out of there.
4
Walking into the hospital, Falls clocked the number of cops, uniforms everywhere, flasks of coffee.
And hookers.
A whole gaggle of them
Falls had never seen so many in one place since her last patrol along Kings Cross and, even more
