`Of course he does. He works for him sometimes.'
`What? Deliveries, that sort of thing?'
`Deliveries, pick-ups—' Arnold halted, aware of what he was saying. This wasn't the past they were talking about any longer. This wasn't safe.
Flight leaned across so that his nose was almost touchin Arnold's. All Arnold could do was lean back against th bench, its hard spars stopping him from escaping.
`Where is he, Arnold?'
`Who? Tommy?'
`You know bloody well who I mean! Kenny! Tell me where he is!'
Rebus half-turned, to see that the children had stopped playing and were watching this grown-up game.
`You going to fight, mister?' one of them called. Rebus shook his head and called back, 'Just pretending.'
Flight still had Arnold pinned to the bench. 'Arnold,' he hissed, 'you know me. I've always played, fair by you.'
`I know that, Mr Flight.'
`But I'm not pretending. What I'm doing is losing my rag. Everything's going to hell in this city, Arnold, and I'm inclined to just shrug my shoulders and join in. Understand me? Why should I play fair when nobody else does, eh? So I'll tell you what I'm going to do, Arnold. I'm going to have to pull you in.'
`What for?' Arnold was terrified now. He didn't think Flight was playing a game. Rebus had the same feeling either that or Flight was in line for an Oscar.
Tor indecent exposure. You were going to expose, yourself to those kids. I saw you getting ready. I saw your dick hanging out of your fly.'
`No, no.' Arnold was shaking his head. 'That's a lie.'
`Previous convictions don't lie, Arnold. Inspector Rebus saw you, too. He saw your prick waving in the air like a cocktail sausage. We both saw you, and that's what we'll tell the judge. Now who's he going to believe, eh? Think about that for a moment. Think about solitary. They'll have to hold you in solitary so the other prisoners don't kick the shit out of you. But that won't stop them pissing in your tea and gobbing in your food. You know the score, Arnold. You've been there. And then one night, you'll hear your door being unlocked, and in they'll come. Maybe the screws, maybe the prisoners. They'll come in and they'll hold you down. One of them'll have a brush-handle, and one'll have a rusty old razor blade, won't they, Arnold? Won't they Arnold?'
But Arnold was trembling too violently to speak, trembling and babbling, bubbles of saliva bursting at either side of his mouth. Flight slid back along the bench away from him, then looked up at Rebus with sad eyes. Rebus nodded solemnly. This wasn't a nice business that they were in, not nice at all. Flight lit a cigarette. Rebus refused one. Two words were bouncing around the inside of John Rebus's skull.
Needs must.
And then Arnold started to talk. And when he had finished, Flight dug into a trouser pocket and drew out a pound coin, which he slapped down on the bench beside his shattered victim.
`There you go, Arnold. Get yourself a cup of tea or something. And stay away from playgrounds, all right?' Flight picked up his carrier-bags, picked out an apple from one, and tossed it into Arnold's lap, causing the man to flinch. Then he picked out another one and began to crunch on it, starting off back towards the market.
Needs must.
Back at HQ Rebus thought about Lisa. He felt the need for some human contact, for something clean and warm and separate from this other world he chose to inhabit, something to wash out his badly soiled mind.
Flight had warned him on the way back—'no messing about this time, John. Leave it to us. You've got to stay out of it. It would look bad in court, copper with a grudge, that sort of line.'
`But,' Rebus had replied, `I do have a grudge, George. This guy Kenny might have been shagging my daughter!'
Flight had glanced from the windscreen into Rebus's face, then had looked away.
`I said leave it to us, John. If you can't play it that way, I'll personally see that you go bouncing back down the ranks like a ball down a fucking stairwell. Got that?'
`Loud and clear.'
`It's not a threat, John. It's a promise.'
`And you always keep your promises, George, don't you? You seem to be forgetting something. It's your fault that I'm down here in the first place. You sent for me.'
Flight had nodded. `And I can send you back just as quick. Is that what you want?'
Rebus had stayed silent, though he knew the answer. Flight knew it too, and smiled at, this small triumph. They drove in silence after that, both men tainted by the memory of a playground and of a silent man, hands clasping his knees, staring, ahead of him, his thoughts sweet with corruption.
Now Rebus was thinking of Lisa, 'thinking of ? HYPERLINK “http://how.it/”??how it? would feel to take a shower with her, to scrub away a layer of London from them both. Maybe he would ask George again for the secret address. Maybe he could visit her. He remembered a conversation they'd had in bed. He'd asked if he could see her office in University College sometime.
`Sometime,' she'd said. `Mind you, it's not a very nice room, nothing like those huge antique Oxbridge rooms you see in television dramas. It's a pokey little hole, to be honest. I hate it.'
`I'd still like you to show me around.'
