He pulled himself to his feet, glancing around. Charging towards him was the rugby player, his face a contorted grimace of rage. His hands clenched into tightly-balled fists; his eyes vacant of emotion. Reilly took the only option open to him.
He launched the pool ball with an accuracy that relied on luck more than judgment. He heard the crunching of bone as the rugby player dropped to his knees. A guttural howl escaped his lips, along with teeth and blood, which spilled out onto the floor.
A man suddenly slammed down on the pool table in front of Reilly. The Irishman pulled him up by his collar, punched him hard in the mouth, then threw him over the side of the table.
He supposed he should have tried harder to impress upon them who he was, but by now he was enjoying himself.
As Reilly turned, he saw Gardener take a hard punch to the face. Kicking a chair out of his way, Reilly climbed over a body to reach the barbarian who had floored his superior officer. The giant turned fast. Using all his weight, he barged into Reilly, knocking him off balance. He landed beside the body he’d climbed over.
The last thing he expected was to be helped to his feet. He drew his fist back but momentarily held it, surprised at the sight of a riot squad officer trying to restrain him. Surveying the pub, he realized it was almost empty. Only the landlord and two customers remained, all of them horrified.
“Where the hell did you come from?”
The riot officer ignored his question, choosing instead to read him his rights.
Reilly held up his hand. “Hold it, I’m a police officer. So is he.” Reilly pointed to Gardener, who was nursing his swollen cheek. The officer let go but waited for identification. Once satisfied, he checked to ensure the ringleader and the rugby player had been escorted from the premises.
Chapter Twenty-two
“What the bloody hell did you two think you were doing?” demanded Briggs. Apart from the fact that Briggs was the DCI, no one argued with him because he was physically overbearing. His huge chest rose and seemed to keep on rising as he took a breath. Little could be seen of his face due to his thick black beard and moustache. Briggs was a few inches shorter than Gardener, but nevertheless, his authority – and the fact he spoke extremely fast without fluffing any of his words – gave him a decided advantage.
“Defending ourselves,” replied Gardener, taking a sip of water and wincing.
“Defending your-bloody-selves? Against who? The Fantastic Four? A couple of blokes playing pool, and you go in like you’re auditioning for ‘Lethal Weapon 6’ and trash the place!”
“It didn’t happen like that!” shouted Reilly.
Briggs glared at Reilly with an expression that would have killed a crow in mid-flight.
“Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you? You were responsible. You’re a walking one-man war zone, Reilly. You ought to carry a government health warning. According to the landlord, who by the way is putting in a claim, you walked in, ordered a drink, and then went over to the pool table.
He’s no idea what happened next, but whatever it was, it sparked off a riot.”
“Sean’s right, it didn’t happen like that.”
“I’m surprised at you, Stewart. I can understand it from the Urban Guerrilla, but not you. You’ve obviously been under a lot of pressure lately. Maybe you came back to work too soon.”
“You’re out of order there, sir,” said Gardener, infuriated by the suggestion.
“All I did was ask about Herbert Plum,” said Reilly. “The landlord didn’t answer, and when I came out of the toilets, the pool players were waiting for me. We didn’t get a chance to explain who we were before they were on us.”
“That’s exactly what happened, sir. We were only doing our job.” Gardener stood up and walked around Briggs’ desk, depositing his cup in the bin. An elongated silence descended upon the room. Briggs sighed. “I just wish you’d tried restraining yourselves a little more.”
After another silence, Gardener asked, “What are you going to do?”
“About you two? Nothing. But there will be an inquiry. Questions will be asked, but we can cross that bridge when we come to it. On the subject of Plum, have you made any headway?”
Gardener sat down again, dejected. “We didn’t get a chance.”
“Well, I did,” said Briggs.
That piqued Gardener’s curiosity. “How?”
“Craig Sutton.” Briggs glanced at Reilly. “That was the bloke you knocked unconscious.”
“He talked?”
“Sutton’s well known. He’s been busted a couple of times for possession. He also has a record for handling stolen goods. Nothing heavy, he hasn’t got the guts. Looks like you did us a favour, Reilly. He was wanted for questioning in connection with the stolen paint from that warehouse near The White Rose Centre last week. He was seen driving the getaway van.
“So, we traded a bit of information. Turns out that Sutton was also involved in another incident in The Black Bull last week, with Plum. Our friend Plum had a bit of a drink problem. After a bloody good session, he loosened his tongue, offered Sutton’s woman a part in a film. Said he had the right contacts, all she had to do was give him the nod.”
“What kind of film?” inquired Gardener.
“‘Artistic’ was how Plum put it, Christ knows why. Have you seen Sutton’s girlfriend? I know looks are only skin deep, but she must have been born inside out. Anyway, she was offended. She told Sutton, who threatened Plum.”
“No wonder he wasn’t too happy to see us,” said Reilly.
“Still doesn’t tell us much,” said Gardener.
“No,
