Taming the Alien

it. Got her feet on the floor and felt the room heave.

A nurse came rushing. ‘What on earth are you doing?’

Falls slowly raised her head and tried to focus. She gave a sad bitter laugh, answered, ‘Now, isn’t that a good question?’

At almost the same time, an impromptu party had begun in the police canteen. Roberts was being toasted with beer and cider.

The duty sergeant raised a glass. ‘Let’s hear it for DI Roberts … hip, hip!’

Roberts acknowledged the toast and then indicated McDonald. ‘I had help.’

More cheers. More booze.

The Super dropped in for a moment, gave Roberts a gruff nod. ‘Well done, laddie.’ Which was rich, him being five years younger. As these events go, it was tame — muted, even — due to Falls still being in hospital.

The duty sergeant, by way of conversation, said to Roberts, ‘You’ll ’ave heard about the new Mickey Finn the buggers are using?’

He hadn’t, said, ‘I haven’t.’

‘Aye, they meet a young girl in the pub or a club and buy her a drink, slip Rohypnol into it and the poor lass blacks out. Comes to next day after five of them have raped her.’

‘Jesus!’

‘Aye, that too.’

Roberts wondered if anything like that had happened with his daughter. Fear and rage crept along his spine. Finishing a pale ale, he resolved to turn everything round. He’d go home, say to the missus, ‘Listen honey, let’s have a fresh start. I have skin cancer, I’m skint too (a little humour), and let’s talk about our daughter. Who banged her up?’ It would need work but it was nearly there. He had the drive home to polish it …

With his career now having a shot of adrenalin, he felt downright optimistic. Parked the car and stood for a moment outside his house, thought: ‘OK, we’re mortgaged to the bloody hilt but we’ve still got it. Hell, I’ve still got it.’

Thus emboldened, he went in, shouted, ‘Yo … I’m home.’

No answer.

Never-no-mind — he’d grab a bite from the kitchen and begin the new life. He began to hum the truly horrendous ‘Begin The Beguine’. He hummed mainly cos he didn’t know the words. Opened the fridge. It was bare, like, completely empty, save for a note taped to a sorry lump of cheese. He read:

‘WE’VE GONE TO MY MOTHER’S. THAT’S IF YOU EVER GET HOME TO NOTICE’.

That was it.

He held on to the handle of the fridge, then muttered, ‘Now, that’s one cold note.’

Montezuma’s Revenge

The Alien admired his growing tan, thought: Yah handsome devil!

The thing about foreign holidays was you could do all the asshole things you’d always ridiculed. Such as:

1. Wear Bermudas

2. Perch shades on yer hair

3. Carry a bum bag

Reg Fenton was many things — ruthless, determined, and uncompromising. What he had never been was given to flights of fancy. He had no truck with superstitions, omens, any of that. He believed in what was in front of him. Sitting at the bar, he was drinking tequila with all the trimmings. Salt on the hand, slices of lemon and sure, it gave the rush. He suspected all the ritual was a crock, but what the hell. He said originally … ‘When in Mex!’

A tape was playing Dire Straits’ ‘Ticket to Heaven’. A song that proves, yeah, them guys did have something. Glancing out the window, he saw Stella and dropped his glass. The waiter, startled: ‘Que pasa?’

Fenton looked at him, then back to the window, she was gone. He moved to the waiter, grabbed his arm, shouted, ‘Did you see her …? Jesus H Christ … it was her!’

‘No comprende, Senor!’

Fenton let him go, tried to rein in his emotions, then staggered over to a table and sat heavily. The waiter approached, nervous as a rat. ‘Senor would like something?’

‘Yeah, get outta my face, arsewipe … no … hey … get me a tequila. Shit, bring the whole bottle.’

As the waiter got this from the bar, he put his finger to his forehead, made circular motions, whispered, ‘Mucho loco.’

The barman nodded. Tourists, gringos, Americanos … he’d seen all their shit.

I have a need Demian in ‘Exorcist III’

Collie was euphoric. He felt the wedge of cash in his hip pocket and thought: I’m on my way … To step right into the big time. But he’d need to get heeled, get a shooter. On the Isle of Wight, he’d celled with a Yardie, one of the Jamaican gangs who terrorised North London. His name was Jamal. Out now, he kept a low profile and kept it in Brixton; the busy end of Railton Road. He had the bottom half of a terraced house. Upstairs was a fortune teller. Collie could smell the weed halfway down the street. He knocked three times like the horrendous song from the seventies.

A white woman answered, aged about thirty. Her eyes were lost, but she had an attitude. ‘What?’

‘Tell Jamal it’s Collie.’

A black arm reached out and pulled her aside. Jamal, bare chested, gave a golden tooth grin. ‘Me mon!’ Which is like ‘Hi’ … sorta.

He gave Collie a hug and then they did the series of high-fives and palm slapping.

Buddy stuff.

Inside, Dubstar were laying down a cloud and Jamal said, ‘Yo bitch, y’all git some tea fo’ my bro.’ He gave another illuminating smile. ‘She from rich white folk.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah, de bitch be into Marxism and Jamal be in ho ass and trust fund.’

‘How’d you find her?’

‘She be sellin’ de Big Issue … I bought de lot, bought ho back mo crib. That be Tuesday … what day is dis, mon?’

‘Ahm … Tuesday.’

Jamal looked perplexed, then said, ‘Must be some other Tuesday. So, bro, wanna Big Issue?’

And they laughed together. Just two bros, hanging in the hood.

The woman brought mint tea in glasses and four cakes on a brass tray. Jamal said, ‘De tea be Julep like de cats in Marrakesh and de cakes be hash brownies … mo hash than cake … yo cool?’

He was.

In addition, Jamal rolled the Camberwell Carrot made famous by Withnail And I. Jamal had an added ingredient: he lightly sprinkled angel dust on the paper. It didn’t quite blast yer head off but it sure put you in orbit.

As Collie felt the countdown to oblivion he forced himself to concentrate on biz. ‘I need something.’

‘Sure, mon, whatcha be needin’?’

‘A shooter.’

‘My mon, I no do dat sheet no mo.’

Collie waited, skipped his turn on the tote, nibbled on a cake. Finally, Jamal said, ‘Less I gives mo own piece