Brant looked at the prices, whistled, said, ‘Jaysus, you can’t be hurting.’
The receptionist came back, said, ‘Mr Logan can spare you five minutes.’
Tommy rose to greet them. They both clocked the hurleys crossed above his desk. Brant flashed his card, said, ‘I’m DS Brant and this is my chief inspector.’
Tommy was affable, said, ‘Gentlemen … please … have a seat … some tea … coffee?’
‘No thanks.’
They didn’t sit. Brant asked, ‘Ever know a Tony Roberts?’
Tommy put his hand to his chin, like he was trying, said, ‘I remember a Tony Roberts in the early Woody Allen films.’
He pronounced it ‘fill-ums’ like an Irish broadcaster. Continued, ‘but I think he fell out with the Woodster and ended up in one of the Poltergeist things.’
He gave a little laugh, said, ‘I suppose you don’t mean him eh?’
Brant smiled, said to Roberts, ‘See all the stuff they learn in the nick, guv, all that time to kill?’
Tommy lost his affability. ‘Was there something else?’
Roberts was about to lose it when the door burst open. A woman was shouting, ‘Tommy, you asshole, you put a block on my account.’ Then saw he wasn’t alone, muttered, ‘Oh.’
Tommy did a little bow, said, ‘Gentlemen, my wife, Tina.’
She was five-foot-four-inches tall, thereabouts. A face almost too pretty. You got to thinking … What’s she like when all the make-up’s off? Still. A lush body and she knew it. Playing men was her best act.
She turned to face Roberts and went, ‘Oh my-God-sweet-Jesus!’
Tommy didn’t know what was happening, but it wasn’t good. He said, ‘So Teen, I’ll catch you later, here’s some cash, eh.’
Roberts played a hunch, asked, ‘What is it, I remind you of someone … that it? Do I look like Tony … Tony Roberts, my brother?’
Tommy couldn’t help it, said, ‘Yer brother? Yah never said.’
Brant smiled.
Tina said, ‘No, it’s a dizzy spell. I don’t know who you mean.’
Roberts pressed on. ‘You know what they did to him Tina? Took a stick.’
He spun round, pointed at the hurleys, continued, ‘Like one of those and systematically broke every bone in his body.’
Tina sobbed, ‘Leave me alone.’
Tommy went to grab Roberts arm, shouting, ‘That’s it.’
Roberts turned and grabbed him by the shirt, ripping buttons and pushed him over the desk, said, ‘Don’t put yer hands on me, yah piece of shit.’
Brant said, ‘Guv.’
Roberts straightened up, took a deep breath, said, ‘I’ll frigging have you.’
Tommy tried to fix his suit, looked at the shirt, whined, ‘Yah tore it. Eighty nicker and he rips it.’
Now he spoke to Brant, ‘I have juice … oh yeah … you don’t mess with Tommy Logan. I have connections.’
Brant said, ‘You’re going to need ’em pal.’
On their departure, Roberts said to Tina, ‘He’s going down, be smart and don’t go with him.’
Tommy slammed the door. He moved over to Tina, raising his fist, said, ‘Yah stupid cow.’
The ringing of the phones in the outer office couldn’t disguise the sound of the beating.
At their car, Roberts put a hand against the door, took a few deep breaths.
Brant said, ‘Just one question, guv.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Were you the good or bad cop back there?’
Fear to fear itself unfolding
Rosie couldn’t stop sobbing. Falls had her arm round her, didn’t know what to say, said, ‘I dunno what to say.’
‘Tell me I’ll be OK.’
‘You’ll be OK.’
Rosie gasped, said, ‘Jeez, put a bit of conviction in it. Lie to me for heaven’s sake.’
‘I’m a bad liar.’
Rosie held up her heavily bandaged hand, said, ‘It hurts so bad.’
‘Didn’t they give you anything?’
‘Two aspirin.’
‘Oh shit.’
Rosie went quiet, said, ‘He’s eighteen! God, I have shoes older than him!’
‘Maybe he isn’t HIV.’
‘It’s the waiting. The doctor said it could lie dormant for years. How am I gonna tell Jack?’
‘I said a dog did it. A mad dog … It was true, though, wasn’t it? I won’t be able to make love to Jack, I mean I couldn’t.’
Falls felt lost, tried ‘Maybe if a third-party told him? He’s a good man, he’ll support you.’
‘No … later he’d start to hate me. Think I should have been more careful.’
She started to cry again.
Falls hugged her, said, ‘You have to hang in here, it will be all right.’
Both wondered how on earth it could ever be that.
Evening song
Falls was on her eighth night of trawling. Jeez, she thought, this life of single bars and clubbin is boring. Every guy in south-east London with the same prized line: ‘Grab yer coat, you’ve pulled.’
At least the women had variety-‘Lemme apply yer lip gloss’ through ‘Same old pricks, hon, try something feminine.’ Like that. Earlier she’d vented on McDonald, ‘I hope you’re watching my back.’
‘Don’t you fret doll, you’re not supposed to see me.’
‘Well, I haven’t, not once.’
‘I’m there, count on it.’ But she didn’t.
Asked Brant, ‘Is McDonald reliable?’
‘No.’
‘Sarge?’
‘What?’
‘Gimme some encouragement.’
He handed her a canister, said, ‘Take CS gas, it’s encouraging.’
‘Isn’t it illegal?’
‘I doubt yer attacker will report it … though, nowadays…
Brant was quiet, then asked, ‘Would you carry a shooter?’
‘You’re joking … aren’t you?’ He gave her the look.
She took the CS gas.
Rosie was at home. Jack was working nights. She lined up twelve sleeping pills, all in a neat line. Took another hefty swig of the rum, the litre bottle going down. She was gently singing, ‘I like sailors cos sailors like rum and it sure does warm my tummy, tum, tum.’
