‘It’s wonderful you got shot.’
He sat up, his eyes groggy, said:
‘I’m glad you’re pleased.’
He heard her give that artificial laugh they practiced in agent school, and she said: ‘You are so droll, you naughty boy, of course I’m relieved you’re alright but with the imminent publication of Calibre, it’s perfect. Hero cop shot on eve of publication. It’s such wondrous PR’
He hated the bitch, said:
‘Glad I could have helped.’
She was highly excited, said:
‘Everybody wants you, all the major chat shows, and with that rugged charm and roguish humour, you’re a natural.’
‘Jesus.’
Before he could add more, there was a pounding on the door, he said:
‘Don’t go away, I have to answer the door.’
More of that awful laughter as she said:
‘I’m hanging on for dear life, you devil.’
He pulled the door open and cops piled in, led by Porter Nash, a slightly ashamed-looking Nash, who said:
‘Sergeant Brant, I’m here to arrest on you suspicion of the murder of Rodney Lewis.’
Brant, took a moment, then said:
‘Can I just finish my call?’
Indicating the phone.
Porter asked:
‘Your lawyer?’
Brant laughed, said:
‘Fuck no, better, it’s me agent.’
He picked up the phone, said:
‘Gotta go, babe. I’ve been arrested.’
She was near orgasmic in her delight, said:
‘You sweetheart, you’re such a marketing dream, this is ideal, you want me to do anything?’
‘Yeah, put up bail.’
He put the phone down, turned to Porter, asked:
‘Can I get some coffee?’
Porter produced a warrant, said:
‘This allows us to make a search of your premises and yes, while we’re conducting the search, you may make coffee, I’m afraid I’ll have to accompany you.’
Brant smiled, asked:
‘Got a fag?’
Any other place being searched would have been tossed with total disregard, the cops not giving a shit about what they damaged or ruined:
But Brant.
Uh-uh.
He might be under arrest, but he was far from gone and they knew better than to fuck with his stuff, so when they found various items of dope, porn, they ignored it, Brant had a long memory. Their brief was to find a Glock, and that’s all they searched for, if not too diligently.
Brant was savouring his coffee, drawing hard on the menthol cig Porter had given him. Porter was staring at him, asked:
‘You don’t seem too worried. This is a serious charge, and everybody knows you threatened him.’
Brant smiled, no warmth or humour, his most calculated one, said:
‘You know Porter, you were with me, so if everybody knows, you told them, I thought we were mates?’
Porter felt terrible, they were mates, if the most unlikely pairing on the planet, but Porter took his role as cop very seriously, said:
‘If you took the law into your own hands, you’re no longer a policeman.’
Brant was still smiling, asked:
‘When was he hit?’
Porter, taken by surprise, needed a moment to think, then told Brant the time and date.
Brant dropped the cig on the floor, ground it out. Porter had to fight the impulse to clean up. Brant said:
‘I’ve an alibi.’
Porter knew all about Brant’s circle of hookers, who’d do anything for him, said:
‘Your hooker crew won’t bail you on this one I’m afraid.’
Brant stared right into Porter’s eyes, said:
‘Oh, it’s not a hooker, much much better.’
Porter had to know, asked:
‘Might I know who it is?’
Brant took his sweet time, then:
‘Falls, that’s Sergeant Falls to you.’
Then he stuck out his hands, asked:
‘Wanna cuff me?’
Porter had considered it, anything to wipe that fucking smile off his face, but said:
‘No, I don’t think that will be necessary.’
Brant sighed, said:
‘Pity, I thought you gays, you were into all that S and M stuff.’
The lead search cop looked in, said:
‘We found nothing, sir.’
Porter was barely holding it in, snapped:
‘Nothing?’
‘No, sir.’
Brant looked at the cop, winked.
The press had a field day with Brant’s arrest, the killing of Rodney Lewis smacked of vigilante cop justice, and they’d been keen to nail Brant for years.
His agent, true to her word, had a high-priced lawyer ar rive, and without definite evidence, Brant was bailed. Roberts had been despatched to get over to Falls’s place, see if the alibi held up.
The Super wanted Brant to go down, shouted at Roberts:
‘You tell that black cunt to be very careful about helping Brant get out of this. If he goes down, she’s going with him.’
Roberts wisely, said nothing.
On the steps of the police station, Brant gave an impromptu press conference, replied to all questions:
‘Read it in my new book, Calibre, due next week.’
His agent was over the moon.
The man was a publishing bonanza.
34
Falls was in a deep stupor when Roberts came banging on her door. Took her a moment to come round, then she felt her stomach heave, a biblical headache kick in, the banging was ferocious on the door, she screamed:
‘Jesus, give me a bloody minute.’
And heard:
