I get a whiff from the canteen. I investigate and there’s fish pie which looks interesting. – Awright Ina? I ask the auld girl behind the counter.
– You’re early the day Bruce, she says.
– I was tempted by the fish pie.
– With chips?
– Magic Ina, and bung on some beans as well, I tell her, savouring that big, gorgeous congealed mass of sludge. The fish pie isnae too bad either.
I sit down and enjoy my meal. Ray Lennox comes over and joins me. – Awright Bruce? Seen the paper? He thrusts it in front of me. There’s another headline about local coons criticising the police. One of them’s that Forum cunt Marshall, speaking, of course, in another capacity. They get in far too many capacities, shit-bags like that.
– Shite. These silverys are about naught-point-one per cent of the population. They’ve got far too much to say for themself. They should call that paper the ‘Coon, Poof, Silly Wee Lassie, Schemie and Communist News’. I only read it for the fitba and Andrew Wilson. He’s the only one that talks any sense on that fuckin paper, even if he is a Hibby Leith bastard.
– It gets on my fuckin tits, Ray says, shaking his head. His eyes are staring, the cunt looks a bit manic.
– Listen Ray, I wanted to speak to you about something. I ken you’re no officially on this investigation, but I think we should pay our pal Ocky a wee visit the morn. It being Friday, it would be nice to fuck up the cunt’s weekend fine-style by getting him to keep his ears open on our behalf. You might get some info on the collies if we shake the fucker doon. Wi Christmas comin up they’ll aw want sorted oot wi gear.
– The spunk-bag’s been a bit remiss lately. Forgotten who his real mates are. His mates on this side of the divide, Ray smiles.
Say what you like aboot Ray Lennox, he’s polis through and through. – Time we reminded him, I smile. – So what’s been happening your end young Raymondo?
– The usual bollocks. I’m still stalking those cunts from that Sunrise Community. They’re supposed to be cannabis suppliers. It’s a fuckin waste of time, but what can you do?
Anything other than posh is a waste ay time for that cunt. But I can see his point. What’s the point of being on D.S. duty if ye cannae get access tae any decent collies?
– Listen Robbo, he whispers, – I’m on these benzedrines. They’ll do the biz in the meantime. They keep you going when you’re a bit fucked. Want a couple?
– Aye, I tell him.
He slides me a plastic packet of pills. – I got them on a bust. The charlie situ should improve tonight.
– Good, I smile, pocketing the pills.
– What about this fuckin EO’s briefing? Ray asks.
– Shouldnae take mair than an ooir, I say, shuddering as the big blonde hoor from central admin comes past. I give her the eye but she’s not biting. Probably lesbo tendencies. – Ride thon, eh Ray?
– No half.
– Any luck? Ah saw you sniffin roond it doon the cannie this mornin.
– Nah, she shags on recommendation only. Ah heard that she’s a size freak. She finds oot fae the other lassies likes ay Karen Fulton n that crowd, who the guys wi the really big packets are and she’ll only fuck them.
– That’s you oot the runnin then, eh? I laugh, thinking about the time we had a session with my sister-in-law Shirley.
– Cheeky cunt, Ray says, a slight beamer on his face. – Listen, we’d better nash to this briefing.
– Aye, right.
In the event, the EO briefing only takes half an hour. I even get on Niddrie’s good side when I hit a note with the cunt on politics, much to Amanda Drummond’s distaste.
– Equality is a lot of nonsense, I say, goading Drummond, who expects me to hang myself by saying something stupid like the black man isn’t the equal of the white man. Think again, dafty.
– How can you say that?
– Easily. It’s a philosophical point. I believe in justifiable inequality. Example: aw that lot we put away. Criminals. Child molesters. They’re no equal with me. No way, I say, as coldly and dispassionately as possible. That struck a chord with Niddrie. He’s an impassive bastard, but I ken he thinks like me.
Anyway, the gig finishes early enough for Ray and I to hit the cannie so we can have an afternoon break and practise our routine before we go and sort out Ocky. We are intercepted by Amanda Drummond in the corridor and she tells us that she’s going to talk to Sylvia and Estelle and would I come along. I’m annoyed that the cow has pulled them in without consulting me, but chuffed at the prospect of being able to put a face, erse and pair of tits on those two rides. – Sure . . . I turn to Ray and raise my eyebrows, – . . . give us half an hour will you Ray mate?
– That’s cool, Ray nods, – see you up in D.S.
I’ll have to pull up Lennox about all this ‘that’s cool’ and ‘this’s cool’ bullshit. We’re no running a fuckin youth club here.
I get into the interview room and Drummond’s got the two wee hoors in there together. This shows her total cluelessness as polis. You never put them together, you always split them up straight away. The first thing they teach ye. Not that I’m complaining, it’s wall-to-wall fanny in here and it’s fuckin marvellous. Those bennies are kicking in, so I’ll have to watch my gob. And my fuckin erse! Shite coming oot every orifice! Settle Bruce, settle. Estelle. Sylvia. It’s funny, but the last time I was talking to them, I was sure that Estelle was giving me a funny look. Now I’m positive.
– I’m sure I’ve seen you before, she says. She’s a fuckin hard wee cow and nae mistake. But that fringe hanging just above those club-mascara eyes and that scarlet red lipstick . . . ya cunt that ye fuckin well are . . .
I realise that I’m staring at her and that Drummond might be clocking my leer, but no, that dyke’s looking just as penetratingly at her, probably fancies her as well.
– Aye, I’m sure I’ve seen ye, she repeats.
– Well as you were in here the other day being questioned by me, that’s highly likely, I sniff.
– Naw, before but, she says.
– I’m sure I’d’ve remembered, a lovely young lady like yourself.
I hear Drummond’s front teeth smacking off her lips. Spotted! Imitation Toal gesture! Her fuckin mentor. No wonder she’s such a fuck-up! She puts some pictures in front of the lassies, two puss-bags known as Setterington and Gorman amongst them. – Did you see any of those men at the club?
They look fazed, especially Sylvia. I’d gie her one in a minute as well. Looks a natural blonde. Talk to Brucie baby.
– Naw, she says, too quickly. Even Drummond notices this.
– Do you know these men? she asks.
They’re too intelligent to lie. – Know of them, seen them aboot, Estelle replies.
– Who are they?
– Dunno, just guys that hing about the clubs n that, Estelle says. She’s much tougher, that one. A seasoned casual moll if ever there wis one. Those lipstick marks around that fag . . .
– So you don’t know their names? Drummond probes. Ah’ll fuckin probe awright: probe wi some prime Scottish beef.
– Nuht.
– Is there anything else you’d like to tell us about that night? Drummond’s asking.
Estelle looks at Sylvia, then at Drummond. I’m being ignored here, ignored by slags, and I do not like it one little bit. I drum at the desk, but I still might as well be invisible. Estelle starts mouthing: – There was a funny woman in the club. It’s probably nowt, but she just looked a bit weird. She was talking to the coloured boy for a bit, but he pulled away fae her, like they were having an argument. I mind because I saw her earlier in the toilets, she was putting on her make-up next to me.
– What was strange about her, Drummond’s asking. I don’t fuckin well like those fluorescent lights. All that seventies shite. Can we no get a fuckin decent office . . .
. . . the Met . . .
. . . Sydney polis . . . a decent office . . .
But that wis New South Wales.
– I dunno . . .
No you fuckin well don’t know, that’s the fuckin problem you daft wee schemie trollope, you know fuckin nothing, nothing at all . . .