– Roger Foxtrot, I’m on my way, over and out.
And I was, after I fucked Bunty in the bedroom. I took my time though, you always do with new fanny. What I usually do with a new bird is hole up with them for a weekend and spoil them with loads of foreplay, champagne, takeaways and undivided attention to all the preposterous shite they drivel. That usually does the trick for getting into them on a casual basis for months. The best thing to do is to give a new bird the very best possible time, and then she knows you have the capacity to do that again and she’s always looking inwards blaming herself for not being able to reactivate that passion in you. The best lovers ken that you only need tae be a good lover once with one bird. Get it right the first time and then ye can basically dae what ye like. Eventually they tipple that you’re just a selfish cunt, usually eftir a few years ay fruitless self-analysis, but by that time you’ve generally had your fill and are firing into somebody else.
Bunty is a powerful woman, but Bladesey obviously hasn’t been doing his homework satisfactorily. I thought she’d take some satisfying but the dirty cow went off like an incendiary device. I suppose after Bladesey any performance would be more than suitable. As I get dressed after, I’m conscious of the smell coming from my flannels. I hope Bunty didn’t notice. I should have fucking well minded to put on the fresh ones I got from C&A’s . . . fuckin stupid bastard . . . what’s the point of getting them if you don’t wear them . . .
Fortunately, she doesn’t appear to notice, and we say our lovers’ goodbyes and I head off.
When I got back to the station it was only Gus wanting to know about the sweep for the fitba and the fantasy fitba league.
Shearer’s goals last week at Tottenham put me in a nice position, just behind Peter Inglis and some uniformed spastic. I’m ready to pounce. Behind Peter Inglis. Mind you, ye dinnae want that cunt behind you!
I’m thinking that I could handle another shot at that Bunty and I call her to arrange to come round to mines tomorrow, which I instantly regret, a real sign of weakness that was. The problem with hoors is not so much the getting into their keks, but the keeping them at arm’s length afterwards. Life can become complicated, which is fine; only simpletons live simple lives. Trouble is, mine’s is complicated enough right now.
A Sportsman’s Dinner
Karen Fulton is looking sexy today. She’s put on a bit of weight which doesn’t suit most women but she carries it well. Festive overindulgence perhaps, or maybe the classic sex substitute. That’s the best dieting plan, fuck ’em regularly! Nae time for munchin on fuckin biscuits then! Too much munchin oan carpets wi Drummond, that’s the problem there. Same rules apply. – Looking drop-dead gorgeous Karen, I tell her.
She smiles at me, but there’s a touch of frosty lesbo coating which I expect is Drummond’s doing. All it takes is the probing tongue of one spacedyke for the impressionable to stray from the path of righteousness. But all it takes is some prime Scotch beef to get them back on the fast track, I kid you not. She’s long overdue a length.
Anyway, Bulldyke Drummond comes in with Inglis and Gus Bain. She seems to have warned to Inglis since he’s been all but proven to be a sad buftie-boy. If being befriended by a fucking fag-hag doesnae establish the bastard as a rubberwrist, goodness knows what will. Inglis knows this and obviously hates her following him around.
I’ve summoned the team in early doors today, and I can tell that some of them arenae too chuffed. As if I care: I’ve a very busy day. I’m seeing Bunty later, but first I’ve got an urgent appointment at Hector The Farmer’s oot at Penicuik, the old stomping ground, in a couple of hours’ time. We need all the light we can get.
I give a brief lack-of-progress report on the Wurie case. Then I open up the discussion. – Okay folks, any news from your ends? Gus? I ask.
– I’ve been keeping tabs on Setterington and Gorman. They’re still hanging around that bloody second-hand furniture shop all the time, Gus tells us. The old boy’s looking bitter; lost a bit of pep that yin! Could dae wi some fuckin charlie in him! Chop yirsell oot a line ay posh ya muppet-faced auld cunt!
– Aye, Ray Lennox and some of the boys in D.S. are convinced that Setterington and Francis Begbie are dealing hard drugs from there. I’m chuffed at Gus’s expression of scorn at my mention of Ray Lennox’s name. – Just keep those beady eyes open Gus. Peter?
– This mystery woman’s still no checking out. I’ve shown pictures to just about everybody from Jammy Joe’s, all the stewards and most of the party crowd, but it’s still no checking out.
You are checking out as a sick perverted arse-buggerer of other men. – We still have this mystery woman in our lives . . . how exciting . . . I turn to Drummond: – Mandy my sweet, what news from our friends in the ethnic community?
– I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to refer to female officers in that way, she challenges.
– Absolutely right! I sing. – Apologies for any offence caused my darling, force of habit. Bad habit yes, but habit nonetheless. That’s why I rely on people like your good self who are so much more aware of those issues than I am to keep me informed of my transgressions in this important area . . .
– I’m not your darling either, she says. Karen Fulton nods supportively. Drummond stares at me for a second, then she says, – Look Bruce, you may think that I’m being pedantic, but it’s hard enough getting all the abuse under the sun out there from the public, without being patronised and sneered at by your own colleagues. All I want is equal treatment, that’s all.
Do fuckin equal work then ya wee cunt and stop poncing around with wog groups.
– Point taken. Now, what news from the Forum?
She bleats on for ages about the hopes and fears for wogs in Lothian around this case. After we finish, Peter Inglis sidles up to me. – Needs a good seeing tae, that yin, he says bitterly, trying in vain to establish heterosexual credibility.
Aye Inglis, right ye are. What are you gaunny dae? Strap a fuckin dildo on her and shag her up the arse? – Too right, I tell him. – She wants equal rights, get her tae dae equal work. I’d like tae see her go doon tae Leith and haul in Lexo Setterington or Ghostie Gorman or Franco Begbie. Whae’ll have tae dae it? You or me Peter. She’ll be shuffling papers or counselling some daft slag whose scumbag ay a felly’s tanned her jaw.
It’s expedient to leave Inglis believing I’m his only pal on the force. He stands fomenting his rage as he looks across at Drummond who’s giving it loads with Fulton. Inglis is basically homosexual. I’m no saying that he’s the sort ay guy who would feel your bum in the lavvy or anything like that, but his psychology is homosexual. It makes sense to expose him. The same rules apply.
– Who’s for Crawford’s? Gus asks.
– Sorry Gus, I have tae nash, I announce, slinging on my overcoat. It gives off a stale, rancid smell, but at least I minded to change into the new C&A’s slacks. The material seems to irritate the rash on my inner thighs though. – Got a wee lead with a mate of Ocky’s. Might be something, might be nothing. Have to check it out but. See youse later.
I hurry upstairs to the audio-visual section to pick up the tripod and video camera that Pete Loburn, the technician, is letting me take out for a few days. A good boy, in the craft. I hurry downstairs and load the gear onto the back seat of the Volvo. I have to pick up Claire at the Fish Factory before heading out to Penicuik for the shoot. Then I have to bomb hame and do some tidying up as I’m fucking Bunty over there this affie. I’m also, in a sense, fucking Bladesey. Fucking the poor wee bastard for good. It’s all go!
Thankfully the roads are still not very busy. I tear down the Walk in the motor and park indiscreetly outside the Fish Factory. Normally I’d keep the Volvo a few streets away, but the clock is ticking. Maisie’s there with Claire, and fortunately she’s all ready.