He stood up, noisily drained his cup, headed for the door. I said, ‘It isn’t really necessary you know.’
‘Of course I know it isn’t fuckin’ necessary Cooper. When it gets to that, I’ll send Quinn.’
Doc was close to shouting.
‘What did you do to antagonise the prick.’
‘Do me a bloody favour Doc, I gave him tea for crying out loud.’
‘And he definitely said WHEN not IF.’
‘You think I misheard him, that it?’
‘Fuck fuck fuck.’
‘That’s a big help.’
I was round at Doc’s place. He lived off the Clapham Road in an old draughty house that never got warm. Laura, his common-law wife, was doing household shit and noisily. A small intense brunette, she’d a vicious temper. I don’t think she liked me but it wasn’t personal. She didn’t like anybody, even Doc seemed to bug her and they’d been together eighteen years. He shouted, ‘Laura, for fuck’s sake, will you stop bangin’ things.’
‘When you stop bangin’ young wans.’
He gave a huge smile, said, ‘The mouth on that woman, strip paint off a gate. Hey Laura, wet a sup o’ tea.’
‘Wet it yerself.’
They had a sixteen-year-old daughter, currently at a posh boarding school. Doc said, ‘Everyone in this house-hold does time.’
Laura sighed, ‘But I’m the only one doing life.’
Round at Lisa’s, I’d called with flowers. The logo shouts ‘Say It With Flowers’. A bunch of pink roses, they didn’t have a whole lot of chat. Lisa said, ‘They’re lovely.’
What else could she add. She’d answered the door in nowt but a slip.
‘How does the postman react?’ I asked.
‘To what.’
Well fuckit, cancel the witty repartee. She gave me a large scotch and as I got behind that, I noticed she’d a gold chain round her ankle.
‘Why do you wear a chain on yer foot?’
‘It’s called a slave bracelet.’
‘That must set women’s rights back a few years.’
Not appreciated. Anger made her face ugly, blended with the knowledge she’d suspected the very same thing.
‘Are you calling me a bimbo?’
‘Whoa, slow down babe, you can hang it from your ass, see if I could give a fuck.’
She bent down to get a book, giving me a flash that hit like hope.
‘I read things you know. Look, I’ve got Carrie Fisher’s book.’
‘One of the greats.’
‘Do you read her?’
‘Bloody hell, I can almost quote her.’
‘Do you know this bit?’
“Here’s how men think:
Sex
Work
Food
Sports
Relationships.”’
She looked so eager as she read this. I felt a complete bastard but I’d signed on, so I said, ‘Not much escapes the bold Carrie. And, how do women score.’
‘Oh she’s so right, she says women think:
“Relationships
Relationships
Relationships
Work
Sex
Shopping
Weight
Food.”’
I said, ‘Wanna sit over here babe?’
‘OK.’
I got my hand under that slip and got hot. As we got to the deposit till, she pushed me off, said, ‘Don’t be so rough.’
Alas, I’d gone a tad too far down the jackpot road, was in the area of sexual bravado, whispered, ‘You’re a slave, do what the master commands.’
And she threw a drink in my face. I roared, ‘The fuck you think you’re doing?’
‘I want to be wooed.’
‘What!’
‘Romance – and the cinema. You don’t respect me.’
I stood up, headed out, added quiet, ‘Bolix.’ I wanted only Cassie, blind to all else.
The flowers were by the door but they’d nowt to add, not even goodbye.
Outside, I experienced the sense of being stalked. I had to figure it could be cops but it was too eerie. Physically shook myself to get back on track. Muttered ‘get real’, or failing that, ‘get real bloody vicious’.
I’d been handling Cassie all wrong. Coming on hardass was where she lived. If there was a next time, I’d be Mr Diplo-fuckin’-matic till I cornered. Then, we’d rock ’n’ roll.
A wino was witnessing ‘I was never a social drinker, only a social security drinker.’ I’d asked Doc if his boozin’ had been as serious as he told it. He’d answered, ‘Lemme put it this way. I was living in Bradford for six months before I realized it was Darlington.’
Quite.
I still had the Astra, I dunno why. It’s a woman’s car in truth. If you need a second car, then it’s as good as any. But for the main event, the numero uno, the big friggin’ cheese, it’s window dressing. Got home and planned a slow evening of strong drink. The phone went.
‘Dave?’
‘Yeah… hey… Doc, is that you?’
He never called me by my Christian name, I actively discouraged it. Only when heavy shit went down did he resort to it. Right now, I’d swear he was sobbing, his voice sounded broken.
‘Dave, it’s Laura – she’s dead.’
‘What!’
‘It’s true Dave – she went under a train… oh God.’
Now he was sobbing, I said, ‘I’m on my way buddy, just hang tight… OK.’
‘OK.’
The flaming Astra wouldn’t start. Then I realized I was flooding the engine and forced myself to calm down… OK… OK… try again. Burned rubber outa there.
As I drove I could hear Doc in my head, the thousand things he’d said. Once, ‘You never hear of Tom Leonard?’
‘No.’
‘Ah, you ignoramus, he proposed that long-term prisoners be given the freedom to purchase their own cells.’
The police cars were parked outside his house. I went in and came face to face with Quinn. What appeared dangerously close to a smirk was plastered on his grey-hound snout. He nodded.
Doc was sitting in an armchair, a bottle of Scotch between his legs. I crouched down, said, ‘I’m so sorry buddy.’
He looked blank, asked, ‘I dunno, should I drink whisky, Laura says it makes me cranky.’
‘How about some tea?’
‘I’d like some tea, two sugars please.’
A uniformed cop was in the kitchen, his shoulder micro-phone emitting squawky messages. I asked, ‘Do you know what happened?’
‘It seems she’d been shopping and was changing trains at the Oval for the Northern Line to Morden. She went under at approximately five forty-five. Rush hour, it didn’t half bugger up the timetable. We got her name from her handbag.’
I made the tea, the cop’s mike was eating at my nerves, I snapped, ‘Can’t you shut that bloody thing off.’
‘No can do Sir, any chance of a cuppa?’
I gave him the look, said, ‘No can do pal, know wot I mean?’
Doc took the tea but was unsure what to do. I said, ‘Drink it.’
‘OK.’
He took his reading glasses from the table before him. I thought ‘Wot, he’s going to read now,’ and he said, ‘Can I have a glass of water?’
Before I could act, he began to feverishly polish the lens, saying ‘This was not a boating accident.’
For that moment, he was Richard Dreyfuss in Jaws and then he switched channels. This is a case for the 87 Precinct, Steve Carella and Bert Kling. Meyer Meyer was as bald as an egg – ‘let’s hear it for the deaf man’ – Steve’s wife, Teddy, was a mute. Carver City and the boys of the eighty-seven. Shit, I nearly forgot Lieutenant Byrnes. I looked up and Quinn was there, said, ‘Yer mate’s losing it, the Doc’s gone doolally.’
I said, ‘Let’s take this outside.’
Before I could get into it, he said, ‘I hate to laugh and run but, it seems you’ll need a new partner, it being a two-man job.’
‘You want to explain that Quinn?’
‘Yer repos – I mean wot else are you two into?’
I’d clenched my fists, never had I wanted to take down a guy so bad, I could taste blood in my mouth, said, ‘You like to put it in people’s faces Quinn, get right in there and fuck. Keep it up.’