Like A Charm

'Place of birth?' Cameron asked.

'Sir, Muncie, Indiana, sir,' Mason said.

The way he spoke told me he was clearly from London, but his faux-American accent was pretty impressive. Clearly he watched a lot of TV and spent a lot of time in the local multiplexes. He had worked hard to become a Marine. His eyes were good, too. Flat, wary, expressionless. Just like a real jarhead's. I guessed he had seen Full Metal Jacket more than once.

' Muncie, Indiana,' Cameron repeated. 'Not Tottenham? Not North London?'

'Sir, no sir,' Mason barked. Cameron laughed at him, but Mason kept his face blank, just like a guy who had survived boot camp.

'Military service?' Cameron asked.

'Sir, eleven years in God's own Marine Corps, sir.'

'Semper Fi?'

'Sir, roger that, sir.'

'Where did you get the money, Mason?'

It struck me that when a guy has the same name first and last, it's impossible to come across too heavy. For instance, suppose I said hey, Ken, to Cameron? I would sound friendly. If I said hey, Cameron, I would sound accusatory. But it was all the same to Mason Mason.

'I won the money,' he said. Now he sounded like a sullen Londoner.

'On a horse?'

'On a dog. At Harringay.'

'When?'

'Last night.'

'How much?'

'Ninety quid.'

'Marines go dog racing?'

'Sir, Recon Marines blend in with the local population.' Now he was a jarhead again.

'What about the earring?' Cameron asked. 'It's new.'

Mason touched it as he spoke.

'Sir, it was a gift from a grateful civilian.'

'What kind of civilian?'

'A woman in Kosovo, sir.'

'What did she have to be grateful about?'

'Sir, she was about to be a victim of ethnic cleansing.'

'At whose hands?'

'The Serbs, sir.'

'Wasn't it the Bosnians?'

'Whoever, sir. I didn't ask questions.'

'What happened?' Cameron asked.

'There was social discrimination involved,' Mason said. 'People considered rich were singled out for special torment. A family was considered rich if the wife owned jewellery. Typically the jewellery would be assembled and the husband would be forced to eat it. Then the wife would be asked if she wanted it back. Typically she would be confused and unsure of the expected answer. Some would say yes, whereupon the aggressors would slit the husband's stomach open and force the wife to retrieve the items herself.'

'And you prevented this from happening?'

'Me and my men, sir. We mounted a standard fire-and-manoeuvre encirclement of a simple dwelling and took down the aggressors. It was a modest household, sir. The woman owned just a single pair of earrings.'

'And she gave them to you.'

'Just one, sir. She kept the other one.'

'She gave you an earring?'

'In gratitude, sir. Her husband's life was saved.'

'When was this?'

'Sir, our operational log records the engagement at 0400 last Thursday.'

Cameron nodded. He left Mason Mason at the desk and pulled me away into the corner. We competed for a minute or two with all the one-sandwich-short-of-a-picnic metaphors we knew. One brick shy of a load, not the sharpest knife in the drawer, that kind of thing. I felt bad about it later. I should have seen what was coming.

But Cameron was already into another long and complicated calculation. It was almost metaphysical in its complexity. If we logged another case today, our productivity number would rise. Obviously. If we broke it, our clearance rate would rise. Obviously. Question was, would our clearance rate rise faster than our productivity number? Basically, was it worth it? The equation seemed to me to require some arcane calculus, which was beyond me, and I was a fast track training college wanker. But Cameron seemed to have a handy rule of thumb. He seemed to suggest that it's always worth logging a case if you know you're going to break it. At the time I suspected that was a non-mathematical superstition, but I couldn't prove it. Still can't, actually, without going to night school. But back then I didn't argue the arithmetic. I argued the facts instead.

'Do we even have a case?' I asked.

'Let's find out,' he said.

I imagined he would send me out for an Evening Standard, so we could check the greyhound results from Harringay. Or he would send me to wade through incident reports, looking for a stolen snake earring from last Thursday night. But he did neither thing. He walked me back to Kelly Key instead.

'You work hard for your money, right?' he said to her.

I could see that Kelly didn't know where that question was going. Was she being sympathized with, or propositioned? She didn't know. She was in the dark. But like all good whores everywhere, she came up with a neutral answer.

'It can be fun,' she said. 'With some men.'

She didn't add men like you. That would have been too blatant. Cameron might have been setting a trap. But the way she smiled and touched his forearm with her fingertips left the words It can be fun with men like you hanging right there in the air. Certainly Cameron heard them, loud and clear. But he just shook his head, impatiently.

'I'm not asking for a date,' he said.

'Oh,' she said.

'I'm just saying, you work hard for your money.'

She nodded. The smile disappeared and I saw reality flood her face. She worked very hard for her money. That message was unmistakable.

'Doing all kinds of distasteful things,' Cameron said.

'Sometimes,' she said.

'How much do you charge?'

'Two hundred for the hour.'

'Liar,' Cameron said. 'The twenty-two-year-olds up west charge two hundred for the hour.'

Kelly nodded.

'Fifty for a quickie,' she said.

'How about thirty?'

'I could do that.'

'How would you feel if a punter ripped you off?'

'Like he didn't pay?'

'Like he stole ninety quid from you. That's like not paying four times. You end up doing him for nothing, and you end up doing the previous three guys for nothing too, because now that money's gone.'

'I wouldn't like it,' she said.

'Suppose he stole your earring, as well?'

'My what?'

'Your earring.'

'Who?'

Cameron looked across the room at Mason. Kelly Key followed his gaze.

'Him?' she said. 'I wouldn't do him. He's mad.'

'Suppose you did.'

'I wouldn't.'

'We're playing let's-pretend here,' Cameron said. 'Suppose you did him, and he stole your money and your earring.'

'That's not even a real earring.'

'Isn't it?'

Kelly shook her head. 'It's a charm from a charm bracelet. You guys are hopeless. Can't you see that? It's supposed to be fastened on to a bracelet. Through that little hoop at the top? You can see the wire doesn't match.'

We all stared at Mason Mason's ear. Then I looked at Cameron. I saw his eyes do the blank thing again. The channel-changing thing.

'I could arrest you, Kelly Key,' he said.

'But?'

'But I won't, if you play ball.'

'Play ball how?'

'Swear out a statement that Mason Mason stole ninety quid and a charm bracelet from you.'

'But he didn't.'

'What part of let's-pretend don't you understand?'

Kelly Key said nothing.

'You could leave out your professional background,' Cameron said. 'If you want to. Just say he broke into your house. While you were in bed asleep. The home-owner being in bed asleep always goes down well.'

Kelly Key took her gaze off Mason. Turned back to Cameron.

'Would I get my stuff back afterwards?' she asked.

'What stuff?'