When the sergeant got back to the call, he couldn’t hear anyone on the line. Testily he repeated, ‘Hello … yello?’
Then two shots rang clearly down the receiver and he knew, without thinking:
Shot gun — 12 gauge — double o cartridges
and muttered, ‘Jesus!’
A homeless person with a grubby T-shirt proclaimed, ‘Jesus loves black and white but prefers Johnny Walker,’ and touched Fiona Roberts on the arm. She jumped a foot off the ground thinking: ‘They’ve even reached Dulwich’.
He said, ‘Chill out, babe.’ Even the displaced were going mid-Atlantic.
She ran. No dignity. No finesse. Out ’n’ out legged it.
Inside her home she said aloud, ‘I know! I’ll never go out again — that’ll do it.’ And received a second jump when her daughter Sharon approached suddenly. ‘Christ, Sharon, don’t do that — sneaking up on a person.’
‘Get real, Mom.’
Fiona thought: ‘A nice cup o’ tea, that will restore me,’ and went to prepare it. She glanced in at the blaring TV. Regis and Kathy Lee were discussing manicures for dogs.
‘Sharon … Sharon! Why is the telly so loud? … Why do you always need noise?’
The girl threw her eyes to heaven and sighed, ‘You wouldn’t understand.’
‘What? … What’s to understand? Tell me!’
Chewing on her bottom lip, the girl said, ‘Cos yer old, Mum.’
Fiona scratched the tea and headed upstairs for a Valium — a whole shitpile of mother’s little helpers … sorry, old mother’s little helpers.
When Charlie Kray, brother of the twins, tried to flog cocaine, three of his customers turned out to be undercover cops. A true sting. Over seventy, Charlie was found guilty, despite his own lawyer calling him a pathetic case. Who Charlie called was Bill. Like this.
‘Bill?’
‘Yeah.’
‘It’s Charlie.’
‘Hi, son, I’m sorry about yer bit o’ grief.’
‘They set me up Bill.’
‘I know, they put you right in the frame.’
‘You know me, Bill — I ’ate drugs.’
‘We wouldn’t be ’aving this chat if it were otherwise.’
‘Thanks, Bill. Reggie always said you were the bollocks.’
‘Was there somefing, Charlie?’
‘Is there owt you can do for us, mate? I go in, it’s life … at my age.’
‘Wish I could, son but it’s solid. You’re going down, but I can ’ave a word, make it cushy as possible.’
A pause. Defeat hanging full, then resignation.
‘Yeah, righto Bill … Will you look out for my old girl?’
‘Course, you don’t ’ave to ask.’
‘Maybe you’ll get up my way, bring us in a bit o’ cheer.’
‘Course I will, soon as.’
But he never did. Bill wasn’t a visitor and in this case he didn’t even send the help.
That book was writ.
When Roberts had proposed to Fiona, her family had raised huge objections. Roberts had told his own father of their view. His father, a man of few words, said, ‘They’re right.’
‘What — you think I’m not good enough for her?’
‘I wasn’t thinking about you. As usual you’ve got it backwards.’
Roberts was pleased, then said, ‘They’ve money.’
‘Ah! … Well, perhaps you have class. Now it’s possible we’ll get money, whereas …
He figured he’d call on Brant, maybe even talk about Fiona. But probably not. Brant’s door was open and Roberts thought ‘Uh-oh.’
Brant was sitting on the couch watching TV. Two bananas were coming down the stairs and singing.
Roberts said, ‘What the hell are yah watching?’
‘It’s Bananas in Pyjamas, quite a catchy little tune.’
He turned round to stare at Roberts, who said, ‘The door was open … I …
‘Hey, no sweat. Everybody else just walks in.’
‘You had a visit?’
‘Yeah, a villain with a message. Next, he’ll have a chat show.’
Roberts moved in closer. ‘Are you all right? Any damage?’
‘Any damage. Hmm … he wanted to boil me bollocks and I speak not metaphorically here.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Can I get you anyfin’?’
Brant looked at the mug he was holding, said, ‘It’s tea.’
‘Another?’
‘Two sugs, Guv. It’s them triangle jobs — and you know what? — they do taste better; like yer old Mum used to make.’
Roberts went to the kitchen and marvelled at the mess. Like squatters had staged a demo there. Brant shouted, ‘Heat the cups.’
‘Yeah, right.’
Once the tea was squared away, Roberts sat. ‘You want to tell me what’s going down?’
‘Bill Preston.’
‘Tell me you’re winding me up. You haven’t been sniffin’ round in his biz … the order came from on high — hands off.’
‘Let ’im run riot, that it?’
‘They’re building a case, it takes time.’
‘Bollocks.’
‘C’mon, Tom, the softly-softly approach will bring him in finally.’
‘So meanwhile, we sit back and play with ourselves.’
‘Shit! You started pushing him!’
‘A bit.’
‘And you got a visit. Who’d he send?’
‘Fenton, last of the fuckin’ Mohicans.’
‘The Alien. You should be flattered — means you got their attention.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I am. Flattered.’
Roberts drained his tea and wondered if he’d have another. Thing was, you always regretted it.
Brant asked, ‘Want ’nother brewski?’
‘Love one.’
They did, and sure enough it had that stewed taste which British Rail have raised to an art. A sour tang of metal and over-indulgence.
Roberts said, ‘You’re going to leave it alone now.’
‘Mm … phh!’
‘C’mon Tom, walk away.’
Brant looked like he was seriously considering this as an option. They both knew otherwise, but as Roberts was the senior officer, he at least had to dance the charade.
Then Brant said, ‘I was watching a documentary on the New York cops, it was on BBC2.’
‘Yeah, any good?’
‘When a drug dealer gets killed, the detectives say “Condition Corrected”.’
Roberts smiled in spite of himself, stood and asked, ‘Can we expect you at work any time, son?’
‘Absolutely, soon as Regis and Kathy Lee finish.’
‘Like them, do you?’
‘Naw, it’s just I can’t distinguish one cunt from the other.’
Black as he’s painted
When Falls had joined the force, she had near perfected a neutral accent. If the situation demanded, she could ‘street’ with ease, or float the Brixton patois … and twist her vowels to blend into south-east London like a good un.
Early on she’d fallen in love with a bloke from CID. He said he adored her blackness and appeared to have no hang-up of being seen with her. There were no derisory comments, as he had the ‘cop face’. The one which says: ‘Fuck with me and you’ll fuckin rue the day’. Like that.
Finally, the time came when she had to know how he felt, and she asked, ‘Jeff, how do you feel about me?’
Risky, risky, risky.
He said, ‘Honey (sic), I really like you. And if I was going to settle down it would definitely be with you.’
Yeah. Sayonara sucker.
After Roberts’ departure, Brant remained in front of the TV, schemes of mayhem and destruction flicking fast through his head.
Dennis The Menace came on, an episode where the Menace was camping in the woods. A wild gorilla was loose and Dennis’ father asked: ‘Who’ll warn the gorilla?’
Brant smiled. If he’d believed in omens he’d have called it a metaphor of fine timing.
Next up was Barney. Brant said aloud, ‘I can’t friggin’ believe I’m watching an eight foot purple dinosaur with green polka dots … singing. And worse, tap dancing.’
Then, as if a cartoon light bulb went on over his head, Brant said, ‘Wait a mo!’ And knew how to proceed.