Brant was seriously impressed. He didn’t show it of course but did concede:
‘Nice one.’
28
At the hospital, the doctor gave Andrews some painkillers after he cleaned up the bite.
He said:
‘You’re lucky, the woman who did this, she doesn’t appear to have any… how shall I say?… condition that might raise cause for concern.’
Falls, trying to suppress the rage that still boiled, said:
‘She has a condition now, all right.’
The doctor looked at her questioningly and she said:
‘Assaulting a police officer, that will get her two years. You might say she’d got a fucked condition.’
The doctor was appalled at the use of language, not to mention the glee and venom of the words, and he said:
‘I’m sure the poor woman needs help.’
Falls wanted to lash him, and she hated how, like Brant, she was starting to see liberals as a serious pain in the ass. She kept the steel in her tone and asked:
‘Are you married?’
He read it wrong and, flattered, conceded:
‘Ahm, yes, but we’ve been… ‘
Falls cut him off with:
‘And if some bitch took a chunk out of her neck, how much would your heart bleed?’
He wanted to get away and thought he might put a call through to his MP about the type of person wearing a uniform these days. He said:
‘One can’t, of course, predict one’s reaction but one likes to believe one would weigh the factors involved.’
Andrews wanted to get out of there and stood up, but Falls added:
‘Weigh this: when the bull dyke gets her biting ass in Holloway, we’ll see how one might weigh that factor.’
The doctor dismissed her, said to Andrews:
‘I strongly recommend you go home, get some rest. Is there anyone there to take care of you? You’ve had a traumatic time.’
Andrews didn’t answer him and walked away. Falls gave him the long stare and followed.
He said to a nurse:
‘God help us all if they’re the good guys.’
29
Outside, Falls asked:
‘Should I call a cab?’
‘I want a drink.’
Who was Falls to argue? But they were still in uniform and fairly bedraggled, so she hailed a black cab and asked him to go to Lonsdale Road. The driver had the ‘Knowledge’ and knew the police den there, dropped them right outside it, said:
‘You guys are getting some bad press but for my money, you’re doing good.’
And waived the fare.
How often does that happen? It was smart public relations but the gesture was meant.
Falls said:
‘If you’re ever in a jam…’
He appreciated the pun. Andrews looked at the nondescript building, asked in a sulky tone:
‘What’s this?’
Falls, invigorated, said:
‘It’s the “sorrows”, as in drown the fuckers. You don’t get to visit it until you’ve proved yourself. So many wash out now, if they last a week it’s surprising but you, you’ve certainly shown you’re here for the long haul.’
Andrews seemed singularly unimpressed but when you’ve recently been bitten, your options move. There were no bouncers on the door — at a cop joint? Come on!
A single cop sat in an alcove, reading Loaded, looked up and muttered:
‘Falls.’
Waved them in.
You’d expect a dive and you wouldn’t be more wrong. The furnishings were sedate, almost feminine, lots of fussy curtains and delicate furniture with a bright paint job. The place was jammed: uniforms, plain clothes, Special Branch, civil servants who were vaguely connected in that they did favours. A long bar running the length of one wall, and two tenders.
As they walked in, conversation stopped and then a quiet applause began. Andrews looked at Falls who said:
‘That’s for you, kid.’
‘What? How can they know?’
Falls led the way to a corner table, acknowledged the praise with a small hand gesture and said:
‘Are you joking? A cop gets hit, they know.’
Immediately a round of drinks came, and raised glasses from various tables.
Andrews asked:
‘What’s in these drinks?’
There were six shot glasses and Falls handed one over, said:
‘Scotch, these guys are no frills.’
For a moment, it seemed like Andrews was going to demur, maybe ask for vodka and slimline tonic, but as she felt the camaraderie, something in her face changed and she knocked back the shot like a good ‘un. A chorus of ‘Way to go, girl’ followed.
She was in.
30
PC McDonald had been hovering on the brink for days on end. His parents had come from Edinburgh and left in tears. Brant, Falls, Roberts had all made appearances. Then he came round with a massive headache.
The doctor asked:
‘Are you a religious man?’
McDonald, groggy but improving, stared at him, asked:
‘What?’
‘A bullet creased the very top of your brain, you should be dead… at the very least, a vegetable. I’ve never seen such a drastic turnaround. If you’re not a religious man, you better find some icon to thank because, believe you me, this is a miracle.’
McDonald didn’t feel very grateful or lucky or even miraculous; what he felt was nauseous, thirsty and a little hungry. He said so.
The doctor gave him a long look and thought: Cops, more stupid than I could have believed. He said:
‘You should make a full recovery but you’re going to have to take a time to rest and recuperate. Head wounds are very traumatic and all sorts of problems can arise so we’ll be monitoring you.’
McDonald sighed and near whined:
‘So where are we on the drink?’
The doctor stomped off and figured the worst ones always survived. He near collided with Superintendent Brown, who said:
‘Hey, watch where you’re going.’
The doctor saw the dog’s dinner of insignia on the Super’s jacket and wanted to say:
‘If you’re the top honcho, no wonder the idiot in the bed is so thick.’
The Super sat on the side of the bed and asked:
‘How are you doing?’
McDonald managed to sit up and say:
‘Bit weak but I’ll be back in jig time.’
The Super snorted, which is exactly how it sounded: the noise coming down his nose full of derision and scepticism. He drew back his shoulders as his wife was always nagging him to do and barked:
‘That’s what you think, laddie!’
McDonald was confused; he thought the Super had come to praise him.
Before he could protest, the Super continued:
‘I still have some juice despite having to eat shit over arresting the wrong suspect so I’ve persuaded the media to treat you as a hero cop. All that good nonsense about tackling an armed and highly dangerous villain — the great unwashed still love the good old British “have a go” shite. You’ll probably get a commendation.’
He paused to let this sink in and McDonald didn’t know whether to say thanks or just shut his mouth. He decided to shut his mouth.
The Super looked round and wasn’t impressed with anything he saw, then:
‘You’ll get the commendation but that’s all you’ll bloody get. I had my eye on you, was even putting you up for the Lodge, but you’re finished, you hear me? You went off on your own bat and nearly caused a huge disaster. I’ll be covering our arse for months to come, thanks to you, and worse, we have a lunatic out there with a ton of our money and a weapon.’
Brown stood up, breathed heavily, added:
‘If you do come back, you’ll be on traffic, and we can only hope you don’t make a complete bollix of that.’
Then he stomped off.
A nurse went over to McDonald, gave the hero her sweetest smile and asked:
‘Now, love, what would you like?’
‘Like? What would I like? I’d like you to fuck off!’