Mostly, she found people a drag; they whined on about money and about the weather and worse, politics. All such trivial shit. What she liked was to see how they reacted to pain. Ray was okay and she didn’t mind the sex. It amazed her that men would do just about anything for it. Jimmy meant as much to her as a dog she might pass in the street.
After she blew them off — and blow them she fully intended to do — she wouldn’t give them another thought. First, Jimmy would be sacrificed, then Ray. She might do something special for him, take him out in a painless way. He’d bought her that dumb painting and seemed to think that mangy fox was her. She played him along, kept him sweet as he was especially good on the phone. Had those cops doing somersaults. Under her pillow she kept a Browning automatic, primed and ready to lock and load. Before sleep took her, she wondered if she’d use a head or body shot on Ray. It interested her to see how the head would look if she put two into it at close range. Fuck him first then whip out the gun, say:
‘Now you’ve come and hey, here you’re gone.’
She fell asleep with a smile on her face.
Jimmy was watching the best-ever episode of The Office. He didn’t fully understand it but now he was a working guy, he felt a kinship with it. He laughed out loud without fully understanding the humour but in the morning, when the guys mentioned bits, he’d be able to laugh all over again. Jimmy wasn’t happy that it was only a temporary position, but maybe after, when they’d got the money, Ray might allow him to do a few days a week.
He’d really stayed up to watch a lezzie drama that was getting lots of publicity. Called Tipping the Velvet, it starred Diana Rigg’s daughter. This would have impressed him more if he knew who Diana Rigg was. A big deal was being made of the fact that BBC 2 was showing it.
Ray said:
‘It’s porn. Just because that BBC crowd made it, doesn’t change the fact that they’re peddling porn. Oh, be sure to tape it, yeah?’
Jimmy was disappointed. It was tame and he had to wade through loads of waffle for what action there was. He opened a bottle of Tequila and drank from the neck. It hit him like thunder, he was pissed before he knew it and decided to rewind the tape — maybe the show needed booze. The women looked better already.
12
Falls and Andrews were investigating a pub breakin on the Balham High Road. The owner was a thick fuck who shouted at them the second they walked in through the door:
‘Who’s going to pay for the damage?’
Andrews looked to Falls who asked:
‘What is the extent of the damage?’
He stared at her, as if he couldn’t believe his ears? Answered:
‘A smashed window, broken bottles, and my dog.’
Andrews went:
‘Dog?’
Now he turned to her, sneered:
‘What are you, an echo? How long have you been on the job, two days?’
Falls tried not to smile, two days was exactly right. He wasn’t finished:
‘Yeah, my dog, they smashed his head in with something, probably a baseball bat.’
Andrews tried for a professional tone, enquired:
‘What type of dog?’
‘What type of dog? A fucking dead dog.’
Falls held up a finger, cautioned,
‘Mind your language, sir. Now, how do you know they used baseball bats?’
He gave a vicious smile, seemed delighted she’d asked as if he’d been storing it up, said:
‘Yer darkies, they use bats, they can’t afford golf clubs.’
Falls wasn’t put out, she was used to this crap, said:
‘I see a space on the wall there. Was there a picture taken?’
The memory of the sale pleased him and he said:
‘Some space cadet, he was in, having a pint and he spots the painting, has to have it. I paid, like, two nicker for it at a garage sale. Have a guess how much I got the dumb bastard for?’
As Falls didn’t venture, Andrews said:
‘From your tone, obviously a lot.’
‘You betcha, sweetmeat: a hundred smackers, what do you think of that?’
Falls asked:
‘And he was black, was he?’
The guy was confused, asked:
‘Black, why?’
‘Well, you said he was dumb, so I presumed he was black, given your views.’
He stared more closely at Falls, then:
‘Are you fucking with me? You better remember who’s paying your bloody salary.’
Andrews piped up:
‘You have already been cautioned about your language.’
He gave a snort of derision, pushed past them, said:
‘Bollocks.’
Andrews caught his arm, turned him and kneed him in the balls. He fell to his knees, roaring like a bull. It was hard to guess who was more surprised, him or Falls. Andrews said:
‘Now you’re cautioned.’
Outside, Falls said:
‘I don’t think they mention that in the training manual?’
Andrews smiled, said:
‘Was I being over-zealous?’
‘Girl, you were magnificent.’
Andrews was pleased with the praise. When Falls suggested they have a coffee, she felt she was on her way to being accepted. They went to a small cafe, got some locals staring at them till Falls stared back. A waitress came over, asked:
‘Ladies, what can I get you?’
Falls said:
‘Two large coffees and the stickiest, most calorie-laden buns you have.’
‘Would you like cream on the coffee?’
Falls looked at Andrews who grinned from ear to ear. Falls said:
‘Bring it on, pile on that sucker.’
Falls rooted in her bag, took out a pack of cigs, offered one.
Andrews was tempted, said:
‘I quit a while ago.’
Falls lit up, said:
‘Trust me, you’ll be smoking again. This is the kind of job nicotine was designed for.’
The coffee came, laden with cream, and the buns were almost obscene in their richness. Falls took a spoon, scooped a dollop of cream and put it in her mouth. She made a face of simulated orgasm, went:
‘Oh… oh… that’s the spot… oh yes… oh my God, the earth is moving.’
Andrews got the giggles and then shovelled a spoon herself. A man in a suit was taking a dim view and glared at them. Andrews signalled him to Falls who ignored him. Then they got stuck into the buns and were like two kids, their faces a riot of cream and sticky bun. The man had had enough, marched over, said:
‘This is scandalous! I mean, you’re supposed to be representing the status quo. I want your names and numbers.’
He actually took out a slim red notebook and a flash gold pen, prepared to take the details. Falls drank some coffee, wiped her mouth delicately with a tissue then fixed her gaze on him, asked:
‘Is that your car outside?’
‘What? Oh yes, it is.’
‘In about two minutes I’m going to have it towed; it matches the description of a car wanted in connection with a string of robberies. You should have it back in… oh, let’s say three weeks. I obviously can’t guarantee its condition but I’ll ask them to be careful, you being a law-abiding citizen and all.’
He stared at her, rage creasing his brow. Then he put the notebook away and he turned on his heel, walked out. Andrews asked:
‘Which car is his?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
Andrews felt she’d learned a valuable lesson in dealing with the public.
When they went to the counter, the owner said:
‘No charge, ladies, I’m honoured by your custom.’
Falls wasn’t pleased, near shouted:
‘Did we ask you for anything free?’
‘No, but…’
‘But you presumed we’d be bought for a lousy stale bun.’
She threw a pile of change on the counter and headed out. Andrews felt sorry for him, tried to give him a warm smile, it didn’t seem to do much good. Outside, Falls was waiting and Andrews said:
‘Wasn’t that a bit harsh?’