Ammunition

7

Falls had finally left the hospital, the nurse telling her Brant was comfortable and got the look from Falls, who asked:

‘He was shot in the back a few hours ago and he’s comfortable?’

The nurse, white, was never entirely at ease with black people, they seemed so angry all the time. She ventured:

‘It’s what we say, you know, to reassure the relatives.’

Falls was beginning to enjoy the mind fuck, asked:

‘You noticed that Sergeant Brant is white?’

‘Am… yes.’

Falls took her time, then:

‘So, how do you figure I’m related to him?’

The nurse fled.

Falls headed for the pub, she had her new rank to celebrate, went to The Oval pub right beside the station, bought a copy of The Big Issue from the homeless guy, who said:

‘Sorry to hear about Brant.’

‘Course, word would have spread all over the South-East, Brant downed at last. She muttered something, and the guy interpreted it as keep the change. She liked this pub, no cops, lots of villains, but then where didn’t?

The barman, surly git, growled:

‘What will it be?’

He hadn’t twigged her for the heat, or he’d have changed his tone. Falls said:

‘Large gin and tonic and a pack of B amp; H.’

The guy sniggered, said:

‘See that machine over there, the one that says “cigarettes” in large bright letters, guess what it’s for?’

Falls was tired, and the letter in her bag was burning a hole. She leaned over to the guy, said:

‘I’m Sergeant Falls, and I’m in a real fucking bad frame of mind, so how about you bring me what I ordered. I’ll be sitting over there in the corner.’

He did.

Even had the cellophone off the packet, one of the cigs perked up, Falls gave him a tenner and poured a tiny hint of the tonic in the glass, no need to screw up perfectly fine gin with tonic. She knocked back a sizeable wallop, sat back, waited for the jolt. It came fast and she let out a barely audible sigh. The guy brought her change and she snapped:

‘Same again.’

She was going to be massacred, see what the night would produce then. She waited till she was half through her second double before she allowed herself to think about the letter.

A time back, the Vixen case, a particularly nasty psycho named Angie, who took out two brothers and countless more they only suspected. Worse, she had deliberately targeted Falls, became her friend. And Falls, she cringed, despite the gin, blushed,… Jesus, the memory… on one very drunken occasion… her lover. It had nigh on destroyed her career and only a miracle in the form of Brant had saved her arse.

Angie was caught and pulled down heavy jail time. Falls had breathed a sigh of relief and only hoped some other crazy bitch would put a shiv in Angie’s back. She opened the latter, realized her hands were shaking, read:

Girlfriend,

How are you sweetie?

I’ve missed you.

Your black, creamy skin, your wild, abandoned love-making, your lovely face got me through so rough times here on her

Majesty’s Service.

Wonderful news.

I’m out.

Aren’t you delighted?

I know you are.

I know you long for me.

Patience, my black meat.

I have few a loose ends to put right, but then I’ll be round. I see you’re still at the same address.

We’ll make up for all the lost time.

Soon, my lover.

Be patient.

Xxxxxxxx

Your own fox

Falls wiped her brow, sweat was pouring off her, the gin she hoped. The bar guy was over, asked:

‘Hot enough for yah?’

Falls fixed her steel eyes on him, said:

‘Fuck off’

He loved it, said:

‘God, I love it when babes talk dirty.’

And he was gone before Falls could reply.

She couldn’t believe it, Angie was out and stalking her. Panic gripped her. Angie was among the craziest of a whole series of deranged lunatics she’d met in her time on the force.

And to say she had ammunition on Falls was putting it mildly. Falls lit a cigarette, her hands a little steadier. The only person who could really deal with this type of psycho was Brant.

Feeling the drinks, Falls got to her feet and wondered if she should call a cab, she wasn’t sure if she was in any shape to drive.

The bar guy said:

‘You come back and cheer us all up soon, you hear.’

Brant would have given him a wallop up the side of the head.

Bruen, Ken

Ammunition (Inspector Brant)