35

Falls’s alibi led to the case against Brant being dropped.

His agent threw a huge party in Covent Garden, and Brant invited everyone, including his hookers. As the party progressed, they’d do major biz, everybody wins. Falls was a no-show.

Porter showed up, looking sheepish and approached Brant, who was opening yet another magnum of Champers. Porter put out his hand, said:

‘No hard feelings.’

Brant stared at him, said:

‘ ’Course not, but will I forget you arrested me? Like fuck.’

And he moved away, carried on a swirl of goodwill from his followers. Porter got a gin and tonic, slim-line tonic, sat in a corner, said he’d down that then get the hell out of there, heard:

‘Yo buddy, how’s it hanging?’

Wallace, looking more like a cowboy than ever, fringed buckskin jacket and, of course, the boots. He sat down beside Porter, took a large swig of his bourbon, said:

‘All’s well that ends well.’

Porter stared at him and Wallace laughed, said:

‘You really need to lighten up, bro.’

Before Porter could reply, Wallace said:

‘I told you before, you’ve a conscience and that’s a dangerous commodity in these dark times. If you’re thinking of, you know, blowing the whistle on our other… event, lemme just run something by you.’

Porter waited:

Wallace was studying his boots, as if they fascinated him. Said, in a stone voice:

‘Suppose the cops were to search another cop’s home and they found a Glock, a Glock with your prints on it and gee, guess what, it was the gun offed the Lewis dude. Would it be stretching it to believe you did the deed as a favour for your buddy Brant?’

Porter was stunned, asked:

‘You’re blackmailing me?’

Wallace stood up, punched Porter on the shoulder, said:

‘Just running a little scenario by you, bro. Y’all take care now, gonna see if I can score me a little Brit chick?’

And he was gone.

Porter swept the gin and tonic off the table, said, in a near perfect imitation of Brant:

‘Bollocks.’

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