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.’