Calibre

9

Cops like nothing better than a real shiner, a black eye in all its glory amuses them endlessly. So next day McDonald was taking a storm of stick. His story was he’d had a dispute with a motorist. No one believed it, and sure enough Brant came swaggering along, looked at him, said:

‘Motorists carrying knuckle-dusters, eh.’

Which told McDonald where Falls had got the weapon, but of course he couldn’t say anything. Just add Brant yet again to his ultimate hit list. Then the Super summoned him and on hearing the motorist yarn asked:

‘And you arrested him?’

‘Mmm… In the confusion, he slipped away’

Brown glared, went:

‘Forgetting something, are we, Constable?’

‘I didn’t get the registration, as I said…’

Brown shouted:

‘Sir, I didn’t hear you say “sir” when you addressed me. Now I have to wonder if you’re really cut out for this line of work. You seem to be exceedingly accident prone, not a good trait for a policeman.’

McDonald wanted to protest, say how he’d yet again been the innocent victim, but before he could even start to whine, the Super said:

‘Get out of my sight, have a look at the security ads, I hear they’ll hire any one.’

The desk sergeant assigned him to the snarl of traffic on Balham High Road which, if not the highway to hell, was definitely the Road to Perdition. As McDonald slumped off, the sergeant roared:

‘And if someone wallops you, call the cops.’

Brant was having a pint of Guinness, a ham sandwich curling alongside. The door opened and Falls came in, asked:

‘Can I sit?’

‘Sure, but can you fetch?’

She sat. Brant indicated the sandwich, asked:

‘Hungry?’

‘Actually I brought you something.’

Produced a McDonald’s box, set it carefully before him. He smiled, took a huge swipe of his pint, it left him with a cream moustache, opened the box. A cheeseburger. He lifted the bun, nothing underneath, and he asked:

‘Something missing?’

She gave him the look, asked:

‘You wanted fries?’

He grabbed the burger, took an experimental bite, chewed noisily, said:

‘Not bad.’

The barman came over, went:

‘Hoy, you can’t bring food in here.’

Brant, midbite, said:

‘Piss off, oh, and bring a large vodka for this young fox.’

The barman was newish and not familiar with Brant, but something in the way he spoke told him to leave it be.

He did.

Brant levelled his gaze on Falls and she thought, despite how she didn’t want to think, He’s attractive in a mad dog fashion. Like a line of cocaine that is going to fuck you good, but the rush. He said:

‘McDonald had himself a traffic accident.’

She tread carefully, answered:

‘So I heard.’

Brant fingered his Zippo, got a cig out, flicked a light, drew deep, said:

‘Watch your back.’

She didn’t have a reply so said nothing. He shouted at the bar:

‘Yo, boy, let’s get some action here before Tuesday’

Then back to her, went:

You want to pay your chit?’

She was surprised it was so soon, usually Brant gave you, if not a time of grace, then a time to stew. She nodded and he gave the wolverine smile, said:

‘That’s a girl, best not to be in bondage. So you can be a cunt, am I right?’

The barman was placing the drinks before them as Brant uttered the obscenity and physically recoiled as if he’d been slapped but said nothing, moved away fast. Falls took a deep breath, went:

‘What did you say?’

‘Here’s the deal. For the next week or so, outside the station, I want you to behave like a total animal, treat people like dirt, insult them at every opportunity, be as bad-mannered as you can imagine, act like you’re PMT. Think you can do that?’

She reached for her drink, took it neat without a mixer, needed to taste the bitter wallop of raw alcohol.

She felt it.

Brant had sat back, downed his fresh pint in nearly one swallow, belched, said:

‘Ah.’

Falls had a moment of clarity, then a gallop of rage, and nearly spat:

‘It’s the Manners case, right? You want me to smoke him out?’

Brant was delighted, said:

‘See, I knew you’d get it.’

She wanted to reach in her bag, take out the knuckleduster, and let him ‘get it.’

Without asking, she reached over, took one of his cigs, and to her amazement, he lit it for her. She said:

‘A decoy, that’s the deal, isn’t it?’

‘Exactly.’

She needed to chill and without a word got up, went to the bar, ordered a round of drinks. The barman tried to smile at her, let her know he was with her, but she blanked him and he thought, Fuck her. When she got back, Brant grabbed his drink, said:

‘Here’s to better days.’

She didn’t join the toast, simply downed the vodka and now she was chilled, said:

‘You’re in no doubt I’ll do it, despite the fact I’ve been down this road before and nearly gotten killed.’

He shrugged, said:

‘What? You’ve got a choice? You’re on the road to nowhere, I’m giving you a chance to get back in the game. And the last time, who saved your pretty ass?’

Last time had been the Clapham Rapist. McDonald was supposed to be back-up but didn’t follow through. Without Brant, she’d have been history. Brant said:

‘Get started right away’

‘What?’

‘When you’re paying for the drinks, give the barman a bollicking, get you in the mood, plus he needs a kick in the ass.’

Then he was gone.

Falls played it round and round in her head, trying to see a way out. There wasn’t any unless she wanted to vegetate in that basement. As she paid for the drinks, the bar guy said, after he thought he saw a smile at the corner of her mouth:

‘That bloke is a pig.’

Falls fixed her eyes on him, said:

‘And a wanker like you would know? You aren’t fit to be in the same space as a real man.’

She thought outside:

Good start.