The McDead

Living next door to Alice (Smokie)

WPC Falls was standing in front of the Superintendent. He was drinking tea and drinking it noisily. It’s a very difficult task to chew tea but he appeared to have mastered it.

Gnaw

gnaw

gnaw

Like an anorexic rodent. He’d get it down but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Worse. A biscuit, a club milk. He slid open the wrapper, then carefully peeled back the silver paper, said, ‘They’re well protected.’

Did he mean the public, criminals, tax dodgers? So, she just said, ‘Yes, sir.’ Which is about as unthreatening an answer as you can get.

WPC Falls was black and pretty or, as they said in the canteen, ‘She’s pretty black’. Argue the toss. Recently, she’d fucked up spectacularly in both her personal and professional life. She’d been pregnant and had gone after an arsonist alone. Nearly killed, she’d lost the baby and almost her job.

DS Brant had forced her along to arrest a hit man. It had saved her job and restored some of her confidence. Not all, but definitely in the neighbourhood. After, he’d said, ‘You know Falls, you’re getting a mean look.’

‘What?’

‘Yeah, a nastiness around the eyes.’

She couldn’t resist, said, ‘Like you, sergeant?’

He laughed, answered, ‘See what I mean? Yeah … like me and, if you’re real smart, you’ll work on it.’

Surprised, she asked, ‘Will it go away?’

‘Fuck no, you’ll get meaner.’

The Super put the biscuit to the side, said, ‘Gratification postponed is gratification doubled.’

Falls had a flurry of thoughts-Thank Christ he didn’t start on the biscuit. Yer pompous fart-all hedging on the insubordinate. She cautioned herself. Chill to chill out. Now the prize prick was flicking through her file adding sighs, tut-tuts, teeth clicking, every few pages. Finally, he sat back, said, ‘A checkered career to date.’

‘Yes sir.’

Now he was tapping a pen against his teeth, exclaimed, ‘And such promise, you have the potential. Oh yes.’

Falls thought, Yeah, I’m black and a woman.

He closed the file then, as if only now was the idea crystallising, said, ‘I’m going to take a chance on you Falls, eh.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘No doubt you’re familiar with the Clapham Rapist?’

Who wasn’t? A serial, he’d attacked six women, six black women. The lefties were kicking up a stink. Phrases such as ‘selective policing’ were surfacing.

He continued: ‘You’ll be living in a bedsit in Clapham, going to pubs, clubs, all the places this johnnie hunts.’

She tried to restrain herself but couldn’t, said, ‘A decoy?’

He gave a tolerant smile, said, ‘Not a term we’re keen on my girl, smacks of entrapment. We’ll have you covered all the way.’ Sure. ‘So, are you up to the job? I’ve picked you especially.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Thank you sir. Won’t let you down sir, etc.

Brown-nosing to screaming point.

‘Good, the desk sergeant has the details. PC McDonald will be assisting you … that’s all.’

She was just closing the door when he pounced on the club milk. Could hear him wolfing it as she moved away, muttered, ‘Hope it bloody chokes him.’

As Brant had said, ‘Getting meaner by the minute’.