The McDead

Lodged

McDonald was summoned to the Super’s office. When he got inside, the Super came to shake his hand, did the Masonic bit. The Super sat and said, ‘Take a pew son.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘You set for bigger things?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘But we must be seen to go through the motions. Are you with me?’

‘Absolutely, sir, one hundred per cent.’

‘That’s the ticket. Did you know Scots are the back-bone of the force?’

He didn’t, said, ‘No, sir.’

‘Oh yes. Now the Irish are … what’s the word, too…

‘Rough?’

‘Well yes, actually I was going to say Celtic.’

Time for some brass humour. He said, ‘Naturally you’d be a Rangers man.’

‘Rugby League, sir.’

And they took a moment to savour their wee pleasantries. Then, ‘You’ll be watching out for the black woman, when she’s on decoy.’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘No need to over-do it, we don’t expect a result. Keep her outta mischief eh?’

‘Very good, sir.’

Now, time for the real bones. The Super leant over the desk, said, ‘DS Brant continues to be an embarrassment.’

McDonald waited.

‘If you were to perhaps, notice some infringement … you’d be doing your duty to … let me know.’

‘I’d be honoured, sir.’

‘Good man, capital … see you anon.’

When McDonald got outside, he took a moment to gather himself. Near jumped when a finger touched his shoulder.

Brant. Who said, ‘Bit edgy boyo.’

Edgy, he was stunned, tried to recover, said feebly, ‘Oh you know how it is when you get a roasting.’

Brant was eyeballing him, said, ‘Oh? Got a bollockin’ did ya?’

‘Yes, sarge … yes I did.’

Brant slapped him on the shoulder, said, ‘Well, keep you outta mischief.’

‘What?’

‘Good man, capital, see you anon.’