It took two orderlies to hold him down while they gave him a massive sedative.
31
Falls was sinking her third shot when Brant strode in. He was wearing a light blue suit, open white shirt and soft leather boots that screamed money. He pulled up a chair and asked:
‘Join you, girls?’
Andrews was delighted and Falls felt her heart sink. For years, she’d struggled not to become like him but the more she did, the more she seemed to blend into him.
The cops at the bar gave him grudging waves; they were afraid not to. A round of drinks soon arrived and he gave his wolf smile. He raised one, pointed the glass at Andrews, said:
‘Here’s to you losing your cherry.’
Andrews picked up hers and smiled, the flirt-filled one that lets you know you’re batting ten. Brant took out his cigs and didn’t offer, lit up, blew the smoke in Falls’ direction and said:
‘We’ve finally got a break in the case.’
The women in unison went:
‘What?’
He enjoyed the reaction, said:
‘Yeah, we know where the mysterious woman is and have a line on Ray Cross, the cop shooter. I’m picking up Porter Nash and bringing him along to meet the woman.’
Falls picked up another shot. She was chilling out and wondered why she didn’t get to this place more often;, the company of cops, it was the best. The budding chemistry between Andrews and Brant was vaguely worrying but what could she do? She asked:
‘Porter is out?’
‘Yeah, he’s raring to go and he wants Cross so bad, you know how that goes?’
Falls had a moment and knew he was referring to the rumours of her offing the cop killer. She smiled — keep it light, she told herself.
Andrews, now in her element with a man in attendance (not to mention in admiration), stood up, asked:
‘Get you guys a drink?’
Brant said:
‘My kind of girl. Get the same again and see if they have any salt ‘n’ vinegar. Some nuts for Falls, she hasn’t had any for ages.’
Andrews positively flounced off.
Falls said:
‘Any chance you’ll let this one go?’
‘Who, the suspect?’
She leaned over, took one of his cigs — and you had to know him a long time to risk that — and said:
‘Don’t be coy, I mean this WPC. Could you pass on her?’
He loved it. His eyes closed for a moment, then he said:
‘Gotta break ‘em in, you know how it goes. Here, you want me to light that?’
And leant over.
She could smell some aftershave, just a hint but superior quality. She’d been hoping it was Old Spice or some predictable crap. She crushed his cig, dropped it on the table and he gave her the lazy look, said:
‘Could cost you.’
Andrews returned with bags of crisps, drinks, said:
‘Whoops, I forgot your nuts.’
Brant stood, said:
‘Gotta run but here’s my address. Why don’t you gals come over later? We’ll make some music, how would that be?’
Andrews looked at the fresh drinks, pleaded:
‘But your drink?’
Brant handed over his card, said:
‘You keep it warm for me, hon.’
And was gone.
Falls felt something close to jealousy and tried to bite down. She wanted to warn Andrews about Brant but knew it would only come out badly. The decision was made for her by the painkillers Andrews had received in the hospital. They kicked in and, with the series of neat whiskies, Andrews’ head began to droop. Falls managed to get her address from her and called a cab.
As they left, Falls holding her by the shoulders, one of the cops shouted:
‘Give her one for me.’
The cab driver asked:
‘Is she going to throw up? Only I’ve just had the car cleaned.’
Falls showed her teeth and he shut up. Back at the address, Falls was surprised to see a tidy, two-storey house and asked Andrews for her key.
She muttered:
‘Ring the doorbell.’
She did and it was thrown open by a middle-aged woman who ranted:
‘What have you done to my daughter?’
Falls was too tired to do parents and said:
‘She got bitten today so ease up. All right?’
The woman was having none of it:
‘So you went and got her drunk. Is that modern policing?’
Andrews, meanwhile, was slumped in the doorway, whimpering. Falls tried to help her up and the woman pushed her away, shouting:
‘Don’t you put your black hands on my girl. I don’t know what the world is coming to. She wasn’t brought up to this you know; she only ever saw you people from a distance.’
Falls didn’t know if she meant cops or blacks but had a good idea. She turned to go and added as a parting shot:
‘Yeah, well guess what? She’s been up close and personal now and I think she likes it.’
The door was slammed in her face.
‘The fuck you talking about?’
‘My question is, do I cut your dick off and stick it in your mouth before I shoot you…’
‘Hey — hey, listen to me a minute, no shit-’
‘Or do I shoot you and then cut your dick off? I always wondered,’ Vincent said, ‘since I’m not up on any of your quaint guinea customs yo guys’re into, leaving the dead rat, any of that kind a shit. I think I know which way you’d prefer…’
31
Brant was driving a Toyota Corolla he’d borrowed from a guy who owed him a favour. The guy, nervous at Brant having the car, had asked:
‘You’ll be careful? I mean, it’s like, almost brand new.’
Brant gave him the smile, said:
‘I’ll treat it like a woman.’
That’s what the guy was afraid of and cringed as Brant burned rubber driving away.
Porter Nash lived in Kennington, an area that — according to the posh mags at least — was coming back. Which led you to wonder, where had it been? Brant, feeling good from the encounter with Andrews, leaned on the horn until Porter appeared. He was dressed in faded jeans, police gym track-top and trainers, a light raincoat topping off the ensemble.
He asked:
‘What’s with the horn-blowing?’
‘Get the neighbours cranked, let ‘em know the boys in blue are on the job.’
Porter got in and said:
‘I’m not even going to ask where you got the car.’
‘Smart.’
Brant drove like a demented person, lethal turns and cutting off black cabs at every opportunity. Porter lit a cig and Brant said:
‘Hey, aren’t you supposed to be off those?’
‘When this case is done, then I’m done.’
They pulled up at a quiet house and saw the windows were all lit up.
Brant said:
‘They’re home.’
He ran through what he’d learned from the snitch: that Angie had been running with Ray Cross, that Ray was in Brighton. Brant was hoping for an address on him soon. Porter digested the data then asked:
‘You think she’s involved?’
‘Let’s go find out.’
Angie opened the door, asked:
‘Yes?’
They showed the warrant cards and she invited them in. Walking ahead of them, Brant took a good look at her and thought she had the moves. In the sitting room, she asked if she could perhaps get them some refreshment. They declined and she motioned them to sit. They did.
Angie was dressed like a secretary: a very low-key secretary at that. A beige suit, with a simple white blouse and low heels, a single strand of pearls around her neck. The boys weren’t buying this.
The look in her eyes said:
‘You believe this shit?’
They didn’t.
Brant began, his notebook on his lap, as if he had to consult it. He asked:
‘You were the girlfriend of Ray Cross?’
She ran her tongue along her bottom lip, feigning nervousness, answered:
‘Yes, but I had to flee.’
In unison they went: