Ken Bruen - Her Last Call to Louis MacNeice

1997

The blast took her face off. Two seconds of pressure on the trigger and a full shotgun load went roaring out.

Wed been doing good. In with a maximum of ferocity. Get em terrorised, shouting Get the fuck down NOW.

Push push push.

Let em see the guns, hear the manic screaming of very dangerous men.

Doc had planted devices at the

cop shop

Tesco

The Masonic Lodge

Theyd gone off like lubrication. You had the noise, smoke, confusion and then were in MENACE writ brutal large.

Oh yeah, fuckin A.

Bingo, the motherload. More cash than Camelot, two bin-liners overflowing with readies.

Everything hunky-dory and then

Then I shot the cashier in the face.

I guess it began with Cassie.

The cop stopped me on Kennington Road. I was having a bad day. As if a neon sign above my head, high-lit to read

FUCK WITH THIS GUY

Theyd seen it.

I turned off the engine and waited. A sign of middle age when policemen look young. This one looked ten and had seen too many cop shows. He had the saunter and the cap adjustment. Get that sucker on to look mean. He wasnt wearing shades but he wanted to and badly. I expected him to drawl in a Kentucky twang assume the position or, at the very least, what we got here Bubba? What he did say was, Do you know why I stopped you?

Id no idea as I hadnt been speeding and the car was in good nick. Tax, insurance, all that good shit was in order. So, I went for it.

Cos youre a bad bastard.

My parents were hard-line Presbyterian. Wouldnt make love standing up lest people thought they were dancing. Fun was indeed the F-word. They were a potent mix, she was from Belfast and he from Glasgow. Settling in London, they brought little as baggage save bitterness. My old man kept pigeons, jeez I hate them. As a child I feared heights but feared him more. The birds he kept on the roof. Our house was a three-storey one in Battersea, near the power station. The yellow light came creepin each evening. Course, that was the time he liked to feed the birds. Hed haul me up there, the yellow light like sickness on my bare legs, fear like regularity in my stomach.

When I was fourteen, I started to grow. An October evening, hed bullied me as usual on the roof. The cooing of the pigeons as nauseating as cowardice. He was saying, What did I tell you boy, feed them slow. Dont you listen.

And I said, Feed them yourself.

All sorts of shit the Presbyterians cant get a handle on but leading the field is disobedience. Hed grabbed me by the scruff and hauled me to the edge of the roof, roarin Better you should throw yourself to the concrete than fly in the face of your father.

Through the years Ive re-played, re-said that scene. Id like to think it was courage or even anger that forced my answer. Mainly, I believe, the words came from my South-East London education. The streets in all their glory rushing up through my chest to explode Fuck you.

And hed clutched at his chest. Ive since learnt the word apoplexy, and wow, he got to live it then. Can a face go purple, his sure tried and he toppled over, finally experiencing a moment of flight. Sometimes in dreams, Ive seen me push him and I know my mother was convinced that I did. When I wake, I dont feel guilty. Well, the cop had a similar expression but before he could respond, a car came tearing out of the estates, burned rubber at the kerb, and shot off towards the Oval. Two pandas came screeching in pursuit and the cops radio blared into static. He shouted into it, Responding responding.

He gave me the look, said, Your lucky day but Ill be watching for you

As he started to pull away, I said, Ill miss you.

It was that day I met Cassie. On the Walworth Road, I nipped into Marks and Spencers, got some groceries. Time back, Elvis Costello had a song called Watching the Detectives. I like to do that, see how a real asshole makes a living. I spotted the stores plainclothes operator near the frozen meat. Which is a fairly apt metaphor and he was clocking somebody.

A woman in her thirties, pushing a trolley. Wearing jeans, sweatshirt, Reeboks pink Reeboks and new. Lookin comfortable. She had the moves, like Mary Tyler Moore, the expression. Remember the opening sequence to that show? She picks up a steak, glances at it, near grimaces and chucks it back in the freezer. I loved that, wanted to marry her right then, I was eleven.

She looked like Sarah Miles or how she used to. Remember, with Dirk Bogarde in The Servant or Ryans Daughter. Before she went ape. Its the closest the English get to Style. Class is something else, they figure they invented it. She had a loose long coat and you knew it had them big vacuum pockets, only one reason you wear that. But she was quick, Ill give her that. The package went inside there about as fast as it gets. Not fast enough. A surge of electricity went through the store detective. Time to move. I walked up to her, said, Put it back, youve been spotted.

The shock on her face was mega. I kept going and the detective moved after me. Reached me as I got to the door, said, Dont think I dont know what you did, Id have had her bang to rights.

He must have been all of twenty-five and, to judge by his eyes, all of them miserable. I asked, Spoil yer day, did I?

Ill remember you, see if I dont.

Jeez, everybodys saying that.

Not sure how to proceed, he raised his voice: Is that all youve to say for yerself?

No I have more.

Oh yeah?

Yeah fuck off.

When she emerged, I was sitting on the bench outside. She stopped, looked quizzical, asked, Why are you waiting. Youve no authority out here.

Yank.

You got that right sister, authority was never one of my assets but Im not a store detective, just a punter.

Understanding lit her face then something else like shame maybe. A horrendous sight.

You saved me.

Well

How can I thank you oh GAWD Im so embarrassed I get spasms I

Wanna eat?

Excuse me?

I stood up, explained, Its not a difficult question but lemme break it down. A: Are you hungry. B: If so, lemme treat you. A new joint has opened down the road What do you say?

She appeared to give it serious thought, said, Okey-dokey, how could I turn down an offer like that.

It looked like the place had just opened, like in the previous five minutes. We sat at a table, admired the unfinished surroundings. A guy built to bounce came over, he had the dazed look of a drinker. Everything about him was big but not muscle, flabbiness. A line of grey sweat nibbled at his temples and upper lip. Hed a bright plastic name tag which read Hi, Im Bert.

He didnt appear pleased to see us. But it wasnt personal. Hed had a bad day in his past and was holding on to it and grimly. I asked, Are you Bert?

Whos asking.

Jeez, take it easy, if youre hiding out, youve picked the wrong disguise.

The woman said, Bert, how about you bring us some coffee then well chow down. Give us all a minute to consider the words of Desiderata.

Wha?

Coffee Bert two coffees Before Tuesday OK.

He rumbled off.

She smiled, said, My hunch is hes also the short-order chef so cancel them burgers.

Yeah youre American.

That a disappointment?

No I mean its fine. I like yer accent, its just surprising.

You didnt know Americans were shoplifters.

Not that, what I didnt know was Americans were bad shoplifters.

And she laughed. The kind you never expect a woman to have, deep and downright bawdy. Where she goes all the way with it and doesnt give a toss how she appears. A real whack-it-for-all-its-worth job. I liked that a whole lot. She asked, So my hero, my saviour, you got a name, weve already established youve got balls, yeah, ask Bert See if Im wrong?