Ken Bruen - The McDead

Am I dying?

Answer that. Do you lie big and say, like in the movies, Naw, its just a scratch,? Or, clutch his hand real tight and say, I aint letting you go, bro?

Chief Inspector Roberts was a professional; a professional liar, among other things. It didnt teach you that in the police manual. No, that came with promotion. He considered all the lines he could use. What he said was, Youre dying.

Roberts had got the call at three in the morning. The hour of death. Coming reluctantly out of sleep, he muttered, This better be bloody good. And heard, James!

No one used his Christian name, not even his wife. He said, Tony Good Lord where are you? Dya know what time it is? And heard a sad laugh.

Then: I didnt ring to ask the time. Im hurt Im hurt pretty bad.

He sounded hurt, his speech was coming through slow and laboured. Eventually, Roberts pinned down an address, said, Dont move, Im on me way.

Again, the sad laugh, I wont move, I can guarantee it. Roberts dressed quickly. His wife was asleep in another room. Yeah, like that.

Would it fuck. Roberts said aloud, God, I havent much called on you I know but maybe this would be a good place to start.

Hed learned from his sergeant, a dubious example of Catholicism, that it was a bartering thing. You did something for God, He did something for you. Like the Masons really.

He wasnt sure what he had to trade and said, Ill ah do good works. What that entailed hed no idea. Perhaps buy The Big Issue more regularly and not wait for change.

Yeah, it was a place to start. He waited, then tried the ignition again.

Nope

Nada

Zilch

He glanced briefly upwards, said:

Its about what I figured.

A mini-cab later and he arrived in Stockwell, where the pitbulls travelled in twos. Ludlow Road is near the tube station, a short mugging away. At that hour the streets were littered with

the undead,

the lost, and

the frozen.

The building was a warren of bedsits. No lock on the front door. A wino was spread in the hall, his head came up wheezed: Is it Tuesday?

No.

Are you sure?

Roberts wondered if the guy even knew the year but hey he was going to argue? He said, Its Thursday OK?

Ah, good. I play golf on Tuesdays.

Of course.

Flat six had a cleaner door than most. It was ajar. Roberts entered slowly. Entered devastation-ville. The place had been thrashed, cushions slit open, TV smashed, broken chairs and crockery, and his broken brother lying in the bathroom. He was a mess of blood and bruising. From the angle of his legs, Roberts knew they were gone. He opened his eyes, well, half opened one. The other was shut down. By a hammer it seemed.

He said, James, can I get you something?

And Roberts tried not to smile, bent down said:

I called an ambulance.

His brother seemed to have lost consciousness, then said: Oh good, is it a weekender?

A south-east London maxim. You called one on a weekday, could expect it on Saturday. Roberts didnt know what to do, said: I dunno what to do.

Thats when Tony asked if he was dying. He tried to cradle his brothers head, there was blood everywhere, asked, Who did this, Tone?

Tommy Logan.

Before he could ask more, his brother convulsed, then let his head back, and died. When the medics arrived and scene of crime boyos, Roberts was led outside to the ruined sitting room. As they moved the body, a mobile fell to the floor. The officer in charge said, Im sorry, guv, but I have to ask some questions, you understand.

Yeah.

Did he say anything?

No.

The officer tried to proceed delicately, asked, He called you?

Yeah.

And he didnt give any indication of what had happened?

He said he was hurt and could I come.

Yes?

I came.

Right was he ah conscious when you got here?

No.

The officer looked round, said, I see. But he didnt. Went another direction, asked, Were you close, guv?

Close?

You know, like regular contact?

Roberts focused, then said, I spoke to him ten years ago maybe eleven.

Ah, so you werent, then?

Roberts turned his full look on the officer, said, No wonder youre a detective.

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

Gnaw

gnaw

gnaw

Like an anorexic rodent. Hed get it down but that didnt 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, Theyre 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, Shes pretty black. Argue the toss. Recently, shed fucked up spectacularly in both her personal and professional life. Shed been pregnant and had gone after an arsonist alone. Nearly killed, shed 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, hed said, You know Falls, youre getting a mean look.

What?

Yeah, a nastiness around the eyes.

She couldnt resist, said, Like you, sergeant?

He laughed, answered, See what I mean? Yeah like me and, if youre real smart, youll work on it.

Surprised, she asked, Will it go away?

Fuck no, youll 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 didnt 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, Im black and a woman.

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

Thank you, sir.

No doubt youre familiar with the Clapham Rapist?

Who wasnt? A serial, hed attacked six women, six black women. The lefties were kicking up a stink. Phrases such as selective policing were surfacing.

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

She tried to restrain herself but couldnt, said, A decoy?

He gave a tolerant smile, said, Not a term were keen on my girl, smacks of entrapment. Well have you covered all the way. Sure. So, are you up to the job? Ive picked you especially.

Yes, sir.

Thank you sir. Wont let you down sir, etc.

Brown-nosing to screaming point.

Good, the desk sergeant has the details. PC McDonald will be assisting you thats 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.

Theres a narrow street connecting the Walworth Road to the east entrance of The Elephant and Castle shopping centre. It has second-hand furniture shops, a bookies, a boarded-up off licence and a taverna. The taverna is called The Spirit of Athens. Its a dump. But it does OK, and has a minor reputation for its bacon sarnies. A hint of kebab is added to the mix and the locals like it. Gives a taste of the exotic and disguises the bacon.