Ammunition (8 page)

She was as the door, then said:

‘Porter saved your life, you know that? He covered you with his body.’

Brant wasn’t comfortable, said:

‘He’s a fag, any chance to jump on my bones.’

She’d finally gotten a chance at Brant, took it, said as she closed the door:

‘You owe him, big time.’

The fat guard called after her:

‘Hey, where’s me cigarettes?’

Without turning, she said:

‘He put them in water, they look lovely, real decorative.’

She went to a phone warehouse, bought the cheapest model she could find, then outside Kennington Tube Station she handed the phone to Lane, said:

‘Get my pic’.

She adopted an expression of shock, like she’d just been slapped.

Two hours later, she selected her target, a guy in his twenties, walking with a swagger, elbowing people aside as he strutted towards the station. Falls said:

‘There’s our Happy Slapper. You just saw him slap me and here’s his phone.’

Lane didn’t say anything, just took the phone, Falls got out of the car and deliberately collided with the guy. She made it look like he’d attacked her, and began to scream blue murder. Lane was out of the car, and despite whatever reservations he’d felt, he went full into the scenario, producing the phone camera, saying loudly:

‘He photographed the attack!’

His tone a mix of outrage and disbelief, three pedestrians bought what they thought they were witnessing and grabbed the young man, throwing punches at him, going:

‘You animal.’

A woman helped Falls to her feet, said:

‘The pig actually photographed you!’

Falls was astonished at how well it had gone, and Lane’s participation added the nice touch of reality.

The young guy, named John Coleman, was too flabbergasted to speak, plus he was hurting from the punches he’d received from the witnesses. Lane arrested him, cuffed him, and shoved him in the car, Falls took the names and addresses of the pedestrians, who were more than willing to help.

Since the attacks on London, people were more than keen to get involved. Bombs were one thing, but that you couldn’t walk down the street without getting a slap in the face and… being photographed while it happened, it was just too much outrage.

Falls got back in the car, letting Lane drive, she was shaking from the physical tussle and the sheer andrenaline of the encounter.

Lane put the car in gear, and Falls glanced back at the Happy Slapper. He seemed to be in a daze. Falls said:

‘That will teach you to push people around.’

He looked up, his face a riot of confusion, said:

‘But I don’t even have a mobile.’

Falls held up the phone, asked:

‘And what do you think this is?’

Lane gave an odd sound, as if he had something nasty in his mouth. He felt Falls was really pushing the envelope on this one. The young man tried:

‘It’s not my phone, you can’t make this stick.’

Falls held up a sheet of paper with the witnesses names, said:

‘We’ve enough ammunition here to put you away for two years, if you’re lucky’.

She turned back to Lane, said:

‘You did good.’

He was maneuvering into a space outside the station, took a moment, said:

‘Not how I’d term it myself.’

Falls decided not to pursue it.

COLEMAN WAS CHARGED with happy slapping, termed… an attack on the private rights of an individual… incitement to public disorder and… more serious, an assault on a police officer. They threw in resisting arrest to round it off.

A solicitor was called and three hours later, Coleman was released on bail, due to appear in magistrates’ court in a month. His brief said:

‘You’ll have to do jail time, I might be able to plea bargain that you didn’t realize the woman was a cop, but I won’t lie to you, they’re keen to make an example of a Happy Slapper, you’ll have to serve at least a year.’

Coleman, still in shock, made his way out of the station, to the taunts of various cops, who shouted:

‘Smile, you’re on
Candid Camera
.’

He ran into Falls on the steps, asked:

‘Why… why are you doing this to me?’

Falls, feeling like Brant was speaking for her, said:

‘Because I can.’

Coleman stared at her for a minute, resolving to get this bitch, one way or another. He stumbled down the steps, feeling like he might pass out, his whole life had gone down the toilet. He looked back at Falls, said:

‘It’s me twenty-first birthday today.’

She gave him a wide-eyed look, said:

‘Say cheese.’

He did what you do when you’re suddenly fucked out of the blue, when your whole life has turned on sixpence, he went to the pub. He grabbed a stool at the counter, and for the life of him couldn’t get his mind into gear. He wanted a drink but didn’t know what to order. A woman took the stool beside him, said:

‘Can’t decide, huh?’

He looked at her, a gorgeous blonde, lovely face with very striking eyes. She added:

‘You poor lamb, you’ve had a terrible ordeal. Let me order for us.’

Her stress on
us
gave it a sultry sound, and to his amazement, he got a hard-on, put it down to shock. His frigging body didn’t know what was going on. The barman was all over her, leching openly at her full cleavage, lust reddning his cheeks, he drawled:

‘What will it be, darling?’

She rubbed her scarlet lips with her tongue, said:

‘Two large gins, with slim-line tonics. A girl has to watch her figure.’

The barman glanced at the young man who seemed to be totally zoned, said:

‘You got it, babe.’

She said:

‘And something for your own self, how would that be?’ That would be fucking hunky-dory.

Coleman had a hundred questions, but she cut him off, said:

‘Drink-ees first, then we’ll nice have a chat.’

He was happy to do that, asked:

‘Can I know your name?’

She gave a beautiful smile, said:

‘Sweetie, you can have whatever you want.… I’m Angie.’

The best way to kill a man is not to confide in anybody.

—Danny Ahearn, New York mobster

FALLS WAS SUMMONED to the Super’s office and, alas, at the time when he was taking his morning tea. This was a ritual, legendary in the station. Because of the biscuits, Rich Tea, his habit of dunking them in the cup, then slurping the soggy portion into his mouth was a test of endurance for any sane person. He was mid-slurp when Falls entered, he said:

‘Have a seat, Sergeant.’

Crumbs littered his shirt and she resolved not to hear the sounds he’d make. Instead, she focused on his use of… ’Sergeant.’ Good sign. He gave her a wide smile, not a pretty sight. With particles staining his teeth, he said:

‘Fine work on that Happy-Slapper case, I intended pairing you and Lane together again, but he has requested a pairing with somebody else.’

He waited, drank some tea or rather gaggled it, Falls said nothing, and then he asked:

‘Was there a problem with him?’

She said:

‘He doesn’t like women.’

The Super considered this and said:

‘He’s an old-fashioned cop, taking orders from a woman would be very difficult for him, his type of copper. They’re on their way out.’

Falls wanted to say,
Pity they wouldn’t take the Super with them
. She nodded at the apparent wisdom of his insight. He drained the last of his tea, belched, said:

‘I’m putting you with Andrews, she could learn a lot from an old pro like you.’

He leaned on the word
pro
, letting the slur linger. Then he surprised her by asking:

‘How much influence have you got with our Sergeant Brant?’

She told the truth, said:

‘I don’t think anyone has much sway over him.’

Hefrowned, then:

‘I hear he’s coming back and you know, a smart resourceful person like you, if you saw a way to persuade him to resign, the sky would be the limit in your own career.’

Translate as:

Help me shaft the bastard
.

Falls said she would do what she could, and the Super beamed, said:

‘That’s my girl. I felt I could rely on you, I see you and I doing great things.’

Appointing her his new hatchet person, she knew what
had happened to McDonald, but she was smart enough to play along. She said:

‘I’ll give it my full attention, sir.’

Thinking:

Like fuck I will
.

She was dismissed with more praise ringing in her ears. She walked straight into Roberts, who said:

‘I believe you’re the new golden girl.’

She and Roberts had a varied and complicated history, having each seen the other at their lowest ebb, they weren’t so much friends as uneasy allies. She asked:

‘Do I look delighted?’

Roberts gave her his slow look, then said:

‘What you ought to do is look over your shoulder, often, and very carefully.’

Gee, like this was something she didn’t know.

She found Lane in the canteen, an uneaten sandwich before him and a glass of milk, she didn’t ask if she could join him, just sat down opposite him, demanded:

‘What’s your fucking problem?’

He stared at her, said:

‘I rang a check on our Mr Coleman and, guess what, he’s clean. Never been in trouble in his life, and just finished a course in computer studies.’

Falls didn’t like the sound of this, not one bit, snapped:

‘Hey, you saw him swaggering down the street, bumping into people.’

Lane pushed his sandwich away, the end of the bread had curled up. Like a bad rumour, he said:

‘He’s an intense young man, perhaps he was just preoccupied.’

Falls gave a bitter laugh, one that Brant would have been proud of, said:

‘Well, he certainly has plenty to be preoccupied about now.’

Lanelooked at her, his eyes a watery blue, like denim on its last legs, said:

‘It’s his birthday today’.

Boy, she was finding Lane a real pain in the arse, asked:

‘Whose birthday?’

Lane let out a long sigh, like a wounded animal, said:

‘Our suspect, he’s twenty-one today’.

Falls knew it was time to lay weight, said:

‘The Super is happy, the media will be delighted, we look good, we’re off that shitty detail, everybody wins.’

Lane was shaking his head:

‘That young man doesn’t.’

Falls had had enough of his whining, said:

‘Shit happens. He’ll get what, a slap on the wrist, maybe a nominal fine, and he’ll be a law-abiding citizen for the rest for his life. We’ve actually put him on the right road.’

Lane was now wringing his hands. She noticed his fingernails were bitten to the quick, he said:

‘Sergeant, you know that’s not going to happen, they’ll
make an example of him, the press want it, the Super will demand it, that kid is looking at least two years.’

Falls stood up, warned:

‘You’re not thinking of doing anything stupid, are you, that would be a really bad move?’

Lane said, more to himself:

‘You know, I haven’t led a very distinguished career, but I’ve never done anything I couldn’t sleep about, I don’t want to end my time with that ruined life on my conscience.’

Falls put her face right in his, said:

‘Don’t fuck with me, Lane’.

And she got out of there. She was worried. If Lane came clean, not only would she lose her new stripes, she’d be thrown off the force and probably arrested. She was fucked if she’d let that happen. She’d need to see Brant and soon.

Roberts was in the corridor, summoned her, said:

‘Come into my office, we have a situation.’

Jesus, she thought, what now?

Roberts sat behind his desk, moved all his papers aside, said:

‘Last Friday night, in Balham, a group of vigilantes put some local hard cases in the hospital, shot one in the knees, broke the jaw of the ringleader.’

Falls, like most cops, secretly admired vigilante justice. It got the job done and reached the untouchables. She’d been on the fringes of the same justice herself and more than once. She knew for a fact that Brant frequently operated in such a manner.