Horse's Arse Page 11

  'You jumped up lowlife, how dare you speak to me like that? My husband knows most of your superior officers and I'll see to it that your feet don't touch the ground. You're a disgrace—' Psycho had grabbed the jabbing finger and the smile had been replaced with an icy mask.

  'You do that again, Grandma, and I'll snap your little pinky off and stuff it up your arse.'

  The smile returned. The wind had been completely taken out of her sails and she now stood, apparently holding hands, staring in awe at the uniformed hooligan before her.

  'I bet you've flattened a bit of grass in your time,' Psycho leered, winking at her.

  Marjorie continued to stare at him. 'I - I. . .' she started.

  'Always had a soft spot for birds a bit older and plumper,' Psycho continued conversationally, holding her hand tighter and pulling her closer to him. 'Always found them really grateful for what they could get.' He began to raise and lower his eyebrows in classic 'How about it?' mode. It had been several decades since Marjorie had been referred to as a 'bird', and almost as long since her henpecked husband had winched up a boner and pleasured her. The thought of being ravished by this monster in front of her was both appalling and dangerously appealing.

  A small crowd of passing pedestrians had gathered as Marjories diatribe had increased in volume, and now waited expectantly for the outcome. Psycho spoke very loudly for their benefit.

  'This is the last time I'm going to warn you. Prostitution is a very serious offence and next time I find you hanging around the transport cafe you're going to get nicked. Now on your way, you old whore.' He released her hand and gave her bottom a playful but resounding smack that snapped her out of her fantasy.

  Marjorie was speechless and stood staring, open-mouthed, at the beaming Psycho. She grabbed his hand to steady herself in case she passed out.

  'Come on, darling,' he said pleasantly, 'no need to suck my dick in exchange for a caution this time.' He had raised his voice as he spoke, and now freed himself again from her grip. 'You get yourself off home to your grandchildren before they end up in care again.'

  'Thank you, officer,' she mumbled almost incoherently as she stumbled back into her car, 'thank you very much.'

  Psycho strolled back to his car, smiling at the dispersing crowd who had begun to catcall Marjorie as she desperately tried to start her Merc and escape this nightmare. Some of them had made a note of her registration number in case they should meet her in the future and she fancied earning a few extra bob. It would be some hours before she recovered sufficiently to make a formal complaint and add another chapter to the Psycho legend. He'd simply deny that it had happened like that and let someone try to prove it. Not a chance. He picked his moments carefully.

  He pulled out behind Marjories Merc and followed her for a few hundred yards, before he turned right and headed through the Ashwell estate back towards the town centre and the nick for breakfast. God, he'd enjoyed that little encounter. It'd put him in the mood for a bit more fun. The drizzle hadn't let up at all and he noticed that not many of the oncoming vehicles had their headlights on. Drizzle constituted inclement weather, and the law required the use of dipped headlights at such a time. He decided he had time for a quickie.

  He pulled over into a bus stop, put on his overcoat and went to the boot of the car. Rummaging among the traffic cones and accident signs, he found the large polythene bag he always kept there, and tucked it under his arm. Then he took up position at the kerbside watching the traffic coming towards him. Again, he picked his target with care.

  The first half a dozen vehicles to pass him without their lights on had at least one passenger on board, so he contented himself with pointing at the vehicle as it approached and shouting 'Lights' very loudly. The seventh, however, was driven by a lone male who was evidently looking for a turning off the road. Psycho could see him craning his neck left and right as he sought to read the road names. Obviously not a local, thought Psycho happily, so more likely to make a complaint and add to his reputation.

  The driver saw the policeman standing by a police car on the verge up ahead and decided he'd better start concentrating on his driving. He knew roughly where he was and had no need to ask directions. As he got closer, he saw the policeman take a large piece of card out of a plastic bag and hold it out in front of him with both hands. Intrigued, he slowed and peered intently through his windscreen to read what was written in large black capital letters. He came alongside the policeman, slowed even more, and screwed his eyes up to read the words. He spoke them to himself as they became visible. 'Lights - you cunt,' he murmured to himself. He drove on past the policeman for several yards before he stopped in a state of complete shock. No, it couldn't have said that. Could it? He turned round in his seat, looked out of the back window and saw the police car disappearing in the opposite direction. He shook his head. It didn't really say LIGHTS - YOU CUNT, did it? No, it had to have been something else. Didn't it? Still shaking his head, he put his headlights on and drove on, still looking for his turning.

  Psycho was still chuckling to himself as he parked his vehicle in the back yard. What a blinding morning so far. He'd done Bott, sorted out the fat bitch in the Merc and had his sign out. What a start. The rest of the day was likely to be pretty mundane; he'd peaked too early. Bovril was parking up at the same time and held the back door, waiting for Psycho who jogged across the yard when he saw him.

  'Thanks, Bovril. You been up to much? What a fucking morning.'

  Bovril could have said that he'd spent the last hour or so thinking about Lisa, as he'd never thought about another woman before. He could have said that he was worried about the extraordinary feeling in his stomach and the fact that he felt light-headed. He might even have told him that he'd met the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. But he didn't. He wondered what she was doing now. In fact, she was standing in her dressing gown in her kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee, thinking about him. Her drab life was changing more quickly than she had thought possible.

  'Nah, just catching up with some paperwork. Thought I might get a piece of the Brothers' chase but never got near it. Sounds like they've been up to their usual tricks,' he said smiling.

  Psycho grinned. 'Put money on it.'

  'What you been up to?' asked Bovril, as they walked down to the report-writing room to hang their coats and caps up before breakfast.

  'Fuck all really. Didn't get near the chase, like you, had a bit of sport with a stroppy old cow in a Merc and did a short lighting awareness campaign before grub. Not much, really. Oh, by the way, I've brought my pictures in.'

  'What pictures?'

  'You know, the pictures. I told you about them.'

  Bovril furrowed his brow. 'When? What pictures are you talking about?'

  'The pictures of the women I've shagged,' said Psycho slowly and deliberately, as if he was talking to an idiot. They had reached the report-writing room, and Pizza, who had finished logging his property, deposited it in the Property Store, and returned to hide himself away until breakfast, was listening intently.

  'Pictures of women you've shagged?' said Bovril incredulously.

  'Yeah. I told you. I've brought them in.'

  Bovril racked his memory and, finally, vaguely recalled a drunken conversation with Psycho at his last party.

  'Oh yeah, I remember now. Pictures of women you've shagged. What are they, head and shoulders shots or ones you've cut out of your porn mags?' he jeered.

  'Fuck off,' said Psycho indignantly. 'They're my own Polaroids, full meat shots, the works.'

  'Full meat shots?' queried Pizza, who was absolutely enthralled.

  'Fucking right,' said Psycho, without explaining. 'I'll bring them up for breakfast.' He hurried off to the locker room.

  'Full meat shots?' said Pizza to Bovril. Bovril shook his head disdainfully and walked out without speaking. Pizza hurried after him and they walked in silence up the three flights of stairs to the top floor where the bar area and canteen were situated.
Piggy and Ally had already booked Dawes and his wife into custody, and were now sitting at a table. Ally was drinking a mug of tea, watching in undisguised horror as Piggy devoured a fried breakfast large enough for a family of five. Bovril and Pizza went to the counter, placed their orders with the canteen ladies and returned to the table.

  'Got a couple in, then?' said Bovril.

  'Dawes and his missus,' replied Ally. 'Found a load of nicked stereos under his table. That fucking bitch tried to poison us with her pubes in the breakfast. Fuck knows what he'd done to the tea.'

  Piggy had stopped eating and spoke with his cheeks bulging. 'Will you fucking stop it,' he snapped, spraying half-chewed food in all directions. 'I'm trying to forget all about it.' That said, he resumed the relentless transfer of food to his constantly opening and closing mouth.

  'It's disgusting isn't it?' said Ally dispassionately as the three of them watched him, and Pizza wiped a piece of bacon rind off his face. 'It's something of a miracle that they ever get the cutlery back.'

  Bovril and Pizza didn't have to wait long for their breakfasts and were soon eating their considerably smaller meals. As they started, the Brothers walked into the canteen.

  'Nice one, boys,' called Bovril. 'How's the rider?' The four men at the table laughed.

  'He'll live,' said H sourly. 'That bitch Bott's suspended me from driving.'

  'Routine, H, that's all,' said Ally reassuringly.

  'That's what I told him,' called Jim from the counter, 'but he's sulked all the way back. Anyone want a cup of tea?'

  'Me, me,' said Piggy, quickly draining the full mug in front of him. H, Bovril and Pizza also accepted the offer, and soon all six of them were around the table.

  'Psycho's gone to get his porn pictures,' said Bovril mysteriously.

  'What porn pictures?' said Ally.

  'Full meat shots,' offered Pizza knowingly.

  'What porn pictures?' repeated Ally.

  'Mad bastard says he's got pictures of all the women he's shagged. Polaroids. He's bringing them up now.'

  'You're fucking joking, aren't you?' said H through a mouthful of tea. Before Bovril could reply, Psycho walked up holding a blue plastic photograph album. They stared at him, then at the album, but no one spoke. Psycho pulled a chair over from an adjacent table and sat at the end of theirs, placing the album in front of him. He patted it proudly.

  'There it is, boys, as promised: my life of debauchery in glorious Technicolor.'

  'You've got pictures of the women you've shagged in there?' said H slowly. 'They just let you take a picture with your Polaroid?'

  'Full meat shots?' asked Pizza.

  'Yup,' said Psycho matter-of-factly.

  Without a word, H pulled the album towards him and opened it. The others left their chairs and gathered round his shoulders.

  'Jesus Christ,' said H quietly. Psycho had been telling the truth. The first two pages each contained four Polaroid photographs, apparently of the same girl, taken in what the group recognised as Psycho's bedroom. Fairly routine nude poses, in what she and Psycho clearly felt was the more upmarket men's magazine mould, progressed to one of her using a truncheon on herself, another of her sucking his cock, taken looking down over his huge, hairy belly, and finally one of her on her back, legs wide open.

  'Full meat shots,' gasped Pizza, finally understanding.

  The next two pages also contained eight photographs of different girls in virtually identical poses. No one said a word. However, the last page caused ructions. It contained four photographs of the same fat woman; in two she had her head face strategically turned away from the camera. The third was taken from behind with her on her hands and knees, but the fourth showed her on her back, legs wide apart, holding her lips open for the camera, and her head raised with a big smile for David Bailey. She looked shitfaced.

  'Oh my God, it's the Blood Blister,' whispered Ally. Psycho pushed his way to the front of the mêlée and looked over H's shoulder.

  'Oh, bollocks. I forgot those were in there. For fuck's sake, keep it quiet, will you, lads?'

  'Looks like a black cat with its throat cut,' said Jim finally. 'I didn't know you'd shagged the Blister.'

  'Yeah, after my last party,' said Psycho unapologetically. 'It was on offer and I never turn down a freebie.'

  'I feel ill,' said Piggy, moving away from the gathering and heading towards the toilets. He'd seen enough pubic hair that morning to stuff a mattress. Psycho grabbed his album.

  'That'll do, boys. I'm counting on you not to say anything to anyone, especially the Blister. She'll go fucking mental if she finds out I've shown you them.'

  'You can count on us, Psycho,' said Ally, with not a hint of sarcasm.

  Psycho hurried away to hide his album, bitterly regretting showing it to the others. The bastards are bound to say something, he thought. The only consolation was that it was most unlikely that the Blister would make a formal complaint.

  Piggy rejoined the others at the table. 'That made me feel very queasy,' he announced. 'I'm not touching another kebab as long as I live.'

  * * *

  Chapter Ten

  Following his conversation with Greaves, Clarke had again telephoned Sergeant Jones and relayed his message. Well, most of it.

  'Take who you want,' said Jones mournfully. 'Some of them will be in for grub now — you can have them. Let me know who you've got, will you?'

  'Will do, sarge,' said Clarke brightly, 'and thanks again for all your help.'

  'You're welcome,' replied Jones, completely missing the sarcasm in Clarke's voice and sounding more and more like Eeyore from Winnie-the-Pooh.

  Clarke replaced his phone and hurried up to the canteen in search of uniforms eating. He saw a group of seven huddled over something at one of the tables, but decided not to interrupt them just yet. He recognised all but the young, spotty one. He went to the counter and ordered himself a cup of tea. As he waited for it, he used the phone on the wall to dial the CID office, and spoke to the DC who had previously offered his help.

  'It's Bob. I'm in the canteen. I think I could do with your help later. I'll have seven uniforms, and with you, me and John we should have enough. Is John back yet?'

  'No, not yet — when you planning to go out?'

  Clarke looked at his watch: 10.30 a.m. 'As soon as possible,' he replied. 'When John gets back, why don't you pop upstairs and we'll do the briefing here?'

  'Yeah, fine, Bob. Steve Lloyd's in and offering, OK if he comes along as well?'

  'More the merrier, Dave. We're not proud.' Clarke laughed, replaced the phone, picked up his mug of tea and walked over to the uniforms' table. Psycho had gone and he heard the fat one called Piggy telling the others that he felt unwell.

  'Not too ill, I hope,' he interrupted. 'I've got a little job for you and the others.'

  It was an unintentional and unfortunate statement that immediately had the uniforms' hackles up.

  'Is that fucking right?' said Ally, getting to his feet. 'Not for me you fucking haven't. Piggy and I have got bodies locked up. Come on, Piggy. Best we go and deal with them before the CID find something useful for the woodos to do.'

  Piggy had also taken umbrage at Clarke's perceived arrogance and quickly cleared his plate. 'Sorry, things to do,' he said, wiping his hand across his mouth and following Ally out of the canteen. 'Fucking CID.'

  'Hold on, lads,' called Clarke plaintively. 'I've spoken to Mr Greaves and he's OK'd it. For fuck's sake, what's up with them?' He turned to the others, who'd remained seated.

  'You're going to have to work on your communication skills, aren't you, Bob?' said H quietly. 'You've got the unfortunate habit of letting us woodentops know you're about to fuck us.'

  'Christ, I didn't mean anything like that,' said Clarke, sitting down. 'Fact is I really need some help from all of you to lift a load of Mafia. I cleared it with Jeff Greaves before I came upstairs.'

  'That's what I mean, Bob,' said H. 'You've got a decent job for us but you fuck it up
straight away by coming on like a fucking headmistress. You should know by now how easily Ally gets the hump when the suits start lording it.'

  Clarke shook his head. 'I'll square it with him and Piggy. Can you four give me a hand?'

  The Brothers, Bovril and Pizza all indicated in the affirmative.

  'Is this connected with the GBH at the Hoop and Grapes?' asked Pizza.

  'Yeah. The seven Mafia we're after are all in a flat at the Grant Flowers. We're just getting the warrant sorted and we'll be off. Can you all be in the muster room in fifteen minutes? I'll go and placate Ally and Piggy and bring them along. Any idea where Psycho went?'

  'Locker room,' said Jim. 'Putting some gear away.'

  'If you see him before me, can you tell him I'm looking for him? Nicely, please,' he added, laughing.

  He got up and went back to the phone on the wall. He spoke again to his office, confirmed that Benson was not yet back and cancelled the briefing in the canteen. 'Make it the muster room in fifteen,' he said. 'I'm having a few problems getting everyone together.'

  Clarke then hurried down to the cell block where he found Ally and Piggy waiting to speak to Collins. 'Can I have a word, boys?' he said. 'There's been a bit of a misunderstanding here.'

  Ally and Piggy looked suspiciously at each other, and then walked to one side with Clarke so as to be out of earshot of the prisoners.

  'Listen, lads, I'm sorry if you've got the hump with me, but I really didn't mean anything. I need your help to nick some Mafia and I was going to put some action your way, that's all. Honestly,

  I wasn't trying to take the piss. Can you give me a hand? I need all the help I can get. I've got seven to nick.'

  Ally spoke first offering a handshake. 'Forget it, Bob. Yeah, we'll be there, won't we, Piggy?'

  'Suppose so,' said Piggy glumly, not relishing the thought of more activity.

  'We'll let Andy Collins know we'll be back to deal with Dawes and his missus later,' continued Ally. 'A bit longer in the pokey won't do either of them any harm. Where's the briefing?'