The White Trilogy: A White Arrest, Taming the Alien, The McDead (24 page)

Falls wanted to hug her. ‘Would you like some tea?’

‘Oh yes please, dear. Two sugars and a Marietta. Just one, I don’t want to spoil my dinner.’ As Falls stood up, the woman added, ‘You’re so kind, dear. Might I ask you a question?’

‘Of course.’

‘Your tribe, the coloureds – why do they wear those caps the wrong way round?’

‘It’s fashion, Ma’am.’

‘I think it’s rather silly, but ... if it keeps you happy ... Then she added, ‘I hate to be a nuisance but will I be able to get my Papermate back?’

T
HE ALIEN WALKED INTO
a Seattle coffee place. He’d always wanted to say, ‘Hi, how you doin’? My usual ... half-caff decaff triple Grande caramel cappuccino with wings ...

And of course, the chick’d say, ‘You’re British, right?’

Instead he said, ‘Espresso please.’ Got that and a wedge of Danish, went to check the phone directory.

Bingo.

There she was, under the name Bill had given him. Jotted down the address and bit into the Danish. Too sweet. The sports bag was at his feet and the shape of the bat was barely discernible.

Stella, the Alien’s ex-wife, had snuck a cigarette. In America now they don’t frown on smoking they just out and out shoot you. Her last trip home, unbeknownst to Jack, she’d bought a carton. Rothmans. In all their deadly glory. They’d come with a free T-shirt which shrunk in the wash. Size XL, a few more spins, it would fit a person.

Cracking the cellophane, she opened a fresh pack and lit up with the kitchen matches.

Ah ... Dinner was in the oven and she’d have time to use air fresheners before Jack got home, add a splash of Patchouli.

Who’s
smoking?

Her mother regularly sent Liptons tea and the South London Press. Jack would say, ‘You English and your tea!’ Loving it, loving she was English and stressed it. When Jack got home she made him a dry martini, very dry and with two olives. It was a ritual. He’d say, ‘Two?’

‘Cos I love you too much.’

Like that.

Then, ‘Something smells good.’

‘It’s your favourite.’

‘Meatloaf?’

‘You betcha.’

When he’d first asked for it, she thought he meant ‘Bat Out Of Hell’. She was still English then. Now she had to work at it. It wasn’t that she ever felt American, but she had the moves.

Then he hugged her and she got a blast of Tommy Hilfiger. For one fleeting moment she remembered Brut and Fenton, but let it slide, not even linger ... just keep on moving, like a song you can’t recall.

So that was how it was when Jack got home. After the meatloaf, the doorbell went and Jack moved to answer.

A voice said, ‘Package for Stella.’

As he opened the door, he was still half turned to her, a huge smile making him look boyish. Fenton said, ‘One!’

And slammed the bat into Jack’s stomach.

‘Two!’

Upended it and drove the top against Jack’s chin, the bone splintering into his brain.

‘Chun!’

And he beamed at Stella, asked, ‘Howzat, darlin’?’

She was holding the dinner plates, too frozen to drop them.

Fenton kicked the door shut.

‘Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner ...? And blacker than you can begin to imagine.’

‘Y
OU’RE A CUTE HOOR,’
said Pat.

‘What?’

‘The way you handled them cops at the station. Jaysus, they were eating outta yer hand. When did a policeman ever offer a cup o’ tea? I’ll never get over the bate of that ... As I said,
glic
.’

‘Click?’

‘It’s the same as cute hoor, but slyer.’

‘But it’s a compliment?’

‘Is it?’

They were in The Quays pub on Quay Street. Lest you forgot, it said so above the door. Pat had told Brant that Brad Pitt had been in and that, ‘No more than Geldof, he was a bit shy of the soap ’n’ water.’

Brant exclaimed, ‘You can be one vicious bastard, you know!’

‘Ary, I’m only coddin’.’

Brant had come to Ireland for all sorts of reasons and curiosity was probably the best he’d articulated. Getting laid never came into it, but lo and behold, he was about to. They were drinking slow bottles of Guinness and Pat said, ‘There’s a wan over there has an eye for you.’

‘What?’

‘She has a mighty chest on her and a bit o’ mileage, but for all that ...

‘What are you on about?’

Pat moved back from the bar, gave Brant the full Irish appraisal, then said, ‘I’d say you’re a holy terror for the women.’ And then he stepped over to the woman, had a few words and returned. ‘She thanks you kindly and a glass of sweet sherry would be grand.’

Brant took a look, not bad at all. A touch of the Margo Kidders ... well, OK – Margo’s mother, but in prime shape. Course, the fact that she fancied Brant gave her bonus points all over the shop.

As Brant ordered, Pat said, ‘Tis what Connemara men do for penance.’

Yet again, Brant had no idea what he meant and dreaded trotting out, ‘What?’ yet again. What he’d do, he’d get two small cards printed,

1. Yellow

2. Red

Write in small letters ‘What?’ on the first, then ‘WOT?’ on the second. Jaysus, they’d think he was deaf. Scratch that. So he said, ‘What?’ And threw in, ‘Excuse me?’ for colour.

‘Connamara men, they drink sherry as penance.’ The sherry was placed on the counter and Pat said, ‘Well, go on, man, she can hardly whistle for it.’

He brought it over, said wittily, ‘Hi.’

She laughed and said, ‘I can see I’m not going to get a word in edgeways.’

‘What?’

‘Sit down there, you big lump – I’m Sheila.’

A while later, Pat came over, said, ‘I’ve lost me friggin’ lighter.’

‘The Zippo?’

‘Aye, blast it to hell, it had “1968” on the front.’

Sheila said, ‘Ask St Anthony.’

And Brant said, ‘Ask him what?’

Pat and Sheila loved that.

W
HEN FALLS MET THE
snitch in the place he’d selected, she remembered a description from Karon Hall’s ‘Dark Debts’.

‘If you didn’t have a gun going in,

they’d provide one at the door.’

At the rear of the Cricketers, near The Oval, it was a dive. Falls arrived first and nodded to the barman. A big guy with

red shirt

red jeans

red face

She resisted the impulse to say, ‘Hi, Red.’

He said, ‘You sure you got the right place?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘We don’t get many chicks, is all.’

Chicks!

‘Well I’m sure once the word on the ambiance gets out, you’ll be stampeded.’

Leigh came in, immediately looked angry and pushed her to a back table demanding, ‘Why were you talking to him?’

‘It’s against the rules?’

‘You’re not supposed to draw attention.’

‘Well, there was me ’n’ him – did you expect me to hide?’

‘People talk, you know.’

He then jumped up, had a word with Red and came back with two glasses of a greenish tint, pushed one at her, said, ‘It’s lime cordial.’

‘And I’m supposed to do what with it exactly?’

Leigh was getting seriously upset. ‘It’s for cover.’

‘Oh I see, we lurk behind them.’

‘Mr Brant was never like this.’

Falls felt they’d done enough pleasantries, time to jerk the leash. ‘You’re a stupid person, but that’s OK. What I need is fairly simple. You tell me and I’m outta here. There’s an arsonist, recent of Croydon, and I need to know where he hangs.’

Leigh began moving his glass, the colour didn’t improve. ‘You don’t want to be messing with that piece of work.’

Falls sighed then clamped her hand on his knee. ‘Where?’

‘You’re not playing by the rules, it has to be drawn out.’

She pinched hard and he jumped. She hissed, ‘Leigh, there are no rules ...
where?’

‘The snooker hall at The Elephant. Thinks he’s Paul Newman in
The Hustler
... He’s there all day.’

She released her grip, rooted in her bag and then palmed him a twenty. He was indignant. ‘This is supposed to buy me what? It wouldn’t pay me light bill for a week!’

Now she smiled, said, ‘I dunno, you could always hop up there, get us a few more of these drinks ... oh, sorry –
disguises
.’

On her way out, she ignored Red and it seemed to be what he expected.

A
S FENTON TRIED NOT
to run, he felt the adrenalin build to a point beyond mere rush. His mind roared:
You did it, you did it, you bloody did it!
– Then his arm was grabbed. Disbelief pounded through his body.

Caught! Already!

And turned to see a black guy, something familiar about him, the guy saying, ‘Yo, fool, you owes me a buck and a half!’

‘What?’

‘The other day, dude. I be giving yo’ sorry ass a pamphlet ’bout dem CIA ...

‘Oh right ... I thought it was free.’

‘Where yo’ been, dude? Ain’t nothing free on the street.’

Fenton reached for change, handed over a five. The guy wailin’, ‘What cha thinkin’, like I’m gonna make change?’

Fenton laughed, said, ‘Keep it, knock yourself out mate.’

‘Yo dissin’ me man, dat what cha thinkin’?’

Now the Alien laughed out loud, asked, ‘Is that what they’re calling it? Dissin’. What will you guys think of next?’

T
HE SUPER HAD SUMMONED
Roberts.

These meetings were never warm; it usually meant a bollocking. When Roberts came in the Super was dunking a biscuit in tea, said, ‘Hurry up, man, shut the door.’

He didn’t offer tea or a seat; got to it. ‘I’ve had a call from across the water.’

Roberts wondered – from Ireland? ... Brant? ... No. Even he couldn’t be that drunk – and said neutrally, ‘Yes, sir?’

‘From Noo Yawk.’

Pronounced it thus to demonstrate he could be a kidder or simply an asshole; continued: ‘There’s been a murder – two murders – in San Francisco.’

Roberts wanted to say,
only two
?

The Super brushed crumbs from his splendid uniform, noisily finished the tea. Can tea be chewed? He was giving it a good try.

‘Reason they called us is the woman is a Londoner.’ He consulted his notes. ‘A Stella Davis, but originally Stella Fenton. Ring any bells?’

‘Uh-oh.’

‘Is that an answer?’

‘Reg Fenton, “The Alien” ... Did he use a bat?’

The Super was impressed, if a tiny bit miffed. Had to check the notes, then confirmed, ‘By Jove, you’re right. They expect he’ll head for home, so notify the airport chappies.’

‘Yes, sir ... How did they know it was him ... I mean ... so quickly?’

‘He left the bat.’

•        •        •

Falls was a touch surprised that Leigh’s information was correct. She went to the snooker hall in the late afternoon. Round three, in there.

She’d been expecting a tide of looks and remarks.

Lone woman in the last male bastion.

Lone black woman.

But there wasn’t, as the place was empty.

It was situated above a tailors with the sign ‘ESPOKE’.

It puzzled her till she realised the ‘B’ had done a Burton, so to speak. Up two flights of badly lit stairs and she knew, in her condition, it wouldn’t be long till she wouldn’t be able to do that. The baby was beyond joy, it was up there in the realm of ecstasy.

A toilet flushed and out emerged the suspect. He didn’t seem surprised to see her, asked, ‘Fancy a quick game?’

‘Some other time.’

He was smiling. ‘On yer lonesome this trip?’

‘Am I going to need help?’ She kept it light – let’s all stay nice ’n’ loose – relaxed, even.

He spread both hands on the table, said, ‘No way, babe.’

Falls moved a little closer. ‘If you could spare me a short time to come to the station, clear up a small situation.’

He was running his hand idly over the snooker balls, exclaimed, ‘What? Now?’

‘If you wouldn’t mind, it would be a great help.’

Now he had the black ball in his right hand, fisting it. ‘You speak well for a nigger, almost like a white bitch. That what you want, to be white, eh?’

She took a deep breath.

He shouted, ‘Black in right centre pocket!’ and flung it in her face. Caught her full impact on the forehead and she staggered back, felt her knees buckle. Then he was dragging her by the hair, saying, ‘I keep telling them, put-out-the-trash.’

And he dragged her through the doors, paused, then slung her, roaring, ‘Black on the way out!’

B
RANT WAS SITTING IN
the GBC – a restaurant right in the centre of Galway. It had the mentality and kudos of a transport caff, ie lashings of food,
good
food, cheap and friendly. Brant liked it a lot.

A waitress asked, ‘By yourself, are you?’

‘What? ... Oh yeah ... No. My cousin’s coming.’

And caught himself, thought – ‘What am I doing? Jeez, I’ll be telling her the size of me socks next.’

He gave a mortified smile and she said, ‘T’will be nice for ye.’

Argue that.

Brant recalled the night before and Sheila. She had a small flat along the canal, and no sooner there, than she hopped on him. Gave him a ferocious ride. He’d lain back on the floor, exclaimed, ‘Wow, that was Trojan!’

‘You mean you’re done?’

‘Jeez, woman – one shag and I’m for a kip!’

She’d given him an elbow in the ribs, said, ‘Ary go on outta that! Two squirts and you’re calling it a night! I’ll get you roaring till the small hours.’

She did and did, till them small hours. Finally he cried, ‘I’ll give you serious money not to touch me dick again.’

She laughed out loud and climbed on. When finally she’d nodded off, he’d limped to his feet and hobbled outta there as fast as he could manage.