The first  chapters

(needs editing)

Chapter 1

SKIN #1

It was around midnight and most of the early wave had been ferried home. There was the usual lull in trade before the clubs emptied and I decided to pick up one more fare myself before packing it in for the night and getting back on the radio to give Mandy a break. As luck would have it, the fare’s destination was one of those new executive houses up by the motorway, you know – all red brick and hardwood with wide metal gates and leaded windows. They were only a mile past my dog-eared semi in a quiet street on the edge of town so I’d be able to get back to base within minutes.
I picked the fare up outside the Copy Cat Club, she was standing on her own on the pavement looking nervously up and down the street, talking on a mobile phone. When she saw my cab approaching she lowered the phone from her ear and dropped it in her handbag. I chuckled to myself, the girl was dressed for a posh wedding rather than a night out in the Copy Cat, whose usual clientele were more garish. She looked knackered, this girl, and a little bit anxious. Sometimes it’s best to let your passengers sit in silence and just drive, but this girl needed to talk; you get to understand the signals after a decade of driving. I didn’t mind, it passed the time in the cab to deliver a bit of amateur counselling, and it can make a difference, believe me. I’d cheered some people up so much that by the time I got them home they wanted to go out again.
She was a beauty anyway, with soft brown hair and dark eyes that filled the rear view mirror with a glistening mystery; it wouldn’t be difficult to chat with her. Besides I enjoyed finding out about people and their stories, and as a cab driver I got to peek into all sorts of people’s lives when they were at their most vulnerable, showing their knickers so to speak. I waited for a minute before offering my eyes to the rear view mirror and kicking the conversation off.
“Had a good night?”
She hesitated. I assembled my kind patient face and nodded sympathetically. Her eyes moved upwards in thought for a second.
“I’m not sure, I don’t think so.” She sighed.
I nodded again and focused on the road. The traffic was light and it was an easy drive.
I steered the car to a slow stop outside the house. Silly sods had mounted a large concrete lion on each of the gateposts. I nearly laughed, but of course you can’t, and of course you learn not to in the taxi game – you get all sorts and you get used to it.
She clocked the meter and gave me a ten pound note.
“Keep the change.” She said.
“Thanks.” I nodded and smiled, still wearing my kind patient face.
I waited for her to get out. She didn’t. Maybe she was a little weird and wanted me to get out first and open the door for her. You get used to that as well – the weird ones I mean. I grasped the handle of my door and yanked it. The door clicked open.
“No,” she said, “I don’t want to go yet, can I stay in the cab for a while? I’ll pay.”
“I shrugged. “No problem,” I said, pulling the door shut.
“What’s your name?” She asked.
“It’s there, on the badge.”
“That doesn’t tell me much. Who’s the real H. A. Jones?”
“Skin, that’s my name, Skin.”
“How old are you Skin? Early thirties?”
I shrugged again. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Cool,” she said smiling.
I couldn’t help smiling back, that’s what you’re supposed to do when a pretty woman smiles at you isn’t it? That’s what men are programmed to do. She smiles, you smile; you search her eyes, clock her body language, make a quick judgement and either back off or get more personal. Nine hundred and ninety nine times out of a thousand that’s as far as it goes – you do the thing the pretty woman wants you to do, like open the door, or carry her bags up some steps, and then you bow with a deferential nod and tell her she’s welcome. I guess it makes the woman feel better and just for a second you get to consider other possibilities, just for a second.
“You’ve cheered up,” I said, “ready to go in yet?”
“Yes – no, I can’t” She shivered.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“It’s complicated.”
“OK.” I nodded.
“My boyfriend is a Jones, but he’s older than you.”
“There’s a lot of us about, especially in this part of the world. Does he live here?”
“No, this is my parents’ house. This is where I live – now.”
“Must be hard. Living with your parents. All that family stuff. It’ll do you no good. You want to get out of there.”
“It’s only temporary. I’ve lived away for years.”
“Oh yeah, where?”
“All over, Manchester, London, Bristol.”
“Nice.”
“I’m in retail.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Do you enjoy your job Skin?”
I leant over the seat as we spoke, absorbed by her prettiness.
“Well yes, but don’t get me wrong, I don’t have to be a cab driver, oh no, I’m much more intelligent than that. I could have done anything me, but to be honest, I couldn’t be arsed.
“I know what you mean, sometimes life can be too complicated.”
“Anyway, this is an interesting life and you can get by quite tidy, if you put the hours in and own your own cab.”
“So you’re more of a businessman then?”
Yes, last year I bought three more cars and now I only actually drive half time. The other half is spent on the radio. My missus does the rest. It’s long hours but it’s starting to pay off.
“Your missus?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m ready now?”
She got out of the car and leant back in to pay me. “How much more do I owe you?”
Instinctively I waved her purse away.
“Skin,” she said, in a small, sexy voice.
I looked up and she leant down and kissed me full on the lips. I couldn’t speak; she tasted of Pernod and strawberry lipstick.
“I like you,” she said.
I laughed it off, like you do, and thought about Mandy. She’d be waiting to go to bed.
“I’d better go,” I said.
I adjusted the rear-view mirror as I turned out of the close. She was still standing on the edge of the pavement, facing away from the house.
I shook the possibilities from my head and drove on.

BONES #1

“Cup of tea Bones?”
“Aye, why not. It’s going to be another quiet night.
“Let’s hope so.”
Chunky waddled over to the kettle. He’s much too fat to be a copper. I should have busted the useless bastard years ago. This game is all about thinking on your feet; you’ve got to be fit – and quick.
“And don’t fuck it up this time you fat cunt. One sugar – not two.”
He looked at me in that pathetic hurt way of his. What did he want me to do? He was a fat cunt, he asked for it, all that shit he shoved in his big gob. Get over it. I ignored him anyway and looked back at the computer screen. I was selling some stuff on e-Bay, nothing spectacular, just some bits and bobs that had come my way over the years, like they do in my job.
The phone rang. Chunky picked it up.
“CID Eastern Division,” he said, then a pause before he handed the phone to me.
“It’s him,” he whispered.
I sighed. What the fuck did he want at this time of night; he should have been tucked up in bed after one of those dinner parties with his poncey bent friends.
“Yes Bill,” I said into the phone, with the just the right amount of enthusiasm I thought; not too much considering it was after midnight on Friday. I hate that shift, but it comes in handy if you want a day off in the week.
“Is she with you?” He asked.
“Who?” I mumbled, but I knew he had me sussed.
“Don’t give me that shit Jones. I know she’s been seeing you.”
“Well . . .”
“Never mind that, just get over here.”
“Where? To your house?”
“Yes – where else? Now.”
The bastard put the phone down on me. I’d have him one day. I’m a police officer and I get to peek into all sorts of people’s lives when they’re at their most vulnerable, showing their knickers so to speak. You get to hear things in my job. I was building up a nice stash of evidence against old Bill the Basher. He thought he had me by the balls, but I’d show him, one day, I‘d show him.
Chunky handed me the tea, expecting an explanation.
“I’ve got to go and see Bill Mason,” I said. “You drink it. You could do with the fluid.”
“I’d better come with you,” he said, gulping his own tea.
“No, fuck off; you stay here in case any calls come in.”
I passed that twat of a brother on the way there. There he was in his cab, self-important prick. Thought he was a businessman or something. Who the fuck did he think he was, poncing round in his mangled heaps? If he wasn’t my brother I’d have done him years ago. Then we’d have seen what sort of a businessman he was. I’m sure he synchronised his shift patterns with mine, just to get up my nose. I ignored him and he ignored me, just like I like it. Except I’d really have liked to pull the bastard over and kick his fucking head in – show him who’s boss.
I got to the house and Mason let me in. The stupid fucker was in his dressing gown, a silk paisley affair in dark purple – twat.
“She hasn’t come home,” he said, looking down his nose at me as if I was fresh cat shit.
“I haven’t seen her tonight.”
“Don’t lie to me Jones,” he said, “we argued earlier and she admitted it all. It stops now.”
I looked down at his feet; ugly as fuck they were, with brown claws for nails and half covered in slip on mules, like an old tart.
“Yes,” I mumbled. To tell the truth I was glad. She was getting boring, too fucking possessive and jealous. Anyway, there was still a chance me and Jill would get back together.
“Good,” he said, “but now I want you to find her, and when you do, bring her straight back here.”
“She was upset? You argued?”
“Don’t spout that CID crap here kiddo, just find my daughter and bring her home.
“Yes Bill.” I said.

SKIN #2

I passed my brother on the way back to my house. I nodded at him, but he just ignored me. Perhaps he didn’t see me, it was dark. Anyway, he always seemed to be about when I was working, but then I was working long hours, out at all times of the day and night.
I didn’t get home straight away, a black car pulled out suddenly in front of me – no indicators, no lights even – and it clipped my headlight. I had to stop, but he, if it was a he, was long gone. Lucky I found a spare bulb after rummaging about in the boot for ten minutes, I’d need a new lens in the morning; and there was a long scratch on the wing. Occupational hazard I suppose, but it did piss me off, I couldn’t cope with too much unexpected expenditure.
By about half one I started getting a buzz from the boys in the cars, little snippets they pick up, rumours about a missing girl and increased police activity. At three o’clock they found her dead, her face kicked in and looking like pulverised grapes, according to Len anyway.
I had a funny feeling as soon as I heard the first rumours but I waited until I was sure before I phoned the cops.
“Hello.” The voice said.
I couldn’t speak, all of a sudden the image of that girl’s face came into my mind, about as vivid as you can get with images coming into the mind, and that’s quite vivid, especially at three o’clock in the morning after what amounted to a twenty hour shift. Always hard – Fridays; up at seven for the school run and lucky to be in bed by four. Still, a nice lie in on a Saturday to make up for it.
Anyway, there was this girl’s face, very pretty, very sexy, strawberry and Pernod, and her eyes, betraying a fantastic creature of playfulness and light, and the feel of her lips on mine and . . .
“Hello, can I help you?” It was a tired voice.
“Sorry,” I said, “um, yes. It’s just that I’m a taxi driver and I heard about the girl, you know, the one that was found. We get to hear things you know.”
“Yes sir.”
“Well, anyway, I think I picked her up earlier, around midnight, and took her to a house on that new estate up by the motorway.”
“Hold on sir, I’ll put you through to CID – it’s in their hands.”
Oh shit, I thought, I hope it’s not him, my fucking miserable-chops brother.

BONES # 2

I left the old bastard’s house and drove back into town, what the fuck was she playing at? I tried phoning her mobile on the way but the cow just let it ring out. First thing I did was to go in the back of the Raj Mahal, it was about half twelve and I knew they’d be winding down and have my Chicken Madras stewing nicely on the hob. Besides, I was starving and I was due a break. Those bastards get good fucking value out of me, I deserve a bit of respect. Old Ali was there, beaming as usual (false bastard), I remember him from when I was a kid; he was old then too. I don’t think he was a real Indian, or even a Pakistani, I heard once he came from Iran, but it might have been Sicily for all I knew. Anyway, I had more important chillies to chop, like that dangerous little bitch and her nasty streak.

After the restaurant I caught up with Chunky, he was in the manager’s office of the Copy Cat Club, chatting up Jan, the co-owner. She was a large bleached blonde with a mouth like an angry Bjork. He likes them a bit rough.
“Come on Chunky, we’ve got work to do.”
“OK boss,” he said, knocking back a shot of brandy – fucking upstart. I only put up with him because he can be useful in a scrap and he knows how to keep his mouth shut.
“Well come on then, we haven’t got all night.”
We went out the back and into my car.
“What’s it all about boss? Another smackhead topped himself or what?”
“There’s a girl missing – it’s Bill Mason’s daughter.”
“Fucking hell, do you mean Moira Mason? Your Moira?”
I got angry then, stuck my face right in his and shouted, showed him who was boss. “No, you stupid fat twat, she’s not MY Moira, she’s anybody’s Moira – OK – she’s a fucking tart.”
“Sorry boss, cool head.”
“Anyway, I’m not seeing her anymore; I’ve been with you all night.”
“Yes boss, except when you went . . . . “
“Shut the fuck up fatty. Now, we’re going to find her.”
My mobile rang; it was Mason, demanding an update. I told him we had six men on it, making discreet enquiries. He seemed satisfied with that.
Me and Chunky toured the clubs and the late bars – it wasn’t all that busy for a Friday, so it didn’t take long. We went back to the station for a break when the call came in. A plod had found the body under the motorway bridge.
Fucking hell, what a mess.
I popped up the motorway, but couldn’t face a close look at the body just then so secured the scene and went back to the nick to start the ball rolling.
That’s when the phone went.
“CID Eastern Division,” I said.
“Hello – is that, is that you? Bones?”
Oh fuck.
“Yes,” I sighed.
“It’s me – your brother – Skin.”
“What the fuck do you want?”
I waited while he got the words out; he’d always been a little wimp when he was under pressure – twat. I hoped he had something important to say, something good; perhaps the old man was dead at last – that would be nice.

SKIN # 3

Why did he always get me like that? Just the sound of his voice was enough – like a feral animal’s growl. A darkness that didn’t care who it hurt, only wanted things to be right in its own twisted universe
“It’s that girl,” I mumbled.
“What fucking girl?”
“That girl, up by the motorway. I had her in my cab earlier.”
“Oh fuck, you’d better come in.”
“OK, sure, give me twenty minutes.”
I put the phone down and crept upstairs to see how Mandy was – she was breathing quietly, her hand tucked against her cheek, smiling to herself in her sleep. I kissed her on her cheek. Her skin buzzed with her warm energy, she was so soft, so trusting, so relaxed. I started to feel guilty, only a few hours earlier my lips had touched another woman’s face. A touch that had thrilled me more than warmed me, like the kick of an expensive drug.
I drove down to the police station passing the few desperate stragglers as I hit the streets of the town centre. One of the crazy fucks nearly killed himself when he stood in the road in front of my car – that’s the trouble when you drive the company cab on personal business – you get constantly harangued, but I couldn’t afford a separate vehicle – yet.
I wondered if my brother had softened a bit in his old age – it was about time he grew up, he was nearly forty, over four years older than I was. He stood a couple of inches taller than me and of course he was leaner and fitter. You’d think that with his generous allocation  of good-looking genes he would have been a bit more chilled, but he was a surly bastard bubbling with rage and bursting with resentment.
“It’s been a while,” I said as he led me into his office.
We were both nervous although I could see that he was struggling to leash his anger. He waas obviously in pain so I tried to make it easier for him.
“Everything all right?” I asked quietly.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, “now about this girl.”
“Yes, I took her home after midnight, left her on the pavement, then went back home to relieve Mandy.”
“Yes, well, is that all?”
The anger was still there, he wouldn’t look at me directly, so to avoid unnecessary conflict I lowered my head in false deference. Whatever his problem was he’d have to sort it out himself.
“She seemed OK,” I said. “Pretty girl too, something about her, but she obviously had something on her mind.”
“Jus tell me exactly where you picked her up and where you put her down.”
“Who was she?”
He sighed impatiently: “Her name is Moira Mason.”
“Mason?” I said. “That name’s familiar, and that address come to think of it. She’s not Bill Mason’s daughter is she?”
He nodded.
“Fuck me. How’s he taking it?”

BONES # 3

The old man wasn’t dead; more’s the pity. But that stupid bastard of a brother had got himself tangled up in Moira’s death; so he came in and I had to try and stay civil with him, but he just started to get too personal, too familiar, so I had to slap him down.
I had to stand up and look away or else I really would have slapped the bastard.
“Listen,” I said, “I haven’t got time for all this shit now, just tell me where you picked her up and where you dropped her off.”
He looked away when I turned around, he knew when he was beat. He told me what he knew and then I showed him out, he didn’t get lippy again.

SKIN #4

Boy was I glad to get out of there. What was his problem? Dad reckoned he was jealous, jealous of me, jealous of the other boys he hung around with. Something had gone wrong in his life, or in his perception of his life. He was a wise old codger, my dad, but I still didn’t get it.
By the time I got back to Mandy, it was well gone four, so I switched the radio off and went to bed. I didn’t bother setting the alarm, I’d be up by half nine anyway, I always was, even on a lie-in day.
I got up at about ten, did the usual ablutions and breakfast – tea and toast with tahini, marmite and peanut butter, letting Mandy lie in; she seemed tired and fed up lately, needed the rest. She’s a darling Mandy, she’s one of the best, always level-headed and always ready to help anyone, but she’s got this thing, she thinks she’s never going to be able to have kids. But, I’ve told her enough, it’s just a matter of time, the best thing to do is relax.
Then about eleven, I walked to the newsagent to get some tobacco and a newspaper, I enjoyed a good read on a weekend, and just over the past year or two had started buying the Guardian, it was a bit of a wade but it passed the time, and it had the occasional interesting piece.
While I was picking up the Guardian I noticed the headlines on the early edition of the local evening paper, funny, it had disappeared from my consciousness with the routines of the morning. There it was, a report on the girl’s body found near the motorway: Body Under Bridge, was the headline, and the sub-heading was Police Launch Murder Inquiry. There was an old photograph of the girl underneath but it had none of the energy that the real girl had when I’d dropped her off less than twelve hours earlier. Funny thing, when I saw that headline, my heart seemed to skip a beat, I started to miss her, as if I’d known her and loved her for ages, but of course, that was stupid.

Chapter 2

BONES #4

I was in a dilemma, not that I couldn’t deal with dilemmas. In fact, I prided myself on being able to handle any situation, however complex, that’s why I was good at my job as a CID officer. Give me a mystery and I’ve got a knack of finding the fastest and most hassle-free way of getting a solution to it. My father used to say I was lazy, cunning he called me – prick.
I managed to get to bed about eight, I reckoned I had at least five hours sleep ahead of me, but I’d have to be back on the ball by two, because by then, the preliminary forensics would be complete, and the plods would have done a lot of the initial donkey work. Besides, I had to get some kip, because I knew I had a long afternoon and night ahead of me.
I didn’t sleep very well, but it was good enough. Chunky picked me up from my flat; I wasn’t in the mood for driving; besides, I wanted to keep an eye on the fat bastard – he knew too much and he was stupid.
“Now Chunky, not a word about me and Moira, or fucking Mason, not a fucking word – understand?”
“Cool head boss, what the fuck do you think I am?”
He looked genuinely offended, I thought I’d better keep him on side for the time being, he could cause a lot of damage if I pissed him off too much.
“OK,” I said, “sorry, now just drive, come on.”
“What’s the latest boss?”
“How the fuck should I know?”
“They’ve given it to Adams, boss.”
“That arsehole, I should have known. Never mind, he hasn’t got a fucking clue.”
“What are you going to do boss? You’re in a bit of a pickle, as my old girl used to say.” Chunky chuckled.
I gave a feeble imitation of a laugh to humour him; how did the dumb bastard keep his job?
“Do you know how it went with Mason?” I asked.
“Aye, good mun. The old tart started blubbing like a girl when they told him. They had to call the Doc; he had some kind of pull.”
“Fucking Adams.”
“He’s all right, harmless enough.”
My mobile rang, I looked at the screen. Fucking Adams. Better answer it I thought. Better be polite, well at least in a colleague-to-colleague kind of way. He was a meticulous bastard – a stickler.
“Hi – Gerry. How’s it hanging?” I couldn’t help myself.
“Where are you?”
Cheeky twat, what did he mean ‘Where are you?’ What fucking business was it of his? I took a breath. “I’m in the car, on the way to the station. With Chunky.”
“Oh, sorry to bother you. Would you mind coming up to the Mason house instead. There’s something I need to talk to you about, about last night. I know you must be tired but it is important. Do you know where the house is?”
My mouth went dry but I managed a weak response: “OK Gerry, no problems.”
I hung up, threw the phone on the dashboard, and stared through the windscreen at the drizzle.
“What’s up boss?” Chunky asked.
“Huh? What’s that?”
“You’re staring boss. What’s up? Was that Adams?”
OK, I had to front this out. Show any weakness and I was dead. Couldn’t let the bastards get me, not now. I’d find a way, I always did.
“Change of plan Chunks, we’re going to meet Adams at Mason’s house.”
“Why? What’s up?”
“Nothing’s fucking up. Just fucking drive will you.”
Chunky shrugged and pulled over. When the road was clear he did a U-turn and we headed off up towards the motorway. It was a ten-minute drive, enough time to get my story straight.

SKIN #5

I was in the kitchen trying to read the Guardian Guide. I like to keep tabs on the latest films and that. Not that I get much chance to go and see any, not with my job, but it’s nice to know. But I couldn’t concentrate. I’d bought the local paper and had already read the article at least six times. There was something about it that didn’t make sense, I couldn’t work it out.
Then Mandy came back in, she’d popped out to her mother’s in the next street.
“Hi, you compos mentis yet, after your late night?”
“Oh hi,” I said. “How was your mother?”
“Fine, she’s fine, bit wound up about the trip.”
“Oh, when’s she going now, I forgot.”
“Monday morning silly. Don’t you remember? You promised her a lift to the bus station – she’s got to be there by quarter to six.”
“Yeah, no problem, of course.”
“You look shattered. Fancy a coffee?”
“Yeah, OK. Thanks.”
Mandy kissed me on the top of my head and fussed with the kettle and cups.
“I see you got the Guardian again,” she said “don’t know what you see in it myself, too many words, and the local rag – anything interesting?”
She walked back over to the kitchen table while the kettle boiled and picked the newspaper up.
“Look at that,” she said, “shame, a pretty girl.”
“Yeah, I know, she was in my cab.”
“My god, when?”
“Last night, before I knocked off.”
“You didn’t say anything.”
“There was nothing to say – then. Just another passenger. My last one of the night, as it happens.”
“So where did you drop her off? When? You might have been the last person to see her alive, besides the killer that is.”
“I know,” I sighed.
“You’ll have to tell the police.”
“I already have.”
Mandy poured the boiling water into the cups and stirred.
“What did they say?” She sat down opposite me and pushed my cup across.
“Thanks.” I said. I sipped the coffee. “Nice. Um, it was my bloody brother.”
“Bones?”
“I’ve only got one bloody brother.” I snapped.
“No need for that. Why do you get so upset every time his name comes up?”
“You know my history as much as anyone. You know what sort of bloke he is. The least I have to do with him the better.”

BONES #5

I started getting the jitters about halfway to Mason’s. It wasn’t like me. Normally I can handle everything. Anyway, I thought it would be better if I calmed my nerves before facing up to Adams.
“Hang on Chunks,” I said, “I’m busting for a piss, pull over in the car park of the Coopers’, it’s just around the next bend.”
“Sure boss, I know where the Coopers’ is, but what about Adams? Shouldn’t you wait until we get there?”
“For fuck’s sake. How do you think that would look, you can’t piss in someone else’s house uninvited, especially when their daughter has just been done in.”
Chunky teased the big Volvo into the small, cramped car park and switched the engine off.
“You wait in the car,” I said as I got out. “Play with your fat cock or something.” I laughed, trying to show that I wasn’t bothered, that I was still in control.
Chunky shook his head and chuckled. He knew me well enough, he’d probably get one of his porno mags out of the glove compartment and he probably would have a sneaky wank under the dashboard. He also knew that I’d be knocking back a couple of whisky and lemonades. He’d probably give me twenty minutes or so before coming in to get me, unless Adams nagged me first that was.
The pub was quiet. Just a couple of the old locals. Fred, the landlord, had started doing lunches, but they never caught on, probably on account of the fact that he couldn’t cook, and was too tight to pay a proper chef to do them for him. Shame, he could have done all right for himself, there wasn’t another decent boozer for a mile or so, and it was a fairly well-populated area. Mind you, the population consisted mostly of tossers from the estates; I’d busted enough of them in my time.
Fred beamed through a set of cracked brown teeth, I suppose that was another reason nobody wanted to eat his chicken curry. “Bones my boy. Long time no see.”
“Aye Fred. How’s it going?”
“Scotch and lemonade?”
“Aye Fred, double.”
He turned and filled a tumbler from the optic. I looked around the bar. A middle-aged couple sat by a window, the wife looking through it at the traffic going by on the main road outside. The man, all jeans and manky T-shirt looked at me and smiled guiltily. I ignored the bastard. The only other drinker was a skinny blond man wearing a smart checked sports jacket, white shirt and thin blue tie. I recognised him.
Fred slid the tumbler across the bar and waved away my token attempt to pay him.
“On the house, always glad to support you lot. Never know when I’ll need you.”
I grunted at him and turned away. I think he was relieved. No one wants to make small-talk with a copper; you never know what will slip out. Jackie Mann was not so lucky though.
“Mind if I pull up a pew Jackie?” I asked, already dragging a stool into place, across the small round table, opposite him.
He shook his head nervously. “No Mr Jones, always a pleasure. I see you’ve got a drink, can I get you another?”
“In a bit maybe.” I drank half the contents of the tumbler in one gulp and put it down on the table. “What’s new? What’s the buzz?”
“I don’t know nothing Mr Jones. Keeping my head down these days. you know that.”
“I do Jackie, I do. But you never know.”
“Are you involved in that nastiness up by the motorway then Mr . . .”
“Who’s asking the questions?” I laughed. “That’s my job. Do you know anything about it then?”
“Who? Me? No sir, never sir. Fred was telling me earlier. Pretty girl, he said, shame innit?”
“It’s always a fucking shame innit.” I mocked and slugged back the rest of the whisky. “You can get me that drink now. Fred knows what it is. And get me some of that burnt pig-skin stuff too.”
“Huh? What’s that?”
“Pork scratchings you dumb bastard.”
Jackie laughed: “Very funny Mr Jones, very funny.”
I didn’t really want the scratchings, but what the hell; you had to show them who was in charge, didn’t want them getting too fucking complacent. Always squeeze that little bit more out of them, even if it was only the most disgusting pub snack ever invented.

SKIN #6

“Do you think you can manage a bit of shopping love?”
It took a few seconds for Mandy’s words to register. I’d been sitting in the armchair for about half an hour, the main section of the Saturday Guardian still unopened on my lap. “Yeah, of course. What were you thinking?”
“It’s OK if you can’t, I know you had a long night and you’re back driving in a few hours.”
“Nah, it’s all right. Could do with a bit of air. Just as good as a rest they say.”
“Thought we could just pop into town, have a look around, get some of those tomatoes you like, from the market. Could get some laverbread too.”
I folded the paper over the arm of the chair and stood up. “Just need a quick slash. Are you ready?”
“I wish you wouldn’t use words like that.”
“Sorry.” I grinned. She was a pearl was my Mandy, but she could be a little bit too much up her own arse at times.
I kissed her on the cheek as I left the room. She smiled and shook her head.

Fifteen minutes later and we were in the smelly soap shop Mandy liked so much. I couldn’t understand it myself; all the soaps smelled the same anyway. I suppose the young woman who ran the place did all right out of it; she was a natural, just as charming to me as she was to Mandy;  and a sexy smile that reminded me of the poor girl who had been in my cab the night before. Mandy ended up spending about eight quid on three small bars of soap.
“I could spend all day in there,” she said as we left the shop.
“Hmmm,” I said,
“And wasn’t that girl nice.” she said, as we emerged into the busy street.
“Hmmm,” I said again.
. .” Somebody big bumped into me, it was a proper shock; my fault I suppose, I was still lost in that sexy smile.
“Sorry mate, you OK?”
The big bastard had almost knocked me down, but he did look genuinely sorry. I was a bit winded but no real damage.
“Don’t worry about it.” I said. “I’m fine.”
“Fucking hell, it’s you isn’t it, Skin?”
I looked at him more closely. “Fuck – Shane Hughes. I thought you’d disappeared years ago, abroad somewhere, wasn’t it? What are you doing back in Elchurch?”
“Oh, this and that, looking up a few old pals, that sort of thing.”
He looked good. He’d always been a big bastard, tall and well-built with tight blond curls, like a Greek god reincarnated as a prop-forward; in fact he had once been a promising rugby player, played for the seconds for a couple of years, until he went off for his police training. Never picked it up again. Trained with that prick of a brother of mine. They used to be good friends, until Bones and him fell out over a girl. Went off to work with the police in the West Indies somewhere not long after that, if my memory served me well. Now, he was in good shape, a couple of stone lighter with a nice tan that complemented his hair and his blue eyes. I was aware of Mandy at my side and wondered if she was admiring him as much as I was.
“Oh, this is Mandy,” I said, “my wife.”
“I remember Mandy.” He beamed a charming confident smile at her. “You were very young when I saw you both last. You haven’t changed at all.”
Of course it was bullshit, Mandy was a good-looker, but hardly in his league, didn’t stop her from flushing though. She smiled coyly.
To save her, and my, embarrassment, I spoke again. “Old pals is it?”
“If you mean that brother of yours, forget it, sorry, but we’re never going to be friends again.”
“Don’t worry,” I said, “it’s not like me and him are ever going to share a spliff ever again.” I laughed.
Mandy nudged me.
Shane laughed: “Fancy a coffee? You can fill me in on the local goss.”
“That would be nice, why not.” I’d always liked Shane, he was more of an older brother to me than that bastard who shared my blood, before he fucked off that is. Never kept in touch though; who could blame him. “Coming Mand?”
“No, I’d better not, got to get a few things, I’ll catch up with you later. Where you going?”
“OK. There’s a new Italian place next to Superdrug, fancy that Shane?”
Shane nodded. “Great.”
“See you both in a bit then.” Mandy said as we walked away.
“I do have an ulterior motive Skin.” Shane whispered. “I hope you don’t mind.”

BONES #6

Sure enough, the fat twat came into the pub after twenty minutes. I must have looked pissed off, because he motioned for me to stay on my stool and went to the bar. Jackie was leaving as Chunky came in; he didn’t know it but he had left me with some very useful information, very useful indeed. Chunky came over to the table with another whisky and lemonade and a pint of lager for himself.
“Thanks Chunk.”
He winked and smiled at me. Sometimes he could be all right, he had good instincts; perhaps he was a good copper after all, of a sort anyway. He handed me my mobile.
“You left it in the car boss.” He said. “Adams phoned again. I told him you had a sudden lead, had to follow it up, you can always tell him it came to nothing.”
Thank fuck for that. I relaxed. Chunky was right in a way, I did have a lead, and it might come to nothing, but then again . . .