Zalinskas smirked as he welcomed in the filth. A glare in my direction said he’d been messing with me, but now he’d tired of the game. I’d seen the look before, on Hannibal Lecter, waited for the, ‘Do you hear the lambs, Clarice?’
Tried to stand my ground.
‘This is all very cosy, fellahs,’ I said as the cops approached me, ‘but if you don’t mind indulging me a few moments — what’s the charge?’
One of the cops touched six feet, carried a build that said he was no stranger to the police gym. He seemed to take my query as a personal slight, lunged at me.
I took a killer punch to the gut. Then a knee to the kidney that splayed me on the floor like the dead tiger. I felt my insides scream. I tried to cry out but my breath deserted me. For more than a few seconds I believed my next move was going to be onto a mortuary slab.
‘How about resisting arrest for a start,’ said plod.
I found a dim light ignite some strength, it felt like courage. ‘Nice try. What am I supposed to be resisting arrest for?’ I rolled onto my haunches, each breath felt like acid poured in my lungs.
‘You cocky cahnt.’
Plod was London. It only made me more determined to mess with his head.
‘Come on, I’m trying to help, I wouldn’t want you to get into any trouble with your superiors — your porcine brethren who walk on two legs.’
He went for his baton. It flashed in the air above me, I saw this turn was well practised. I couldn’t move, braced myself for bone-shattering.
‘Stop!’ Zalinskas stepped in. ‘Not here — take him away.’
I felt myself lifted by the collar, my arms jerked round to my back as I was cuffed.
‘Gentlemen, please, you’ll damage those bracelets if you’re not careful.’
‘Shut it,’ said London.
I managed a last glance at Zalinskas, a smirk of my own. ‘Nice one, Benny, I love your work!’
He mulled it over. I thought he might answer, show some kind of emotion but he merely turned away from me, went back to his desk, lit another cigar.
As plod led me away Zalinskas blew smoke into the air. He had no more words for me.
‘Goodbye, Mr Zalinskas,’ I shouted, ‘no doubt I’ll be seeing you again.’
‘Move your fakhin’ arse,’ said London, sticking his baton in my shoulder blades and twisting it, hard.
All told, I thought, not a bad little result. Sure, I wondered what awaited me at the station, but I’d made an impression on Benny the Bullfrog. I’d taken his casino for a few grand and, most importantly, let him know I was very definitely onto him. I’d given the bastard something to think about.
On the floor Amy and Hod waited by the door.
‘Gus, Gus!’ cried Amy. ‘Oh my God, what have they done to you?’
‘It’s nothing,’ I said.
‘Shift,’ said London, he moderated his language now we were in the full glare of the public.
Amy threw her arms around me, ‘Oh Gus, Gus…’
‘Quick — the cash — it’s in my pocket.’
‘Miss, leave the suspect alone, please,’ said plod. He clutched her arms, lifted her away from me.
‘Gus, I have it,’ she said, waving the rolls of cash.
‘Great. Hod, the cash, take it to the crem. Milo Whittle, that’s my mate, you have to pay for the funeral expenses tomorrow.’
‘Move,’ said London. Another prod in the back, he’d lost patience with me.
‘Hod, did you hear me?’
‘Milo Whittle.’
‘That’s it. The works, do you get me? I want him sent off in style.’
I saw Amy raise a hand to her face and start to cry. It was the last thing I saw before plod threw me into the back of a meat wagon.
‘Wait till we get you down that fakhin’ station, you saucy little cahnt,’ said London.