London Calling - James Craig [17]
The woman started squirming again. ‘Get him off me!’
Carlyle stepped through the gate and into the garden. ‘What did she do?’
‘She assaulted me.’
‘Fuck off,’ the woman spat in fury. ‘You assaulted me, put me in a headlock, grabbed my tits and started squeezing them. Fucking pervert.’
Unbelievably, Trevor started grinning.
‘Trevor,’ Carlyle sighed, ‘she’s half your size.’
‘So?’ He seemed genuinely surprised by the idea that there might be a problem with what he was doing.
‘So,’ Carlyle shouted, ‘the only way she could have assaulted you is with a loaded AK47. Let her fucking go!’
Miller looked at him blankly, a bead of sweat hanging from the tip of his nose.
‘Now!’
Stepping sideways, Miller tramped some flower or other into the dirt. Maybe it was even a weed. Staring off into the middle distance, he gave Carlyle’s request several seconds’ thought. ‘Mind your own business, you wanker,’ was his considered reply.
It was time for a change of tack. Carlyle spread his arms wide and adopted what he hoped was his most philosophical tone: ‘Mate, think about it. You don’t want a complaint. It could seriously hurt your career.’
Trevor grunted. ‘I’m making an arrest.’
‘This is the kind of thing that could cost you your job.’ Carlyle was about five feet away from them now, edging closer.
‘I’ve done nothing wrong here, Carlyle.’ Trevor looked and sounded like a little boy. A monster of a little boy.
‘Let her go … c’mon we have to get back.’
‘No!’ Trevor shook his head.
Carlyle took another step towards him, trying not to stare at the woman’s nipples which seemed to be getting even bigger. Maybe I’m becoming delusional, he thought. ‘You have to.’
At last, Trevor recognised that Carlyle wasn’t going to just walk away. Finally, he let go of the woman’s breast and loosened the neck hold slightly. The woman immediately sank her teeth into his arm and bit him as hard as she could.
‘Fuck!’ Trevor grunted.
With all the gear he was wearing, Carlyle doubted if she even broke the skin, but Miller instinctively recoiled and pushed her away. The woman took this as her cue to make a dash for freedom. She bolted past Carlyle, a bottle-blonde blur that was out of the garden and down the road before he could react. Showing a nice turn of speed, and, Carlyle noticed, a very shapely arse, she was round a corner and out of sight in a matter of seconds.
Trevor struggled with his options as he tried to decide whether or not to give chase. In the end, the final decision was no decision. He shrugged, and the spell was broken.
Carlyle stood there, wondering what to do next. His headache was returning with a vengeance, and he needed again to find some shade.
Eventually, Trevor picked up his helmet and slowly trudged out of the garden. ‘You stupid bastard,’ he hissed, pushing past Carlyle. ‘You stupid bloody bastard, next time try to remember which fucking side you’re on.’
SIX
Not wishing to dwell on his rampant stupidity any longer than was absolutely necessary, Inspector Carlyle headed back in the direction he’d come from only ten minutes earlier. The fact that it was such a short walk did nothing to improve his mood. Grinding his teeth in frustration, he lengthened his stride and tried not to think about the bed he could already be lying in. There was no one about to catch a middle-aged policeman talking to himself like a demented dosser, and so he took the opportunity to curse himself loudly. Tonight wasn’t the first time this year that he’d arrived outside his flat, stuck his hand in his jacket pocket and realised that he had left his house keys at the station and, therefore, couldn’t get in. There was no way he would dare wake his wife at this time of night, so he turned round and headed back to Charing Cross Police Station.
Keeping up a brisk pace, Carlyle cut across the north side of Covent Garden piazza, whose cobbles felt