Horse's Arse (16 page)

    Marjorie
was on her way to pick up a girlfriend from the other side of town for a day at
a health spa, and was now wishing she hadn't decided to travel through
Handstead to get there. She was starting to get seriously pissed off with the
driver of the battered old Ford Cortina in front of her, who kept missing his
gear changes, was slow away from traffic lights, hadn't a clue how to negotiate
a roundabout, and, when he was moving, did so at 20 m.p.h. in a cloud of filthy
smoke. Try as she might, she couldn't get past him.

    'Come
on, you bloody idiot,' she bellowed, hitting the Merc's horn for the umpteenth
time and flashing her lights. The elderly driver of the almost as elderly
Cortina took not a blind bit of notice, and the car belched a blacker cloud of
smoke in reply. She hit the horn again and kept it pressed down.

    Psycho
had parked up in a lay-by to kill time before breakfast and plot his further
acts of psychological warfare against Bott. He heard the strident, blaring car
horn coming from some distance away, and wound his window down to better judge
its direction. Shortly afterwards, he saw the old Cortina pass from his right
with a Merc convertible inches from its back bumper, lights flashing, and the
fat woman driver banging the car horn with her hand as if she was going mad.
She was purple with rage, and despite the distance between them he could just
about make out that she was screaming at the top of her voice. He smiled
contentedly to himself and pulled out into the traffic behind the Merc, slowing
the driver behind with a raised hand out of the window. This could be fun, he
thought.

    Marjorie
was blind with rage, and completely failed to notice the police car that had
slipped in behind her. She kept her hand on the horn and only snapped out of
her road rage when she heard a car hoot her from behind.

    'Fuck
off,' she yelled, briefly looking into her rear-view mirror. Psycho lip-read
her request,' hit his horn again and put on his vehicle's blue light.

    'Foul-mouthed
old slag,' he muttered to himself, and flashed his headlights.

    Marjorie
again glanced at her rear-view mirror and groaned. Just what she didn't need.
Some jumped-up little oik in a uniform going to lecture her about her driving.
This shouldn't take long. Soon send him on his way with his Neanderthal tail
between his legs. She indicated left, pulled slowly over to the pavement and
watched as the police car pulled in behind her and its occupant got out. This
one is just out of the trees, she thought to herself, a real bottom feeder. She
wasn't far off the mark, but failed completely to interpret the smile on the
approaching officer's face. As he came alongside her car and knelt down, she
wound the window down, looked him in the eye and said haughtily, 'Yes?'

    Psycho's
grin grew wider and his eyes twinkled. She was going to help him add to his
legend.

    'Morning,
sweet buns,' he said pleasantly. 'You're a bit old to be making all that noise,
aren't you? This your grandson's motor?'

    Marjorie
was thunderstruck. What had he said? Were her ears deceiving her?

    'What
did you say?' she thundered. 'How dare you, you insolent oaf.'

    Psycho
continued to smile sweetly at her. 'You should know better at your age. Touch
of PMT, or the menopause, do you think?'

    'You
bastard,' shouted Marjorie, 'I'll have your job. I want your number.' She began
to free herself from her seatbelt. Psycho stood up and moved away from the door
as she wrestled her plump little body out of the low-slung car and stood
opposite him. Her eyes were blazing and she began to jab her finger into his
chest as she berated him.

    '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.'