The Dirty City Read Free Page B

might be over so quick, what with the $25 a day fee and all. But I had to disguise my delight pretty well, lest I had to also admit to Jameson that whilst I had seen his son less than 24 hours ago, let’s just say he wasn’t at his best. Hell, for all I knew the kid could be lying dead in that shit-hole kitchen right now.
    I hastily concluded things with Jameson and showed him to the door, I didn’t want to waste any time on this. I was flagging a bit, having not had any sleep for over twenty four hours, but this was the nature of the job sometimes. If I cashed in here I could afford to take a few days off.
    “Lydia, I gotta’ get back across town,” I said, gathering up my hat and coat.
    “But it’s only 10.30, your car -.”
    “I need a favour, sweetheart.”
    “Oh come on, Johnny!”
    “I promise I won’t do anything stupid, I’ll drive real careful, I swear.”
    “You know if there is the slightest dent in my car I will cut off both your balls with a rusty knife then force feed them to you?”
    She reluctantly handed me the keys – I gave her a cheeky wink, then hot-tailed it out of the door before she could change her mind.
    *
    Lydia was the only woman I knew at the time who could drive, let alone owned their own car. Her car was her pride and joy, and she kept it so pristine it was crazy, the damn thing gleamed!
    I drove as fast as I felt I could get away with, terrified that someone would pull out dangerously in front of me at a junction, or slam into the back of me whilst stopped at traffic lights.
    Eventually I pulled into the secluded road where the drug den was situated. Or rather, I turned to pull into the road and promptly had to stop dead before a police roadblock. Dozens of uniformed cops were manning the roadblock, with plenty more milling around behind. I backed up and parked a little way down the street, then headed back on foot to see if I could get a closer look.
    The police barriers were a considerable distance away, but I could see what was going on, and sure enough, it was the drugs den that was the centre of attention. I could make out that unlike myself the previous evening, the cops had elected to kick the door in, so much so that it was hanging off the hinges.
    As I stood at the edge of the street a bizarre scene was unfolding. I spotted three figures lying prone in the middle of the road, presumably having just been carried or dragged outside. None of them were moving. From my slightly distant vantage point I could make out that they appeared to be two guys and a girl, but no sign of Anton Jameson.
    Then I saw someone who was very familiar to me, one Lt Joseph Wails – a former colleague of mine from my time on the force. We had a lot of history did me and Joe, he was one of the many colleagues I had who were quick to turn their back on me and ultimately let me carry the wrap for the incident that got me kicked out. Hate is a strong word, and I try not to use it too often – a life spent hating is a wasted life in my book, but let’s just say I deeply resented Wails – for what he did, for the fact he was still on the force despite being twice as dirty a cop as I ever was, and especially because I knew he simply didn’t give a damn - he’d never expressed an ounce of guilt or remorse about screwing me over like that. Which is why what happened next really brightened up my day.
    Wails was inspecting the three prone figures, leaning over and prodding each of them – slapping their faces as if to try and rouse them. The girl and the first guy were definitely out of it, but upon his manhandling of the second guy, who I might add was of a very big and muscular build, he very suddenly reacted. The figure leapt to his feet, his eyes suddenly wide open and wild. He swung an absolute peach of a right cross into the Lt’s startled looking face and he went down like a sack of shit, his hands clutching at his bloodied nose. For a second the guy just stood there, appearing to admire his