Decay Inevitable

Sean wondered if he had been rumbled already. Maybe one of the “mourners” at the funeral had spotted him after all and identified him. Maybe he had been recognised as a policeman by someone he had arrested. That was all right. He could come clean and tell them he was off the Force; it was easily proved. Not that they would appreciate an ex-cop in their ranks.

“We slipped up,” Salt explained. “All new recruits must be doctored by the boss.”

“You mean vetted, surely?” Sean said, but Salt did not return his smile.

“Mr. Lord wants a word with you,” Rapler said, fidgeting with his notes. “That’s all. Just a routine chat. He likes to do that with all new employees. I think it’s a nice touch. Makes you feel welcome.”

Salt snorted. At the foot of the stairs he hung back and allowed Rapler to take Sean through the foyer to the forecourt. A black Shogun was parked rakishly across a number of bays. The man Sean had seen talking in the pub was standing with his arms folded, leaning against the rear doors of the four-by-four. Light collected in the lenses of his sunglasses. Sean wondered if he rued the fact that he was a white man. It spoiled the look he was after, from his scuffed black boots to his black leather trenchcoat.

“Hi,” Sean said.

Mr. Lord stared at him but said nothing. He turned to Rapler. “Why are you still here?”

“Sorry, Vernon,” Rapler said. “I thought you might want me to–”

“–to fuck off?” Vernon suggested.

“Yeah.” Rapler scurried away, leafing through the pages on his clipboard.

“That man,” Vernon said, his eyes on Rapler’s back, “is a first-class nadge sac.”

Sean laughed sycophantically. “How long have you known him?”

Vernon turned his shining lenses on Sean. “That, my friend, is one question too many from you. Shut up and come with me.”

Sean stood his ground. “A: you do not tell me to shut up. B: I am not some arse-kissing loser. Watch what you tell me to do. Like this job is so fucking valuable to me I couldn’t walk away whenever I fucking want to.”

Vernon regarded him for a moment. Then he nodded. “Fair enough. Come on. Let me buy you a pint.”

SMOKE AND SWEAT embraced Sean as Vernon Lord pushed him through the doors of the Fallen Angel. The clientele were a rag-bag of damp coats and spoiled teeth. Bottled stout or barley wine was the drink of preference. No smoking ban here. No copper would dare poke his head round the door to check. There was a hubbub of conversation underpinned by the thud of darts hitting a board at the dim reaches of the wedge-shaped lounge. Through greasy windows, Sean watched women in head scarves struggle against the wind as they carried their bags of shopping up Buttermarket Street.

“What you having?”

Sean said, “A lager.”

“Two Kronenbourg,” Vernon said to the barman, who stopped serving the women at the counter to get his drinks.

“You got a bit of clout round here, then?” Sean asked.

“All of it deserved, mate. Nothing wrong with a good rep.”

“A good rep,” Sean repeated. “What does a man do around here to garner himself a good rep?”

“Garner?” Vernon raised his eyebrows and saluted Sean with his pint. “I like it. Garner. Very educated, aren’t we?” He swigged half of his beer in one movement. “What are you doing humping bricks? Should be humping graduates.”

“I’m not the first bloke with half a brain to wear a hard-hat.”

Vernon ruminated on this for a while. “Still, it’s a rare thing. Most of the blokes on my sites. Jesus. If they didn’t have construction, they’d be about as much use as piss in a trumpet.”

“Look, I’m sorry for the smarts, okay? I just need some work, that’s all. I’ll dumb down.”

Vernon drained his pint and ordered a couple more without consulting Sean. “Well, fine, but I just need a few references, that’s all. I don’t know who the fuck you are or where the fuck you’ve come from, or what the fuck.”

“You’re talking like someone who’s got something to hide.”

“I have got something to hide, mate. I have. I’m quite up front about it. Question is, have you?”

“I already told Tony. I’m so square, I can’t stop turning corners.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

Sean shrugged. “Fuck the job then. Fuck you. But thanks for the drink.”

Vernon said, “It’s not the demolition I’m worried about. I couldn’t give a toss who works on that.”

“What then?”

“I need a sidekick. None of those mashed arses could take care of themselves. You, a different story.”

“Not interested,” said Sean, while his heartbeat sped up and he thought, Oh yes, oh yes I am. “I don’t stooge for anybody.”

“You said you needed the job.”

“I need a job. A job. Doesn’t matter what it is. But one is enough.”

Vernon thought this over, twisting his glass around and around on the filthy bar. Somebody put some music on the jukebox. Somebody belched loudly.

“You’ll be well paid,” Vernon said.

“Look, Vernon. Look, we don’t know each other–”

“Which is perfect.”

“–and I really don’t know if I can get back into dodgy stuff.”