Authors: Emma Salisbury
Tags: #Thriller & Suspense, #Crime Fiction, #Crime, #Police Procedurals, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Serial Killers, #Mystery
One Bad Turn (34 page)
‘Heard they’d let ye oot.’ PC MacIntyre is a prize prick with eyes that tell you he likes a drink almost as much as he loves a ruck. Thick-set arms protruding from a dumpy body, his Kevlar vest provides an illusion of muscle. ‘Thought I’d come see for meself.’
I say nothing. I learned long ago not to rise to the bait; that smart mouth answers got me locked up for the night. Instead, I stare at the man’s forehead as though looking for his third eye.
‘What’s this…..fancy dress?’ MacIntyre smirks at my overalls and work boots while at the same time taking a step closer, all the better to intimidate. Slowly I push myself up from the bench, making us equal in height though we both knew which man has the upper hand. Over the officer’s shoulder I can see Candy pause by the window, watching us.
‘Look,’ I reason, arms outstretched to let MacIntyre know he’ll get no trouble from me, ‘I need to get back, we only get ten minutes for a break.’
The officer sniggers as though this is the funniest thing he’s heard in ages. ‘“We only get ten minutes for a break!”’ he mimics, ‘Who ye trying tae kid, son? Work’s no’ good enough fe the likes o’ you.’ He snipes, ‘I know for a fact ye’ll not last the shift.’
Not for the first time I wonder whether there is a section in the police training manual called
Easy steps to Provoking and Needling
only this is a skill MacIntyre really works hard at. Each meeting is like an Olympic pissing contest except there can only ever be one winner. I stay silent, yet still there’s only a slim chance of me coming through unscathed.
‘What they got ye doing then, sweeping the floor?’ MacIntyre smiles but his eyes are cold and hard.
‘Packing boxes.’ I mutter, wondering if this simple answer can incriminate me in some way, although for what, I can’t imagine. MacIntyre nods as though he already knows this answer and I’ve merely been sitting some kind of test. ‘Ye don’t have to be Einstein then, eh?’ He smirks.
I shrug, I’ve been told I was thick by every teacher in school, if this insult is intended to wind me up he’s way off beam; you can’t be offended by a fact.
‘Then again, with your pedigree….’ MacIntyre taunts. Here it comes, the bit about my Dad being an alkie and handy with his fists, especially where Mum was concerned. How come his jibes always end up with my Dad?
He was a wrong ‘un
so I’m destined to be one too? Is that it?
‘I mean,’ MacIntyre grins as though he’s second guessed my thoughts and has deliberately chosen to change tack, ‘I mean, what with ye mum being on the game and all, not exactly going tae come across many great male role models are ye?’
I keep my mouth clamped shut but it’s getting really hard not to rise to his bait. Digs about me or my old man I can cope with, but there’s not a soul on this earth who’ll get away with saying anything bad about Mum. She put food on the table every day of my childhood, made sure I had decent clothes and a roof over our heads. In fact life improved once Dad was no longer around and Mum was grateful to have a job that meant she was there for me when I’d been small.
Ye gotta roll with the punches, Son,
was the way she explained it,
ye have to deal with the hand ye’ve been dealt.
It wasn’t her fault I’d got in with a bad crowd. Yes, my bravado cost me a stint inside, but it was a mistake I had no intention of repeating.
‘Cat got your tongue?’ MacIntyre’s sly little eyes follow my gaze toward the office window and Candy, a knowing look flitting across his face. ‘Way out of your league, Sunshine,’ he smirks, nodding in her direction, ‘Especially when she hears about your pedigree.’
‘Go fuck yersel’.’ The words shoot out before I can stop them and in that moment I know how the rest of the day will pan out. Even at that point, there is little I can do to change the pattern of events.
PC MacIntyre’s eyes light up like a child on Christmas morning, ‘What did ye say, ye lanky streak o’ piss?’
‘Ye heard me.’ I say, in for a penny, in for a pound. I pull myself up to my full height, which I know will look to the copper in the car like I’m squaring up but by now I no longer give a shit.
I turn towards the wedged open fire exit I’d emerged from fifteen minutes earlier. The prefab building which has been my place of work for two whole days had offered endless possibilities; even the vain hope that Candy Staton would notice my existence. I look back to the canteen window; she’s noticed me now, right enough, but for all the wrong reasons.
I turn to MacIntyre. ‘They’re expecting me.’ I say simply.
‘They’re expecting ye to fuck up,’ he says scornfully, ‘Why don’t you do everyone a favour and crawl back under your stone?’
Ignoring him, I walk towards the open factory door; I figure putting some space between us might stop him feeling the need to intimidate.
‘Not so fast, Pal,’ He warns, putting his hand on my chest to prevent me from moving but I brush it aside, the sooner I get back indoors the better. A crowd has gathered beside Candy at the canteen window, watching as MacIntyre’s bulk blocks the entrance into the building, a smile plastered across his face.
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