Free The Reaper by Steven Dunne

live, haven’t I? They’re insured.
    I’m better off in pokey. I’ve learnt some good stuff. Get out. Get some dosh together. Go back in. Lesson learned. If only I’d listened in school, made more of myself. Too late now. Gotta tough it out. Can’t admit I’ve gone wrong. What’s wrong with driving a minicab? Life’s okay. We’re coping, waiting for those numbers.Doing fine. Kids have left. We’ll get by. Is this it? All there is.
    Brook looked at his watch. He had a lot to do. He looked around to see if anybody was watching then cocked his leg back to kick the bed but then thought better of it.
    But suddenly the patient snorted and began to stir. Brook looked through the gap in the curtain for the social worker but saw no sign.
    ‘What’s happening? Where am I?’ he croaked.
    Brook went to the bed and looked down at him. ‘You’re in hospital, Jason.’
    Jason sat up and blinked at his surroundings. He rubbed at the tube inserted in his forearm then looked up at Brook.
    ‘I’m thirsty,’ he said in that whining voice children use to ask for something without the bother of having to ask. Brook poured him some water from a jug and he drank it down in one, occasionally darting an eye at his impassive visitor. The wariness of the guilty conscience was the first defence mechanism to be revived. He thrust the glass back at Brook for a refill and drank again, more slowly this time.
    Thinking time, thought Brook. Eventually Jason cracked.
    ‘Who are you?’ he asked.
    ‘Detective Inspector Brook.’ The answer didn’t seem to surprise Jason.
    ‘Fuck do
you
want?’ he snarled. The routine fear of authority, accepted in Brook’s distant youth, was now a faded memory–a museum piece of a reaction. Today the obligatory response of youth was contempt. Contemptfor those who couldn’t stop them doing exactly as they pleased. Parents, teachers, coppers.
    ‘I can’t talk to you without an adult present. The social worker…’
    ‘What you on about?’
    ‘I can’t talk to you without another adult present. Those are the rules, Jason. I’m sure you know the procedure by now.’
    Jason leered at Brook. ‘Oh I get it. It’s that fuckin’ teacher been spreadin’ her lies again. I told you lot before, I never laid a finger on it. Get my dad in here.’
    ‘That would be difficult.’
    ‘You can’t interview me without an adult.’
    ‘I just told
you
that.’
    ‘Then stop hassling me.’
    ‘I’ve gotta say, Jason, you’ve got this whole performance down perfectly.’
    ‘Fuck off! And who the fuck are you?’ demanded Jason looking past Brook.
    ‘My name’s Carly Graham, Jason. I’m a social worker.’
    Brook turned and smiled at her. ‘Detective Inspector Brook.’ She was young and slim with long brown hair, attractive in a pale, mousy kind of way. She wore a tight brown sweater and a brown corduroy skirt down to her calves, where fur-lined brown suede boots took over. Jason looked her up and down, thinking what to say next.
    ‘Inspector. You shouldn’t be interviewing Jason without at least one adult present. He’s under age and vulnerable.’
    ‘I keep fucking telling him,’ spat Jason.
    ‘No I keep telling you, Jason. I’m not interviewing him, Miss Graham. I just got here and Jason just woke up and I’ve told him repeatedly I can’t speak to him on his own.’
    ‘It’s against the rules,’ she continued, to establish her firm grip on procedure.
    ‘That could’ve been me talking, Miss Graham,’ replied Brook, a half-smile on his lips.
    ‘I don’t feel too good,’ wailed Jason, holding his recently pumped stomach.
    ‘Under the circumstances, I don’t think you should be taking things so lightly, Inspector.’
    ‘No, I suppose not,’ replied Brook, making no effort to take things more seriously.
    ‘What circumstances?’ moaned Jason.
    ‘It can wait until…’ began Carly Graham.
    ‘No it fucking can’t. I want to know why he’s here so keep your mouth shut, bitch, until