Free Calibre by Ken Bruen

rehabilitation and the fear, the sickening, creeping fear. His body started to shake, and Jamil said:
    ‘Y’all want to turn on my music again.’
    McDonald turned to the console then ran for all he was worth, expecting shots in his back, and he was in the street, drenched in sweat but unhurt.
    Jamil seemed stunned that the cop had legged it, not half as stunned as Andrews, whose jaw had literally fallen. Jamil smiled, those gold teeth gleaming, the barrels swinging to her midriff, said:
    ‘How dat song go?… “I Got You Babe.” ‘

Well, whenever it gets too bad, I just step out and kill a few people. I frig them to death with a barbed-wire cob I have. After that I feel fine .
—Jim Thompson, The Killer Inside Me
     

19
     
    ROBERTS WAS THE first to arrive at Coldharbour Lane, followed by the Heavy Mob, the tooled-up gang, ready to shoot on sight, the street sealed off and all the preparations for a siege being set. McDonald, still sweating heavily, said to Roberts:
    ‘He’s got a sawn-off, Andrews is there with him.’
    Roberts stared at him, smelling the stink of desperation, asked:
    ‘How’d you get to be out here?’
    McDonald had been readying this since he’d called for back-up, said:
    ‘I ah… managed to distract him, then went for back-up.’
    Roberts’s eyes, boring through him, asked:
    ‘Let me see if I get this right. He has a gun, you distract him, then you take off. How’d that help Andrews?’
    McDonald wiped the sweat from his eyes, said:
    ‘It may not have been the best plan, but it was on the spur of the moment. I mean, better than him having two hostages, don’t you think?’
    Roberts looked round at the gathering force of coppers, said:
    ‘I’d work on that story before you tell it again. The way it is now, sounds like you fucked off
    McDonald had been praying that Roberts would buy the yarn. Now, in desperation, he said:
    ‘I’m sure Andrews will back up my view.’
    Roberts said:
    ‘If she comes out, you think saving your ass is going to be her first concern?’
    The door opened and McDonald heard the bolts on a 100 weapons rack, a sharp intake of breath seemed to course the street. Jamil was out first, his hands behind his back. Followed by Andrews.
    McDonald had wanted to roar:
    ‘Shoot the fucker.’
    Roberts was running to the house, shouting:
    ‘Hold your fire.’
    Jamil was handcuffed, and Andrews gave Roberts a small smile.
    In moments a wave of officers were all over Jamil, and Roberts led Andrews aside, asked:
    ‘You okay?’
    She seemed composed, said:
    ‘Yeah, I think so. The gun was empty. He was so stoned, he’d forgotten to load it.’
    Roberts looked at McDonald, who was hovering, asked:
    ‘Did he actually squeeze the trigger?’
    She turned, stared at McDonald for a moment, then turned back to Roberts, said:
    ‘Yes, he did.’
    Before Roberts could say anything, she said:
    ‘I’m okay, really, you don’t have to do anything.’
    Roberts strode over to where the cops were holding Jamil and, without a word, kneed him in the balls. Then he returned to Andrews, and she asked:
    ‘Would that hurt him a lot?’
    Roberts nodded and she smiled. When they were hauling Jamil away, he managed to croak:
    ‘Hoy you, dee geezer dat ran. Yo leave dee sister to fend alone, yo dee criminal, man.’
    Was heard loud and clear by all. McDonald tried to appear as if the guy was off his tree, shook his head in dismissal. Roberts said to Andrews:
    ‘We’ve got to get you to the station. When a firearm is discharged, the brass want you to be debriefed. But I think a large scotch en route would go down nicely, what do you think?’
    She seemed to be weighing this, then said:
    ‘Could I have a large Vodka, with lemonade?’
    Roberts held the door for her, closed it, then went to get in the driver’s seat. McDonald was standing, at a loss, and Roberts beckoned him, said:
    ‘The door of the house is still open. Could you close it?’ When McDonald seemed uncertain, Roberts