Free Mr. Love and Justice by Colin MacInnes

china-shop, what use is she going to be to us? Eh? Answer me that! Or ask me before you do these things. That’s what I’m here for: come and ask me!’
    ‘But sir,’ said Edward full of contrition, ‘brothels are often raided, aren’t they? Brothel-keeping cases do come up …’
    ‘Naturally, boy! But do use your loaf! You only raid the place when any advantages it may have to the Force are less than the prestige of a cast-iron brothel-keeping case. If vice has got to flourish, it had better flourish underneath our eyes until we’re ready to clamp down on it.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    The Detective-Sergeant lit his pipe. ‘You’ll soon see how it is,’ he said. ‘Sometimes, of course, the order comes to us from on high, and then we close the place up anyway. Or maybe the Madam forgets her place and fails to be co-operative. Or maybe there’s a change of personnel here at the station and somebody new in charge just doesn’t like her face. Those vice hustlers know all that, and so do we: the whole thing’s perfectly well understood. Except, of course, by idiots like you.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    A constable entered, saluted and said, ‘There’s a poof downstairs, sir, wants to bring an assault charge.’
    ‘Against who?’
    The constable looked at Edward.
    ‘Oh, no!’ the Detective-Sergeant cried. Then, to the constable, ‘Throw him out.’
    ‘He’s very persistent, sir. He says if we won’t wear it here he’ll take it to another station.’
    ‘ Does he?’ the Detective-Sergeant said, an ominous glint appearing in his clouded eyes. ‘Just wheel him in, Constable, will you?’ He then turned to Edward. ‘You’ve broken,’ he said, ‘the first rule of the business: which is to make an arrest, and fail to bring a charge and make it stick.’
    Edward said meekly, ‘Can’t we just charge him, sir, with being a queer?’
    The Detective-Sergeant didn’t even bother to answer. The male maid appeared and the uniformed constable withdrew. The Detective-Sergeant got up, punched the male maid five or six times very hard in an extremely dispassionate manner in the stomach, then threw him across a chair and said, ‘I know you’re a masochist and enjoy it, but don’t provoke me or there might be an accident. Now, listen. What happened down at your place tonight just didn’t happen. Do you understand? If I hear a squeak out of you, or anybody, I’m taking you in, not on a vice charge which I know you wouldn’t mind, but on a charge of robbing a client there and, believe me, everything will be present and correct: witnesses andstolen goods, your own sworn statement – the whole lot. You poofs have a high time in the nick, three in a cell, as we all well know. But this wouldn’t be months I’d get you, sonny, it’d be years. And think of it, you might grow old and grey and unattractive, ’specially if I dropped a hint about you to the screws. So. Just apologise to my officer for all the trouble you’ve caused everyone, withdraw your charge as you pass the desk on your way out, and get back to bed again with your current husband.’
    The male maid left in silence: though not without a yearning, reproachful glance at Edward.
    Then the Detective-Sergeant said: ‘Now you, son. Please understand: I can’t have anything more like this from you, either. You’ve got to improve your performance quite a bit or I’ll lose my patience with you.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘All right. Fuck off home.’
    Edward stood at attention in salute, but hesitated before moving off. ‘Well?’ said the Detective-Sergeant.
    ‘Sir: it’s just a question, sir, of procedure. This hitting them. I know the rule is you never do. But could you tell me please, sir, when you can do?’
    A cracked smile appeared on the Detective-Sergeant’s life-battered countenance.
    ‘Well, son,’ he said, ‘number one, in public, never. The citizens don’t like it. Also, they don’t believe we do it. Of course, if you’re quite obviously attacked