Free Cleaning Up by Paul Connor-Kearns

Ferry’s voice, he and Lee had cracked up a couple of times, like two teenagers giddily sharing a joint.
    All that time had gone, he thought and, tonight, he didn’t mind that fact at all.
     
    Darrin had lucked out so far with the drug op, he’d been hoping for a pair up with Moz or even that stone faced fucker Clarke. But, no, no go, Johno and Jolika were given the nod instead. He’d badgered Sarge Thomas about it but to no fucking avail.
    ‘Not my decision son, don’t take it personal like. They like to rotate you anyway, sort out the potential diamonds from the turds.’ Thomas laughed loudly at his own mordant wit. There was no gilding the lily with that Taff prick.
    ‘Anyway PC May, there’s plenty else for you to do in’t there? It’s not the only bloody movie showin’ you know. There’s still plenty of patrol to be done, the desk and bringing me cups of tea…speaking of which, there’s a lad now, you know how I like it.’
    And that was it, end of discussion and an outline of his next few weeks in a nutshell. He bitched about it until the crew started to get sick of him. Even good old indulgent Trish started to put a swerve on him and look in the other direction. He took the frustration out on the bags and pads at his old man’s gym - pistoning away at them in a mute fury until he had nothing left.
    He’d got a collar towards the end of the week, some scrotecaught nicking from the pound shop and he’s given the guy a quick dig in the kidneys on the way back to the car. Debbie Roach had clocked it but let it go, her silence as they headed back to the station was everything that he needed to know. He saw Mozzer a couple of times at change over, but all was quiet at the moment.
    He’d asked Moz how Jolika was going just for the sake of talking about the op.
    ‘Yeah - good, patient she is, unlike you son, that is for fucking definite. Can’t get her to have a go at the cheese and pickle butties though.’
    Darrin laughed and Moz patted him on the shoulder.
    ‘Don’t worry son, this shit is going nowhere. Heads will roll and new ones will replace them, just like the fucking Medusa it is.’
    Crumbs of fucking comfort, he thought. That night he’d got himself trashed and Johno and Clarkey had to pull him away from some civilian who’d made a half-hearted grab of Trish’s arse. With a gentle but persistent persuasion they had shepherded him into a taxi and Johno had climbed in with him to make sure that he had got all the way home.
    Big Ged had approached him the next day as he was on his way back from the canteen, deliberately blocking his passage in the narrow corridor. Ged had been in the bar last night but had kept his distance when it had all kicked off.
    The big man held his hand up and then leaned into him a little, giving Darrin a whiff of mints and something else that had a lot more fire to it. Keegan didn’t drop his hand when Darrin came to a dead halt in front of him. He kept it up and lightly placed his thick index finger against Darrin’s solar plexus. He could hear Keegan’s breath whistling through hisnose. It was all a bit too close and personal.
    ‘You need to chill out a bit young Dazzler. Kicking up too much dust you are.’
    The big man was smiling but the eyes held no comfort.
    ‘I heard you’re pissed off about not being asked to climb into a suit. But, well, that’s just fucking tough that is. We all serve our time here son. Team play that’s what we’re about, accepting the status quo. You’re not Wyatt Earp lad. Getting into it with a civilian in a boozer - now that is fucking stupid - right?’
    The big man shook his head at him in disgust.
    Keegan had slightly increased the pressure on his solar plexus just to underscore his point. His heart was racing but he held the gaze.
    ‘Right son?’ Keegan wanted a response from him.
    ‘Okay Sarge - sorted.’
    Ged Keegan nodded at him amicably enough.
    ‘You’re a good-un young Daz. That’s what I get told anyways.