Free Hearts of Stone by Mark Timlin Page A

boys. I like that.’
    â€˜They got to know me. The car worked just like Endesleigh said it would.’
    â€˜Shrewd bloke. Youngest DCI in the country.’
    â€˜Is that right?’
    â€˜It is. So, how was Sonny’s?’
    â€˜Interesting.’
    â€˜You get fucked?’
    I nodded.
    â€˜Which one?’
    â€˜Kylie.’
    â€˜Oh, Kylie. Hot stuff I believe.’
    â€˜You know her, too?’
    â€˜Course I do. I know all the tarts who work there. I told you I like to know the territory.’
    â€˜Bit of a waste for you, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Don’t get funny.’
    â€˜Sorry.’
    â€˜So what’s the strength with Seeley and Hughes?’
    â€˜We’re going out again. It could get pricey. I’ll need some exes. I am supposed to be a bit of a ducker and diver, after all. Break into the contingency fund.’
    â€˜I’ll see what I can do. How much?’
    â€˜Well, last night’s little caper must have cost the best part of a grand. They paid for everything.’
    â€˜Including Kylie?’
    I nodded.
    â€˜You did have a result. And you want exes money as well. What were you drinking?’
    â€˜Champagne.’
    â€˜The real stuff or the crap?’
    â€˜The stuff we drank had Moët on the label, and it tasted real enough to me.’
    â€˜Moët, eh? It’s about a ton and a quarter a bottle at Sonny’s.’
    â€˜How much?’
    â€˜A ton and a quarter, or thereabouts.’
    â€˜Straight up?’
    â€˜Straight up.’
    â€˜Then the bill must have been well over a grand. They said they’d had a good week.’
    â€˜I bet they fucking did,’ spat Brady.
    â€˜And that’s not counting the coke we had. Seeley had a bagful big enough to choke a donkey.’
    â€˜You had some, did you?’
    â€˜What do you think? I had to. Protective colouring they call it. And next time I’m supposed to be paying. You’d better get me some scratch. I need all my money for my old age.’
    â€˜What, next year?’
    â€˜Very good. I’ll have to remember that. So?’
    â€˜I’ll get you some cash. Don’t worry.’
    â€˜Good. Make sure you do.’
    â€˜Do you know when they’re getting in touch?’
    I shrugged. ‘No. Seeley was too out of it when he dropped me off last night. But I’m working tonight. It’s Saturday. They might pop in.’
    â€˜Right, I’ll get you some cash tomorrow. Are you working?’
    â€˜Day off – all day.’
    â€˜Doing anything?’
    â€˜The Observer crossword. And catching up on lost sleep.’
    â€˜You are getting old. I’ll be round about six.’
    â€˜You’d better give me your number, just in case.’
    â€˜Right,’ he said, and went through his pockets until he came up with a scrap of paper. ‘Got a pen?’ he asked.
    â€˜Is this the new face of the Met then?’ I said. ‘High-tech, computer-literate, but still short of a biro?’
    â€˜I’m old-fashioned.’
    I shook my head and found one, and he scribbled down three numbers. ‘Home, car and bleeper,’ he said. ‘Twenty-four hours a day. Like you said, high-tech.’
    â€˜I am impressed,’ I assured him.
    â€˜I’d better split,’ he said. ‘Things to do.’ He finished his coffee and left. I made more tea and read the paper until it was time to get ready for work.

17
    I was on time for work that night. Early in fact. I rolled in about six. The place was fairly full, and JJ and the two barmaids were busy.
    â€˜Want a hand?’ I asked.
    â€˜Clear the tables will you, Nick?’ said JJ. ‘It’s been a bloody nightmare in here this afternoon.’
    I took off my jacket and got stuck in. At six-thirty the shifts changed. That Saturday night we had a chef on, JJ worked the restaurant, and I ran the bar with one barmaid. By eight the place was buzzing.