[fic] Truth and Consequences
Title: Truth and Consequences
Author: Fionnabair
Rating: Brown Cortina - adult themes, not graphic.
Word count: 3406
Summary: Sometimes jobs go wrong, and everyone pays the price.
Author’s notes: Follows on from Crime and Punishment; The Ninth Circle; Disciplinary Procedures; and A Game of Two Halves (All part of the Hookerverse). Thanks to m31andy for the usual superb beta and for feeding the bunnies. Even if they have turned monstrous.
Disclaimer: Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Truth and Consequences
Annie
It had been a strange night. Going out undercover wasn’t unusual in itself, but Annie was more used to being stuck behind a counter, pretending to work in a bank or a post office, or smiling sweetly behind a bar and taking no nonsense. Instead she was dolled up to the nines, the source of appreciative comments from the rest of the team, and a full-on leer from the Guv, dancing in a nightclub, looking around her as if she was bored with her date.
She was actually a bit worried about her date, but Chris was handling it well. Lurching slightly, although for a miracle he hadn’t been drinking before, pretending to be fascinated by her cleavage, which, she had to admit, he was, but on the whole, keeping his mind on the job and keeping an eye out for the man they were following and giving the impression of a man who was desperately trying to impress the pretty girl he’d persuaded out. Suddenly he froze, mid-gyration.
“Isn’t that the bo... Sam Tyler?” he hissed at Annie.
She glanced in the direction that Chris nodded. In the distance she could see a familiar figure, tight jeans, half-open shirt, on the edge of the dance floor, accompanied by another man.
“Looks like it,” she muttered back. “Ignore him. He’s nothing to do with what we’re here for.”
She couldn’t resist keeping a covert eye on him though. He seemed to be okay, having a drink with the man, the pair of them occasionally dancing. A spark of jealousy flared when she saw him chatting to another woman, laughing. It flared even more when she recognised the woman as Sukey, the prostitute the Guv had brought along to the wife-swapping party so long ago.
An hour later, Annie’s feet were aching, and she and Chris were standing by the bar, sipping drinks, looking as if they were getting on much better, when they got the signal. She’d lost sight of Sam earlier on and had forced herself to concentrate on the job in hand. Taking Chris’s hand, she followed him towards the back of the club as if they were looking for a quiet corner. She giggled and looked adoringly at him, for all the world a slightly inebriated girl whose date was determined to take advantage of the fact. Their sheer obviousness got them through some doors, and Chris pushed Annie back against the wall, leaning in, blocking the exit at the back.
The raid went with textbook perfection. The armed bastards piled in the front, the bad guys ran out, only to discover an armed Annie and Chris waiting for them. Five minutes later, all the suspects were cuffed and being led away by uniform, while Gene grinned at the sight of the haul in one of the rooms.
“Looks like we’ve bagged a nice little drug ring here,” he beamed. “Skelton, Cartwright, go check the rooms at the back to make sure no little nonce is hiding in there.”
The rooms appeared to be empty, until they reached the last one. At a cursory glance, it appeared to be empty too, but Annie conscientiously crossed the room to check behind a couch.
“Chris!” she called urgently. “Get the Guv. It’s Sam.”
She knelt down beside Sam. He was fully dressed, but his shirt was half-unbuttoned and ripped and a livid red mark across his throat showed what had happened. Remembering her first aid training, she checked his breathing, which was regular but shallow, and felt for a pulse.
“Give over, Cartwright,” snapped the Guv behind her. “You don’t know where he’s been.”
He reached down and caught Annie’s arm, pulling her back up and away from the unconscious man.
“It looks like someone tried to strangle him,” she said, trying for professionalism and only partially succeeding. “From the marks, I’d say with a belt.”
“Yeah, well, do you want to call forensics, Nancy Drew? They can dust for prints. Find loads of them, from what I’ve heard.” He pulled her further back as Sam coughed and stirred and a couple of uniformed officers stuck their heads around the door. “Well, it looks like he’ll live, time to knock it on the head for the night.”
“Guv, he might be a witness, more evidence,” she said. “And what about the man who did this to him? I saw Sam with him earlier.”
He looked at her, a calculating glint in his eye.
“Right. Good point, Cartwright. Oi, you mob! When he wakes up, take him around to the station. We want to have a word with him.”
As Annie turned to follow her colleagues out the door, he muttered in her ear: “Fiver says he won’t say a word about the man who did this to him, though.”
She turned to look at him, and he gave her a long stare. “Forget about him, Cartwright. You were always too good for him.”
From Gene Hunt, that was practically kindness. She wondered what Sam had been doing, that the Guv would want to protect her from the knowledge.
Ray
He sat there silently in Lost and Found, facing Ray and the Guv.
“Come on, Tyler,” said Ray. “What the hell were you doing back there in the middle of a drugs raid? Are you dealing?”
“I don’t know what was going on. I went back there and next thing I was knocked out.”
“Why were you back there in the first place? You using?”
Tyler sat back, a malicious grin on his face as he looked over at Ray.
“Having some fun with a… friend. It’s not against the law. Do you want details, DS Carling?”
“We are not interested in the sordid little details of your perverted life, Tyler,” snapped Gene. “Why were you there?”
Tyler sat up straighter, wiping the grin off his face. “Met this bloke, he wanted to go out. So we went to the club. Then we went off to be a bit more private. Next thing I know, I’m staring up at a copper’s mug. I’ve had better nights.” He lowered his head and started looking intently at his hands.
“And what were you doing back there, Tyler? Soliciting’s a crime,” demanded Ray.
“I wasn’t paid. Did you find any money on me?”
“For all we know, you’d do it for 50p, Tyler,” sneered Ray.
Tyler didn’t rise to the bait and continued looking down. He answered subsequent questions in a monosyllabic tone. No, he wasn’t involved in drugs. No, he didn’t recognise any names that they threw at him. No, he hadn’t realised that the back of the club was being used by a drugs ring. No, he didn’t know the full name of the bloke who’d throttled him. No, he hadn’t been breaking the law.
He seemed to grow smaller and smaller with each question Ray threw at him, refusing to look at the Guv, who sat there with a disgusted expression on his face. Ray couldn’t blame him, as he himself couldn’t quite believe what Tyler was doing these days. It didn’t make sense. For all the jokes and snide comments, he knew Tyler wasn’t a poof and he wondered just how desperate a man would have to be to do what he was doing. Or how frightened. Ray had seen scared prostitutes before, more terrified of their pimps than the law, willing to lie, cheat, do anything rather than get into trouble with the men who owned their bodies. But Tyler was a fighter. What had happened to him to change him like this?
Whatever it was, he suspected the Guv knew. Gene was holding off, being almost gentle with him. Normally, Ray would have bet on him bouncing Tyler off the walls within two minutes, but he’d just sat back and looked - blank. Maybe he didn’t want to soil his hands with Tyler, but Gene Hunt was never scared to get his hands dirty. If Ray didn’t know better, he’d have sworn that Tyler was being treated with kid gloves.
“Why, Tyler? Why are you flogging your arse for any queer who wants it? I didn’t have you figured for a poofter.”
“For Christ’s sake, Ray, we’re busy. We don’t need a two-hour soul search from the arse bandit,” snapped Gene. “I don’t want the details and I don’t care why Tyler’s sucking off half of the poofs in Manchester. Tyler, do you know anything about the raid tonight?”
Sam looked straight in Gene’s eyes. “No,” he said with quiet certainty.
“Right, that’s it, you can go,” barked Gene. “I don’t want to see you in here again.”
Tyler was silent as he rose and Ray wondered what had happened to the chippy DI he once knew. As he walked around the table, his face changed for a split second. In that moment, Ray could have sworn he saw emotions he never expected to see in Tyler’s face - fear and despair. Not at the police, not at his situation, but specifically at the Guv.
But Tyler knew the Guv, knew he wasn’t like that. Hell, he probably knew that the Guv had checked Tyler out regularly, making sure that no-one took the opportunity to go after a disgraced copper. The Guv had his standards, and had been disgusted by Tyler’s behaviour. He was even more disgusted by what Tyler was doing now to stay alive, but as long as Tyler kept his nose clean, the Guv would leave him alone. And alone was how he looked, walking out the door, back to his own world.
“Come on, Raimondo,” said Gene, breaking in on his reverie. “All done, let’s go to the pub.”
They headed out the door, Gene having informed Chris in his usual style that he was being permitted to buy his Guv a drink. At the front desk, they could see Tyler signing for his stuff from Phyllis, who was giving him the cold shoulder.
“Sam! Sam, wait up!”
Ray stood back as Annie ran past him towards the desk.
“What?” Tyler demanded, his voice as surly as his posture.
“You’re not well, Sam. You need help.”
He looked at her, and Ray caught his breath. He’d never seen such rage in Tyler’s eyes, even in those past times when he thought his then DI would have willingly killed him.
“No, I don’t. And what do you care? You weren’t there when I needed help. You walked away.”
He turned on his heel and strode out of the police station. At the front desk, Phyllis leaned forward.
“Some people won’t take help, Annie. Leave him be.”
Gene stopped behind her, looking contemptuous.
“Save your pennies, Cartwright, and you can have him again by the hour. In the meantime, we’re going to the pub. Get your arse in gear.”
Ray, passing a frozen Annie, never wanted to see that much pain in a woman’s eyes again. He didn’t know if he wanted to punch Tyler or the Guv for putting it there.
Chris
The atmosphere down the Railway Arms was curiously subdued that night. Considering they’d just nailed a drugs ring and its distribution network, the team were remarkably quiet.
Annie looked as though she wanted to cry, Phyllis was taciturn, the Guv was more ascerbic than ever and Ray looked as though he was thinking hard about something. Clearly it was up to Chris to lighten the atmosphere. Being Chris, he did it in the worst way possible.
“Still, we nailed those bastards anyway,” he offered cheerfully. “Strange to see Sam Tyler there. Did he tip you off, Guv?”
Whatever reaction Chris was hoping for, it wasn’t the one he got. Annie sank her face in her hands, Phyllis gave him a glare that would have killed a less oblivious man, Ray muttered “you div!” under his breath and Gene turned purple.
“That corrupt little arse bandit had nothing to do with it!” he yelled. “The little bastard was selling his wares and got caught in the backlash.”
Chris was genuinely confused.
“Dealing? Why didn’t you charge him?”
Gene choked some more. Beside him, Ray looked as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or hit Chris.
“Not dealing, Chris,” interjected Phyllis. “Tyler’s on a different game these days.”
“Different game?”
“You know,” said Ray, making a vigorous gesture. “Spends a lot of time on his knees, and he’s not a religious man.”
Chris was still processing the news. “Hang on, Tyler’s a prozzie?”
“Yes, Chris,” said Gene in an exaggeratedly patient voice.
“So, like, women pay him to screw them?”
Ray choked.
“No, Chris.” Gene’s voice sounded like he was talking to a subnormal four-year-old. “Blokes pay to fuck him up the arse.” He knocked back half the contents of the glass in front of him. “Or pay him to suck them off.”
Chris sprayed beer across the table.
“But Sam’s not gay, sir!” protested Annie.
“Give over, Cartwright. The sooner you accept your old boyfriend prefers taking it up the arse to you, the better. And me glass is empty.”
Annie got up silently.
“I’ve seen him with birds,” Ray volunteered. “Dressed up in the posh seats at the Free Trade Hall.” Everyone at the table looked at him. “Look, me bird likes weird music. Gets me to take her to concerts sometimes.”
“Yeah, well, Tyler can charm the birds. Lots of rich blokes who pay him to take the missus to a posh do and after she’s said goodnight give him a good seeing-to.”
Phyllis got up and followed Annie to the bar, and started talking in a quiet voice to her.
“Bloody hell, Guv!” exclaimed Chris in disgust. “How can he do that?”
“He was always a poof,” said Gene dismissively.
“But… Ray?”
Ray looked down into his glass. “Well, it’s not like there’s much work a bloke like Tyler can get, Chris. At least we’re not fishing his corpse out of the canal because he’s decided to top himself and make more work for us.”
“How very tolerant of you, Raimondo,” said Gene, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Was it a line of work you would consider yourself?” Even in his confusion, Chris could feel the atmosphere thicken.
Ray lightened the atmosphere. “Can’t see me getting much trade, can you, Guv?” He grinned, wickedly. “Pretty lad like Chris, on the other hand…”
It worked. While Chris was still being indignant, the Guv was choking with laughter, his mood changed in an instant.
“Anyway, Tyler was an idiot. He got what he deserved. Serves him right for being a uptight little arse. You wouldn’t catch me rocking the boat like that.”
He downed his drink. For some reason Chris couldn’t fathom, the Guv raised his glass to Ray. “And that’s why you’re a good copper, DS Carling.”
Sam
The lights were off. Not because of a power cut, but because Sam didn’t want them on. There was too much silence and light that made him look at his life. Sordid as it was, miserable, violent, lacking hope, Sam didn’t want to lose it. He’d already died once, he knew. Now he was going to die again. Not by his own hand this time, but nonetheless, he was a dead man.
He wondered what form it would take, although he already knew what Death would look like when He walked through the door. He wouldn’t run. He’d been a coward too many times before and it was time to stop. Sitting on the sofa, his knees pulled up to his chin, the only light from the street outside, Sam waited.
He knew he wouldn’t fight Death. There was no point in fighting the inevitable and he had died before the day he walked into this flat. Tasteful for the era, with a comfortable - too comfortable - bed and a luxurious bathroom and a kitchen where he could cook, Sam had accepted that he’d become Death’s whore. Literally.
He’d done what he was told, and spread his legs and opened his mouth on Death’s orders, a receptacle for whatever he was told to do, obediently going where he was told to go.
And like a corpse, he owned nothing. His home, his food, the very clothes on his back were paid for by Death. Like a corpse, he never expressed a personal opinion. Death had been neutral, as Death was supposed to be. Sam obeyed his master and his terms were generous enough.
Every week, Death stopped by and left some notes on the table by the door. Pennies for Sam’s eyes, he thought of them. After all, everyone pays the ferryman and even Charon has to deal with inflation. Sam had taken that ferry so often he should have bought a season ticket. But he couldn’t stop travelling. Each trip was a new death, so many it didn’t hurt anymore, regardless of the details. Sometimes they were kind, the oblivion of an anaesthetic as they gently caressed Sam, concerned for his pleasure too. A poet was needed to describe the ecstasy of those deaths. Sometimes they were secretive, a sharp stab in an alley where no-one would find the body and display the murderer’s disgrace. Sometimes it was violent, a public gunning-down, his corpse on display for all to see. It didn’t matter. It was still death, whether it came in the uncaring eyes of a lout interested only in gratification, the frightened eyes of a scared man who couldn’t admit what he was, or the gentle eyes of a kind soul who had no idea of who Sam was. And through it all, Death stalked, keeping his corpses on the straight and narrow.
Sam knew some of his fellow dead. Two of them lived in the building too and after a certain period of adjustment - Sam had heard the hiss of “copper” the day he moved in - they had a civilised relationship. Really, they were roomy coffins they had and they were probably quite fortunate corpses. No mass grave for them. Death valued them. Death kept them safe. And they all knew there was no life after Death.
But Sam had broken the rules. Not by his own choice, but nonetheless he had crossed the final border from which there was no return. And so he waited for Death, and his ultimate grave.
He could hear Death on the stairs now, talking to one of the girls. Sukey, from the sound of it, because Death was laughing, delaying his arrival upstairs. But all too soon, the feet on the stairs recommenced their climb and the door opened.
“Dark in here,” said Gene. “How about some light?”
Barely acknowledging Sam’s presence, he flicked on the main light and walked over to the sideboard where he poured two glasses of Scotch. Sitting down opposite Sam, he pushed the glass towards him.
“So what happened?” he asked.
Sam looked up from where he was contemplating his knees. “You arrested me.”
“No I didn’t. I found you in dubious circumstances in a raid on a dodgy club and pulled you in for questioning. When it became clear you had nothing to do with it, I released you. What I want to know is what happened before?”
“Dunno. I met the client, he wanted to go out, we wound up in a back room at the club, I start to do what he wants and next thing, he’s throttling me and does a runner. I suppose he heard the raid.”
“And that’s it?” Gene’s voice was very quiet.
“That’s it.” Sam shrugged, downed half the whisky and returned to staring at his knees.
“He came recommended by a good customer. I’ll have words with him about his friends. You won’t be seeing him again.”
Gene stood up and drained his glass. He reached into his coat and produced two envelopes.
“There’s the next few days’ jobs,” he said. “And a bit extra for you. You did good last night. Kept your head. I won’t forget that.”
He laid the envelopes on the table by the door.
“You won’t get grief for what happened,” he added. “I put the plonk off. Figured you wouldn’t want her knocking on your door. And for the rest - well, I’m sorry it happened.”
It was the first personal concern Gene Hunt had expressed in a long time, and as the door shut behind him, the tears started falling down Sam’s face.
Author: Fionnabair
Rating: Brown Cortina - adult themes, not graphic.
Word count: 3406
Summary: Sometimes jobs go wrong, and everyone pays the price.
Author’s notes: Follows on from Crime and Punishment; The Ninth Circle; Disciplinary Procedures; and A Game of Two Halves (All part of the Hookerverse). Thanks to m31andy for the usual superb beta and for feeding the bunnies. Even if they have turned monstrous.
Disclaimer: Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Truth and Consequences
Annie
It had been a strange night. Going out undercover wasn’t unusual in itself, but Annie was more used to being stuck behind a counter, pretending to work in a bank or a post office, or smiling sweetly behind a bar and taking no nonsense. Instead she was dolled up to the nines, the source of appreciative comments from the rest of the team, and a full-on leer from the Guv, dancing in a nightclub, looking around her as if she was bored with her date.
She was actually a bit worried about her date, but Chris was handling it well. Lurching slightly, although for a miracle he hadn’t been drinking before, pretending to be fascinated by her cleavage, which, she had to admit, he was, but on the whole, keeping his mind on the job and keeping an eye out for the man they were following and giving the impression of a man who was desperately trying to impress the pretty girl he’d persuaded out. Suddenly he froze, mid-gyration.
“Isn’t that the bo... Sam Tyler?” he hissed at Annie.
She glanced in the direction that Chris nodded. In the distance she could see a familiar figure, tight jeans, half-open shirt, on the edge of the dance floor, accompanied by another man.
“Looks like it,” she muttered back. “Ignore him. He’s nothing to do with what we’re here for.”
She couldn’t resist keeping a covert eye on him though. He seemed to be okay, having a drink with the man, the pair of them occasionally dancing. A spark of jealousy flared when she saw him chatting to another woman, laughing. It flared even more when she recognised the woman as Sukey, the prostitute the Guv had brought along to the wife-swapping party so long ago.
An hour later, Annie’s feet were aching, and she and Chris were standing by the bar, sipping drinks, looking as if they were getting on much better, when they got the signal. She’d lost sight of Sam earlier on and had forced herself to concentrate on the job in hand. Taking Chris’s hand, she followed him towards the back of the club as if they were looking for a quiet corner. She giggled and looked adoringly at him, for all the world a slightly inebriated girl whose date was determined to take advantage of the fact. Their sheer obviousness got them through some doors, and Chris pushed Annie back against the wall, leaning in, blocking the exit at the back.
The raid went with textbook perfection. The armed bastards piled in the front, the bad guys ran out, only to discover an armed Annie and Chris waiting for them. Five minutes later, all the suspects were cuffed and being led away by uniform, while Gene grinned at the sight of the haul in one of the rooms.
“Looks like we’ve bagged a nice little drug ring here,” he beamed. “Skelton, Cartwright, go check the rooms at the back to make sure no little nonce is hiding in there.”
The rooms appeared to be empty, until they reached the last one. At a cursory glance, it appeared to be empty too, but Annie conscientiously crossed the room to check behind a couch.
“Chris!” she called urgently. “Get the Guv. It’s Sam.”
She knelt down beside Sam. He was fully dressed, but his shirt was half-unbuttoned and ripped and a livid red mark across his throat showed what had happened. Remembering her first aid training, she checked his breathing, which was regular but shallow, and felt for a pulse.
“Give over, Cartwright,” snapped the Guv behind her. “You don’t know where he’s been.”
He reached down and caught Annie’s arm, pulling her back up and away from the unconscious man.
“It looks like someone tried to strangle him,” she said, trying for professionalism and only partially succeeding. “From the marks, I’d say with a belt.”
“Yeah, well, do you want to call forensics, Nancy Drew? They can dust for prints. Find loads of them, from what I’ve heard.” He pulled her further back as Sam coughed and stirred and a couple of uniformed officers stuck their heads around the door. “Well, it looks like he’ll live, time to knock it on the head for the night.”
“Guv, he might be a witness, more evidence,” she said. “And what about the man who did this to him? I saw Sam with him earlier.”
He looked at her, a calculating glint in his eye.
“Right. Good point, Cartwright. Oi, you mob! When he wakes up, take him around to the station. We want to have a word with him.”
As Annie turned to follow her colleagues out the door, he muttered in her ear: “Fiver says he won’t say a word about the man who did this to him, though.”
She turned to look at him, and he gave her a long stare. “Forget about him, Cartwright. You were always too good for him.”
From Gene Hunt, that was practically kindness. She wondered what Sam had been doing, that the Guv would want to protect her from the knowledge.
Ray
He sat there silently in Lost and Found, facing Ray and the Guv.
“Come on, Tyler,” said Ray. “What the hell were you doing back there in the middle of a drugs raid? Are you dealing?”
“I don’t know what was going on. I went back there and next thing I was knocked out.”
“Why were you back there in the first place? You using?”
Tyler sat back, a malicious grin on his face as he looked over at Ray.
“Having some fun with a… friend. It’s not against the law. Do you want details, DS Carling?”
“We are not interested in the sordid little details of your perverted life, Tyler,” snapped Gene. “Why were you there?”
Tyler sat up straighter, wiping the grin off his face. “Met this bloke, he wanted to go out. So we went to the club. Then we went off to be a bit more private. Next thing I know, I’m staring up at a copper’s mug. I’ve had better nights.” He lowered his head and started looking intently at his hands.
“And what were you doing back there, Tyler? Soliciting’s a crime,” demanded Ray.
“I wasn’t paid. Did you find any money on me?”
“For all we know, you’d do it for 50p, Tyler,” sneered Ray.
Tyler didn’t rise to the bait and continued looking down. He answered subsequent questions in a monosyllabic tone. No, he wasn’t involved in drugs. No, he didn’t recognise any names that they threw at him. No, he hadn’t realised that the back of the club was being used by a drugs ring. No, he didn’t know the full name of the bloke who’d throttled him. No, he hadn’t been breaking the law.
He seemed to grow smaller and smaller with each question Ray threw at him, refusing to look at the Guv, who sat there with a disgusted expression on his face. Ray couldn’t blame him, as he himself couldn’t quite believe what Tyler was doing these days. It didn’t make sense. For all the jokes and snide comments, he knew Tyler wasn’t a poof and he wondered just how desperate a man would have to be to do what he was doing. Or how frightened. Ray had seen scared prostitutes before, more terrified of their pimps than the law, willing to lie, cheat, do anything rather than get into trouble with the men who owned their bodies. But Tyler was a fighter. What had happened to him to change him like this?
Whatever it was, he suspected the Guv knew. Gene was holding off, being almost gentle with him. Normally, Ray would have bet on him bouncing Tyler off the walls within two minutes, but he’d just sat back and looked - blank. Maybe he didn’t want to soil his hands with Tyler, but Gene Hunt was never scared to get his hands dirty. If Ray didn’t know better, he’d have sworn that Tyler was being treated with kid gloves.
“Why, Tyler? Why are you flogging your arse for any queer who wants it? I didn’t have you figured for a poofter.”
“For Christ’s sake, Ray, we’re busy. We don’t need a two-hour soul search from the arse bandit,” snapped Gene. “I don’t want the details and I don’t care why Tyler’s sucking off half of the poofs in Manchester. Tyler, do you know anything about the raid tonight?”
Sam looked straight in Gene’s eyes. “No,” he said with quiet certainty.
“Right, that’s it, you can go,” barked Gene. “I don’t want to see you in here again.”
Tyler was silent as he rose and Ray wondered what had happened to the chippy DI he once knew. As he walked around the table, his face changed for a split second. In that moment, Ray could have sworn he saw emotions he never expected to see in Tyler’s face - fear and despair. Not at the police, not at his situation, but specifically at the Guv.
But Tyler knew the Guv, knew he wasn’t like that. Hell, he probably knew that the Guv had checked Tyler out regularly, making sure that no-one took the opportunity to go after a disgraced copper. The Guv had his standards, and had been disgusted by Tyler’s behaviour. He was even more disgusted by what Tyler was doing now to stay alive, but as long as Tyler kept his nose clean, the Guv would leave him alone. And alone was how he looked, walking out the door, back to his own world.
“Come on, Raimondo,” said Gene, breaking in on his reverie. “All done, let’s go to the pub.”
They headed out the door, Gene having informed Chris in his usual style that he was being permitted to buy his Guv a drink. At the front desk, they could see Tyler signing for his stuff from Phyllis, who was giving him the cold shoulder.
“Sam! Sam, wait up!”
Ray stood back as Annie ran past him towards the desk.
“What?” Tyler demanded, his voice as surly as his posture.
“You’re not well, Sam. You need help.”
He looked at her, and Ray caught his breath. He’d never seen such rage in Tyler’s eyes, even in those past times when he thought his then DI would have willingly killed him.
“No, I don’t. And what do you care? You weren’t there when I needed help. You walked away.”
He turned on his heel and strode out of the police station. At the front desk, Phyllis leaned forward.
“Some people won’t take help, Annie. Leave him be.”
Gene stopped behind her, looking contemptuous.
“Save your pennies, Cartwright, and you can have him again by the hour. In the meantime, we’re going to the pub. Get your arse in gear.”
Ray, passing a frozen Annie, never wanted to see that much pain in a woman’s eyes again. He didn’t know if he wanted to punch Tyler or the Guv for putting it there.
Chris
The atmosphere down the Railway Arms was curiously subdued that night. Considering they’d just nailed a drugs ring and its distribution network, the team were remarkably quiet.
Annie looked as though she wanted to cry, Phyllis was taciturn, the Guv was more ascerbic than ever and Ray looked as though he was thinking hard about something. Clearly it was up to Chris to lighten the atmosphere. Being Chris, he did it in the worst way possible.
“Still, we nailed those bastards anyway,” he offered cheerfully. “Strange to see Sam Tyler there. Did he tip you off, Guv?”
Whatever reaction Chris was hoping for, it wasn’t the one he got. Annie sank her face in her hands, Phyllis gave him a glare that would have killed a less oblivious man, Ray muttered “you div!” under his breath and Gene turned purple.
“That corrupt little arse bandit had nothing to do with it!” he yelled. “The little bastard was selling his wares and got caught in the backlash.”
Chris was genuinely confused.
“Dealing? Why didn’t you charge him?”
Gene choked some more. Beside him, Ray looked as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or hit Chris.
“Not dealing, Chris,” interjected Phyllis. “Tyler’s on a different game these days.”
“Different game?”
“You know,” said Ray, making a vigorous gesture. “Spends a lot of time on his knees, and he’s not a religious man.”
Chris was still processing the news. “Hang on, Tyler’s a prozzie?”
“Yes, Chris,” said Gene in an exaggeratedly patient voice.
“So, like, women pay him to screw them?”
Ray choked.
“No, Chris.” Gene’s voice sounded like he was talking to a subnormal four-year-old. “Blokes pay to fuck him up the arse.” He knocked back half the contents of the glass in front of him. “Or pay him to suck them off.”
Chris sprayed beer across the table.
“But Sam’s not gay, sir!” protested Annie.
“Give over, Cartwright. The sooner you accept your old boyfriend prefers taking it up the arse to you, the better. And me glass is empty.”
Annie got up silently.
“I’ve seen him with birds,” Ray volunteered. “Dressed up in the posh seats at the Free Trade Hall.” Everyone at the table looked at him. “Look, me bird likes weird music. Gets me to take her to concerts sometimes.”
“Yeah, well, Tyler can charm the birds. Lots of rich blokes who pay him to take the missus to a posh do and after she’s said goodnight give him a good seeing-to.”
Phyllis got up and followed Annie to the bar, and started talking in a quiet voice to her.
“Bloody hell, Guv!” exclaimed Chris in disgust. “How can he do that?”
“He was always a poof,” said Gene dismissively.
“But… Ray?”
Ray looked down into his glass. “Well, it’s not like there’s much work a bloke like Tyler can get, Chris. At least we’re not fishing his corpse out of the canal because he’s decided to top himself and make more work for us.”
“How very tolerant of you, Raimondo,” said Gene, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Was it a line of work you would consider yourself?” Even in his confusion, Chris could feel the atmosphere thicken.
Ray lightened the atmosphere. “Can’t see me getting much trade, can you, Guv?” He grinned, wickedly. “Pretty lad like Chris, on the other hand…”
It worked. While Chris was still being indignant, the Guv was choking with laughter, his mood changed in an instant.
“Anyway, Tyler was an idiot. He got what he deserved. Serves him right for being a uptight little arse. You wouldn’t catch me rocking the boat like that.”
He downed his drink. For some reason Chris couldn’t fathom, the Guv raised his glass to Ray. “And that’s why you’re a good copper, DS Carling.”
Sam
The lights were off. Not because of a power cut, but because Sam didn’t want them on. There was too much silence and light that made him look at his life. Sordid as it was, miserable, violent, lacking hope, Sam didn’t want to lose it. He’d already died once, he knew. Now he was going to die again. Not by his own hand this time, but nonetheless, he was a dead man.
He wondered what form it would take, although he already knew what Death would look like when He walked through the door. He wouldn’t run. He’d been a coward too many times before and it was time to stop. Sitting on the sofa, his knees pulled up to his chin, the only light from the street outside, Sam waited.
He knew he wouldn’t fight Death. There was no point in fighting the inevitable and he had died before the day he walked into this flat. Tasteful for the era, with a comfortable - too comfortable - bed and a luxurious bathroom and a kitchen where he could cook, Sam had accepted that he’d become Death’s whore. Literally.
He’d done what he was told, and spread his legs and opened his mouth on Death’s orders, a receptacle for whatever he was told to do, obediently going where he was told to go.
And like a corpse, he owned nothing. His home, his food, the very clothes on his back were paid for by Death. Like a corpse, he never expressed a personal opinion. Death had been neutral, as Death was supposed to be. Sam obeyed his master and his terms were generous enough.
Every week, Death stopped by and left some notes on the table by the door. Pennies for Sam’s eyes, he thought of them. After all, everyone pays the ferryman and even Charon has to deal with inflation. Sam had taken that ferry so often he should have bought a season ticket. But he couldn’t stop travelling. Each trip was a new death, so many it didn’t hurt anymore, regardless of the details. Sometimes they were kind, the oblivion of an anaesthetic as they gently caressed Sam, concerned for his pleasure too. A poet was needed to describe the ecstasy of those deaths. Sometimes they were secretive, a sharp stab in an alley where no-one would find the body and display the murderer’s disgrace. Sometimes it was violent, a public gunning-down, his corpse on display for all to see. It didn’t matter. It was still death, whether it came in the uncaring eyes of a lout interested only in gratification, the frightened eyes of a scared man who couldn’t admit what he was, or the gentle eyes of a kind soul who had no idea of who Sam was. And through it all, Death stalked, keeping his corpses on the straight and narrow.
Sam knew some of his fellow dead. Two of them lived in the building too and after a certain period of adjustment - Sam had heard the hiss of “copper” the day he moved in - they had a civilised relationship. Really, they were roomy coffins they had and they were probably quite fortunate corpses. No mass grave for them. Death valued them. Death kept them safe. And they all knew there was no life after Death.
But Sam had broken the rules. Not by his own choice, but nonetheless he had crossed the final border from which there was no return. And so he waited for Death, and his ultimate grave.
He could hear Death on the stairs now, talking to one of the girls. Sukey, from the sound of it, because Death was laughing, delaying his arrival upstairs. But all too soon, the feet on the stairs recommenced their climb and the door opened.
“Dark in here,” said Gene. “How about some light?”
Barely acknowledging Sam’s presence, he flicked on the main light and walked over to the sideboard where he poured two glasses of Scotch. Sitting down opposite Sam, he pushed the glass towards him.
“So what happened?” he asked.
Sam looked up from where he was contemplating his knees. “You arrested me.”
“No I didn’t. I found you in dubious circumstances in a raid on a dodgy club and pulled you in for questioning. When it became clear you had nothing to do with it, I released you. What I want to know is what happened before?”
“Dunno. I met the client, he wanted to go out, we wound up in a back room at the club, I start to do what he wants and next thing, he’s throttling me and does a runner. I suppose he heard the raid.”
“And that’s it?” Gene’s voice was very quiet.
“That’s it.” Sam shrugged, downed half the whisky and returned to staring at his knees.
“He came recommended by a good customer. I’ll have words with him about his friends. You won’t be seeing him again.”
Gene stood up and drained his glass. He reached into his coat and produced two envelopes.
“There’s the next few days’ jobs,” he said. “And a bit extra for you. You did good last night. Kept your head. I won’t forget that.”
He laid the envelopes on the table by the door.
“You won’t get grief for what happened,” he added. “I put the plonk off. Figured you wouldn’t want her knocking on your door. And for the rest - well, I’m sorry it happened.”
It was the first personal concern Gene Hunt had expressed in a long time, and as the door shut behind him, the tears started falling down Sam’s face.