Ficathon 2007: Wailers and dreamers
Author: Kirsteena
Fandom: Life on Mars
Spoilers: None, but set in series 2.
Rating: Green Cortina.
Pairings: None
Word Count: 5247
Summary: The race is on to find out what has happened to Nelson.
a/n Written for explodedpen for the 2007 ficathon. Prompt was Nelson-centric, ensemble, PG13. Hope it works! Beta'ed by the wonderful tatlovestea.
DISCLAIMER: Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
A quiet day in CID. Sam was catching up on paperwork, but wasn’t that bothered about it. People watching was more his forte today. Gene was in his office, either throwing darts or reading his paper. Chris was daydreaming, obviously lost in his own little world. Annie was helping Phyllis sort out Lost and Found, and Ray was busily catching up on his sleep. After a while, Gene wandered out into the main office, paper in hand.
“Islands off the coast of Ecuador, noted for their wildlife,” of all the things Gene was likely to say, this one had Sam blinking. Ray woke up and stared at Gene.
“Eh?”
“Islands off the coast of Ecuador, noted for their wildlife. Nine letters. Something-something-l-something-p-a- something-something-something,” Gene waved his paper around to emphasise what he was asking. “Me crossword, you div.”
Ray was still staring blankly at Gene, when Sam answered “Galapagos?” He was bored enough to play along. Gene glanced at him, wrote that into his crossword, and his face broke out into a smile.
“Just for that, Tyler, you can buy me a drink.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Do you ever buy your own drinks, Guv?”
“Not when I have you lot to buy them for me,” Gene grinned at Sam. “C’mon Gladys, I’m thirsty.” With that, he grabbed his coat, and made to leave, holding the door open for Sam. Sam sighed, grabbed his coat, and followed.
“How’s Cartwright settling in then?” Gene asked Sam as they wandered towards the pub.
“She’s doing good,” Sam couldn’t help the smug smile that crept across his face. Gene glanced at him, then chuckled. “What?”
“You think all good ideas come from you, don’t you?”
“Well, because they generally do, yeah.” Sam replied indignantly. Gene just shook his head, and laughed again.
They reached the door to The Railway Arms, went to open it - and found it locked. Gene frowned. “Nelson say anything about it being shut?”
“Not when I left yesterday.” Gene grunted, then hammered on the door.
“Nelson, you in there?” When after a minute there was no reply, Gene stopped, and scowled at the pub.
“Let’s try round the back.” Sam suggested. Both men walked faster as they circled the pub and reached the back door. Gene hammered on it.
“Nelson? You there?” Silence greeted them. “I don’t like this, Sam.”
Sam nodded in agreement. “Break down the door?” Gene didn’t bother to respond. Instead taking a step backwards, he threw himself against the door. After two attempts, it shattered inwards, leaving Gene slightly off-balance. Sam grabbed him to make sure he didn’t fall over. “We owe Nelson a new door,” he grinned.
It was dark in the pub. “Nelson?” Gene called out again, then stopped dead as he took in the decorations. Sam had been close behind him, and barrelled into Gene at the sudden change of pace. He then saw why Gene had stopped: every bottle had been smashed, the bar had been kicked into small pieces of wood, the TV Sam had put up on the wall was destroyed, and all the seats had been ripped to shreds. In the middle of the floor lay Nelson; unconscious.
“Shit.” Sam ran forward to Nelson, check for a pulse. “Call an ambulance!” Gene looked around for the phone, found it on the floor, and after putting his driving gloves carefully on, dialled 999.
“Nelson?” Sam muttered in a low voice, aware of Gene giving directions. “Can you hear me mate?” There was no response. “C’mon, stay with us.” A pulse was there, though weak.
“Ambulance is on its way - I also rang CID, they on their way too. Told ‘em to bring Forensics.” Sam looked up at Gene, saw how angry he was that this happened.
“Did they leave anything, any clues?” Sam asked.
“Doubt it, though it will take a while to sort through this, and I don’t wanna touch it. Not when you’ll start witterin’ on about your ‘gay-boy science’. How is he?”
“Unconscious, won’t know till they have checked him out. But physically doesn’t look too bad. It’s brain damage I’m worried about.” There was a hammering at the door at that moment, and Gene carefully stepped over the debris to open it. Ray, Chris and Annie were there.
“Touch anything, and I’ll bounce ya into the middle of next week.” Gene warned. “Cordon off the area, wait for Forensics. Don’t let anyone in unless I say so. Got it?”
“Yes, Guv,” came the chorus.
“Cartwright, I want you and Tyler to go to the hospital and wait there. I want a guard on him 24 hours a day. Nelson is a friend, a good bloke, and nothing else is going to happen to him while I have a say in it. Chris, Ray, when Forensics get here, make sure they check everything. I want to make sure they miss nothing.”
“They probably won’t find anything, it’s a pub - lots of fingerprints here already.” Sam commented.
“Yeah, but don’t look, don’t get.” Typical Gene, hurt something that affects him directly, and he was like a bloodhound. Outside, the wail of the amulance sirens made their presence known. Just then, Nelson gave a groan.
“Nelson?” Sam asked urgently. Buy Nelson had slipped back into unconsciousness.
Sam sat on the uncomfortable chair, watching the unconscious man in front of him. Hospital chairs were designed by Torquemada, he decided. Who else could have come up with such a sadistic excuse of a seat? Footsteps behind him alerted him to the approach of Gene.
“How’s he doing?” Gene asked, handing Sam a tea.
“No change, really.” Sam replied, taking a large gulp of the drink. “Talked to the doctor earlier, after he came out of theatre. Two broken ribs, broken arm. They had to remove his spleen, and he had a lot of internal bleeding. If he makes it through the next 24 hours he should be ok, but he is in a bad way...” Sam paused, pinching the bridge of his nose to try and relieve the headache which was starting to build up. “What have you found out?”
“Forensics are still down there, but they doubt they will be able to get anything. I’ve got Annie and a couple of other doing a detailed search, seeing if they can find anything. Chris is coming here to take over watching Nelson.”
“Oh?”
“You and I are taking a trip to Bolton. Found out where Nelson’s parents live, they are listed as his next-of-kin.”
“Why not send Ray...?”
“Sam, anyone can watch over Nelson, but do you really want, for instance, Ray telling Nelson’s family that their son nearly died in an apparent racist attack in the middle of Manchester?”
“Let’s go.”
This was the part of the job Sam hated the most. You could never tell how people would react. He wondered which part of his subconscious put him in Bolton at 8am, after a nightmare journey in the Cortina, when he hadn’t slept a wink, and as a result was feeling like shit, with a cheerful Gene beside him.
“You know, it’s disgusting.” Sam mused out loud.
“Bolton isn’t that bad. I mean, it wouldn’t be me first choice of a place to live...”
“No, not that. The fact that I know you have had zero sleep, and yet here you are: clean shaven, clean shirt, cheerful... It’s not fair.”
Gene just grinned at Sam in return, before knocking on the door in front. A woman in her mid-sixties, wearing glasses, a floral house-coat and her hair in curlers answered.
“Mrs Betancourt?” Gene asked.
The woman nodded, then yelled, “Albert? Come here now!”
A man appeared, a similar age to the woman, but unmistakably related to Nelson. “Mr Betancourt?” Sam tried again.
“That’s me. What can I do for you boys?”
“We are police officers.” as Sam and Gene both pulled out their badges. “Can we come in?”
“What’s this about?”
“We would prefer if we came in and talk to you, Mr Betancourt. It’s about Nelson.” Gene said. Nelson’s father’s eyes widened, and he held the door open. Sam and Gene walked in, and were shown into the front room. The walls were covered with memorabilia: West Indies cricket memorabilia, souvenirs from Jamaica, photos of family. It was a lovely home Sam realised. It just served to make what he was about to say even harder.
“So, what’s this about, boys?” Mr Betancourt asked. “And should we sit down?”
Sam nodded. “It... might be an idea. When was the last time you talked to Nelson?”
“A couple of days ago. He rings us up twice a week, was due to call tomorrow. Has something happened?”
“I’m afraid Nelson is in hospital, sir. It appears he was attacked while preparing to open up the pub. When we arrived, he was unconscious, and we got him to a hospital quickly. It looks like he is going to be ok, but he is going to be in hospital for a while.”
Mr Betancourt blinked back tears, and gripped his wife’s shoulder to comfort her. “How... how badly was he hurt?” he asked.
“He is in a coma at the moment. They had to operate on him. He had internal bleeding, which they stopped, and they have had to remove his spleen. They think he will be fine,” Sam knew it was a lie, but he had to give them some hope, “but he will need a lot of rest and recuperation.”
Mrs Betancourt had sat silently, her knuckle pressed against her mouth. “Who would do this to my boy?” she asked, emotion thickening her voice.
Gene stepped in. “I’m afraid we don’t know, love. But my team are looking into it, and I promise you, I won’t stop until I found who did this. Nelson... Nelson is a friend. I’m going to catch the bastard who did this and put him away for a long time.”
“Language, Mr Hunt.” Mr Betancourt noted absently.
Gene flushed briefly, then carried on. “Did Nelson say anything to you about any problems he was having with anyone?”
Mr Betancourt shook his head. “No, everything appeared to be going ok the last few times we talked. He loved running his pub - he was always a sociable boy.”
Sam nodded. “Ok, we can take you to Manchester if you want to see him. Also, do you have a key for his flat? It appears to be untouched, and we don’t want to break the door down...”
Mr Betancourt went to the bureau at the side and pulled out a set of keys. “We don’t want to put you out - if you don’t mind, we will make our own way to Manchester.”
“Don’t be surprised by the police officer sitting close by - we want to make sure no one else hurts Nelson.” Sam said.
“Thank you, boys. We appreciate you looking after our Nelson.”
Gene and Sam walked into CID side by side. “Alright you lot, what we got?” Gene asked.
“Forensics will be a couple of days, but they aren’t that hopeful,” Ray supplied. “We did find a couple of swastikas painted on the door though.”
“National Front.” Gene spat out the words. “Giving us Englishmen a bad name.” Sam’s eyebrows went up into his hairline, but said nothing. “Could be anyone in this city. Them bastards are everywhere.”
“It doesn’t have to be the NF Guv...” But Sam knew the pattern by now.
“Be sensible, Tyler. Look at the facts, obvious attack against one of our coloured brethren, racist symbols, huge NF presence in Manchester. After the sit-ins last year, they are looking for a way to get back at anyone - desperation.” Sam looked at Gene, abruptly. He vaguely remembered hearing about the sit-ins at the time, before his dad left, but couldn’t remember anything about what was involved. Grudgingly, he nodded.
“Ok, maybe, just maybe, the NF were involved. But I’m still going to look at other lines of enquiry. Ray and Chris can come with me and check out Nelson’s flat.”
“You wouldn’t be the picky pain if you didn’t Sam.”
Annie was getting bored sitting outside Nelson’s room in the hospital. Hospital seats being what they were, it was hard to get comfortable, and the fact that she had been there for four hours, with hardly any distractions, meant her mind had started to wander. Nelson’s parents were in the room with him, and she didn’t want to intrude. She had just started daydreaming when a gentle tap on her shoulder brought her out of her reverie. She looked up at the smiling face of Mr Betancourt, who was offering her a cup of tea.
“Oh, thanks.” She smiled back up at him.
“You looked a touch - uncomfortable there. I thought tea might help.” Rubbing her neck to work the kinks out, she agreed with him.
“These seats hurt after a while.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Erm...” Annie looked at her watch. “’bout four hours, I think?”
“Long time for a lady to be on her own, doing a man’s job.” Mr Betancourt had pulled up a chair, and sat himself down beside her.
Annie grimaced as she took a sip of the tea. “Nelson’s a friend. I asked to do this.”
“Thank you, Miss...”
“Cartwright, but call me Annie.”
Mr Betancourt smiled at Annie. “So, how do you know my son?”
“Through The Railway Arms. Most of the team end up there in an evening. I used to go with Phyllis every now and then, go more now I am in CID. It’s kind of expected to show me face every now and then.”
“You don’t like it?”
“It just gets a bit much at times. Men and drink...”
Mr Betancourt chuckled. “You know, when Nelson came over from Jamaica, I expected him to run a pub. Just not one frequented by policemen.”
“You know, I don’t know all that much about Nelson, other than he runs the pub.” She said it as the realisation came over her.
“Ah. Always the way.” he said sadly.
“Tell me about him?” Annie asked quietly.
Mr Betancourt leant back in his chair, making himself as comfortable as he could. “Uncomfortable things.” he said. “So what do you want to know?”
“All about him...where was he born? Were you over here, or...?”
Mr Betancourt smiled. “Ah, the enthusiasm of youth. Well, he was born in Spanish Town, in Jamaica. 2nd February, 1930. He has a little sister, Bethany, who is still over there. He played a lot of cricket when he was younger.” A wistful look came over his face. “I had always hoped he would take it up. Cricket is to be cherished, loved. Those who show talent are prized. But he had other plans. Wanted to make a new life over here. He came over on the Empire Windrush in 1948, looking to start afresh.”
“Oh, he came over then?”
“Yes. We didn’t want him to leave, but he insisted. He had just turned 18, so who were we to stop him? People he admired were going over as well, so, we had to trust him.”
“Must have been hard for you.”
Mr Betancourt paused, obviously remembering back. “It was harder on his mother. She missed him dreadfully. Partially why we made the decision to move over here. We came in, oh, 1960.”
“Was it difficult for you to come over, to settle over here?”
“It was at first. Not everyone is like you - tolerant of people with different coloured skin.” Annie flushed, but smiled back at him. “It was hard on my wife - she missed her friends, the way of life. I think if she could go back, she would. Well, if it wasn’t for Nelson here. He won’t go home, not now, and we won’t leave him.” He looked at the door of the hospital room. “Not now.”
Annie reached over and touched the shoulder of the man beside her, trying to offer what comfort she could.
“C’mon Charlie. We know you know everything in this city. Which of the scum-bag groups are beating up publicans?” Gene punctuated his last comment with a clip around the ear of the man cowering in front of him.
Charlie Waite was skinny, pale and shaven headed. He could be poster boy for the National Front. “I don’t know nothing, Mr Hunt!” he squeaked out. “If it is about the Railway Arms...”
“How do you know which pub it is about?” Gene snarled, pushing his face into Waite’s. “I never told you.”
Waite tried to duck out of the way of the slap he could see coming, but he wasn’t fast enough. “Everyone knows, Mr Hunt!” he whimpered. “The Railway Arms is your pub. Why would anyone be stupid enough to try and hurt the barman there?”
Gene grunted. “You better believe it. So who is it? Someone ordered it, and all the signs are pointing straight to you lot.”
“Not us, Mr Hunt. Try looking elsewhere.”
“Give me one good reason to believe you.” Waite just stared at Gene, closed his eyes, and waited.
Sam carefully unlocked the door to Nelson's flat. "Search thoroughly, but try not to mess things up too much. Don't want Nelson to have to tidy up after us when he gets back."
"Yes, boss," was the response from Ray and Chris. As they stepped over the threshold, Sam looked around, taking in as much as he could from the first glance. The flat was a bit bigger than Sam's own, though not much. But whereas Sam's flat could be described as a doss-house - used primarily for sleeping, this, by contrast, was a home.
"Ray, take the bedroom. Chris, kitchen and bathroom. I'll take the main room." With that, the three split up.
Chris went into the bathroom, carefully opening cupboards to see if he could find anything of any use. Finding nothing of interest, he wandered through the main room, where Sam was busy searching through some papers, to the kitchen. He glanced around, and then opened the fridge. Pulling the milk bottle out, he took a sniff, pulled a face and poured the contents down the sink. He turned around to see Ray looking at him with a smile on his face. "Christ, you made me jump!"
Ray just continued to watch him. "Coming over all domesticated, are we?" he asked.
Chris grinned back at him. "Nowt worse than smelly milk in the fridge. Don't want him to come back to it. Nowt in bedroom, I take it?"
"Nah."
"Guess we should help t'boss."
"Aye." They wandered back out into the main area, where Sam was busily going through Nelson's record collection. When he turned to the two men his eyes were bright.
"Have you seen some of this stuff?" he exclaimed. "I mean, records by Kitch? He saw Bob Marley in concert in Manchester just a few months ago!" Sam waved the ticket stub he had picked up. " I mean, this is just... wow."
Ray and Chris looked at each other, then back at Sam. "Find 'owt of use, boss?" Ray asked. "You know, like what we were supposed to be looking for?"
Sam flushed. "I, er, got distracted." he mumbled. "Just seeing all this stuff..." he pointed at a photograph on the wall. In it were six men clustered round a newspaper. "That is one of the most famous photographs of the period. I just - wasn't expecting it here, now." Ray headed over to the small table by the window and started looking at what was there. Sam reluctantly left the record collection and went over to the writing desk by the front door and began looking through the papers there. He picked up a small book. "Found his bank book."
Chris moved over to where Sam was. "'Owt in it?" he asked.
"Nothing unexpected. Usual deposits and withdrawals." Sam sighed "Ok, so far we have seen no sign it was the NF, but then, no sign it wasn't. We are no further forward. Why the hell would anyone want to hurt Nelson?"
"Boss?" It was Ray, over at the other side of the room.
"I mean, yeah there was a swastika, but none of the usual graffiti you would expect. Normally it would be all over the place."
"Boss?" It was Ray again.
"What?" Sam was getting more irritated by lack of progress by the second.
"Might wanna see this." Ray had gotten out his handkerchief and was holding up a piece of paper. Sam walked over to him, and moved his head to one side to read what was on the sheet.
Pay up by the end of the week nigger - or else
"Nicely done, Ray." was Sam's only comment.
Annie was tired as she walked back into CID. All she wanted was a cup of tea, followed by a nice relaxing evening, maybe a long bath, a glass of wine. She made her way to the kitchen area, and was making herself the first thing on her list when Phyllis came over.
"Where are the others, Annie love?" Phyllis asked. Annie looked round CID and was surprised to see it virtually empty.
"Dunno. Guess the Guv has them out doing door to door or sommat. Why?"
"Guy came in, he is insisting on only talking to someone in CID."
Annie sighed. "Think he will talk to two women?" She smiled at Phyllis.
"Last time I looked, you were our only female... oh!" Phyllis watched Annie for a minute. "Where'd boss leave his tape recorder?"
The man sitting waiting for them in Lost and Found was scared. Annie could tell that from the second she walked in. It was tangible, someone she could almost taste. She sat down in front of him, and got her first good look at him. He was in his mid to late thirties, but looked older. His hair wasy greying, mouth permanently downturned. His eyes, however, were a piercing blue. He had been chain smoking since he arrived at the policestation if the pile of butts was anything to go by.
"Hi, my name is WDC Annie Cartwright. What's yours?" Annie asked brightly.
"I wanted to see someone from CID," the man in front of her insisted, looking at Phyllis who had just arrived in the room, placing the tape recorder on the table. Irish accent. What could have got him so scared, Annie wondered. She reached into her bag, and brought out her warrant card.
"See, sir, I am a detective. We are just a bit short staffed at the moment, so I asked Desk Sergeant Dobbs to come along and sit in. Why don't you tell us your name, then we can do what we can to help you." The man stared at Annie for a while.
"Seamus O'Neill" he volunteered after a moment. He stubbed his cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray, and immediately lit another. Other than that, he was silent.
Annie groaned inwardly. This was going to be one of those 'get blood out of a stone' interviews. "How can we help you, Mr O'Neill?" she asked.
The man in front of her watched her for a while. He then seemed to make a decision, and stood up, heading towards the door. "Look, this was a bloody stupid idea. Forget I even came in here. Please." The emotion which O'Neill placed on the word please made Annie react.
"Look sir, I don't know what is going on, but I can tell you are scared. Let us help you?" she pleaded with him. "Is it something to do with your family?" O'Neill looked at her, then visibly sagged. Annie led him back to the chair he had been in, and placed her hand on his arm. "Let me help you." she reiterated.
O'Neill nodded. "If it were just me... I wouldn't be here. But I have a seven month old baby girl... I co-run a bookmakers on Connor Street. Friend of mine gave me a chance, and it paid off. Everything was going great till about five months ago. Then this guy and his cronies started demanding protection money. Said he was collecting from all businesses, but in fact he is only targeting those run by immigrants. Anyway, I refused, and my partner agreed. Except it is getting worse - they have been harassing us, trying to get us to pay.”
“Harassing how, sir?” Phyllis asked.
“Knocking on the door at all hours, pushing dog shit through the letterbox, that kind of thing. It’s been annoying but you could live with it. Until last week...”
“Last week?” Annie asked. “What happened, Mr O’Neill?”
O’Neill paused, and his face twisted up in agony. “Me wife went out shopping, took out baby out in the pram. They followed her, and... they harassed her, spat at her, scared little Kiera, told my wife that the next time they would...” O’Neill stopped, unable to go on. After a minute, he looked directly at Annie. “Two days ago, they broke into our house, wrecked the pace. Broke all our furniture, set fire to a load of stuff. They left us this note,” with this, O’Neill reached into his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper. Written on it were the words
Time to pay up, you paddy bastard. Next time we will make sure the family is in
“I can’t go on. I’m scared, scared they will hurt my family.” With that, O’Neill bent his head and was silent.
“Mr O’Neill, you need to help us. We can stop them, but you need to tell us who - they attacked someone else, we can get ‘em, put ‘em away.” Annie knew she was begging, but she knew this information was important.
“Can you help look after me family?” O’Neill asked. Annie turned to Phyllis. O’Neill saw this move, and begged, “Look, unless my family are safe, you will have to find out elsewhere!”
“If I have to beat the Guv round the head meself, I’ll make sure your family are protected.” Phyllis said quietly.
O’Neill closed his eyes, and inhaled. “Thank you. The man’s name is Thomas Coker. Runs a casino in Rusholme, wants to go bigger though. Sees how much money some of the criminals are making, and wants part of it. So he decides to take advantage of a ‘booming market’ as they say, all the immigrant workers. But he decided he wanted more, and started going after businesses run by Irish, blacks, whatever. Demanded money for his protection. I’ve seen friends lose their livelihoods because of him. He needs to be stopped.”
“We will,” was Annie’s response.
Ray was sitting at his desk, looking distastefully at his typewriter, but knowing he would have to do some paperwork. His phone trilled out its tone. Ray sighed and picked it up. “Carling."
“Sgt. Carling? Forensics here. That piece of paper you brought in for fingerprints? Seems the person who wrote it was careless. We found a match. Came up as a Thomas Coker - the file is on it’s way over to you.”
“Thomas Coker?”
“Yes. He apparently was arrested for ABH a couple of years ago, but the charges were dropped.”
“ Name rings a bell. Ta very much for this.”
Gene was dozing on the uncomfortable chair outside Nelson’s room. When they realised how much police presence there was going to be for this case, the sister in charge had moved him to a side room, out of the way. He woke up suddenly, feeling a hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. He looked up into the eyes of Mr Betancourt.
“Sorry about that, Mr Hunt, but you should come.” Mr Betancourt said. Gene jumped up, and stroke into Nelson’s room. A smile broke out on Gene’s face. Nelson was sitting up, looking weak, but unmistakably awake.
“Mr Hunt,” he smiled at Gene. “Glad to know I am sufficiently important enough to have the man himself sitting outside.”
“Well, don’t want just anyone to do it, gotta have the best.” Gene watched as Nelson’s parents carefully kissed their son then left the room, leaving Gene alone with Nelson.
“How are you, my friend?”
“I’ve been better. I ache all over. Can’t remember too well what happened, before you ask.”
“Take yer time.”
“Well, can’t remember too well, but...”
Gene strode back into CID. “OK you lot, listen up!”
“Guv!” This came from both Annie and Ray.
“Will you two shut up and listen? I’m talking here. Ok, Nelson is awake,” and with this news, a sigh of relief went through the office, “and he will be fine. Being the good man he is, he did manage to give me a likely name of the man responsible. It’s a casino owner, by the...”
“Thomas Coker!” Once again, this came from both Annie and Ray. Gene looked at them, a touch crestfallen.
“How the bloody hell...”
“Forensics, Guv. They came up trumps.”
“Witness who is scared, Guv. I, erm, promised we would protect him and his family. And since no one knew anything at the time...” Annie trailed off, blushed, but continued to stare defiantly at Gene.
“Tyler’s a bad influence on you, Cartwright. Ok, you two,” pointing at two of the junior officers, “go over, look after Cartwright’s witness. Rest of you, time to pay Mr Coker a visit. Let him know that CID aren’t happy about their favourite bar being destroyed.”
“Shhh he is coming!”
“Will you divs crouch down - the idea is he is not supposed to see you.”
“Chris, will you get your elbow out of my eye?”
They had pulled Coker in without any problems - it appears that for all his hard-man exterior, he didn’t expect the police to come visiting with a warrant for his arrest. Sam glanced round the pub. All around there were whispers, giggles and the sounds of an excited CID. Gene had used his extensive contacts and managed to get the pub back in working order in record time. Amazing how fast he could organise something when he had a vested interest in it, Sam thought. Gene had pulled in a lot of the favours he had built up over the years. Joiners, carpenters, plumbers, electricians, all had been drafted in at short notice. Even the TV that Sam had put up on the wall had been replaced. Gene had acquired the booze as well - where from, Sam just didn’t want to know. He looked up at his Guv, watching him happily surveying the surroundings.
“Good job there Gene. He will be pleased to see things back to normal.”
Gene smiled briefly, then his face suddenly went back to its normal expression. “Yeah, well, had to be done if I want a drink. Not going to any other damn pub when this one is so close.” Sam smiled, then turned as he heard the door handle move. He glanced at Gene, then they both ducked down behind the bar.
“I’m sure it won’t be that bad, Nelson.” Mr Betancourt’s voice was heard as the door opened slowly. “Mr Hunt said he was going to try and tidy...” his voice trailed off as he saw the condition of the pub.
“Surprise!” CID members popped up from all over the room, grinning at the two people entering the pub. Nelson, from his wheelchair looked shocked, then his face broke out in a massive grin.
“What the hell have you done with my pub?”
Fandom: Life on Mars
Spoilers: None, but set in series 2.
Rating: Green Cortina.
Pairings: None
Word Count: 5247
Summary: The race is on to find out what has happened to Nelson.
a/n Written for explodedpen for the 2007 ficathon. Prompt was Nelson-centric, ensemble, PG13. Hope it works! Beta'ed by the wonderful tatlovestea.
DISCLAIMER: Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
A quiet day in CID. Sam was catching up on paperwork, but wasn’t that bothered about it. People watching was more his forte today. Gene was in his office, either throwing darts or reading his paper. Chris was daydreaming, obviously lost in his own little world. Annie was helping Phyllis sort out Lost and Found, and Ray was busily catching up on his sleep. After a while, Gene wandered out into the main office, paper in hand.
“Islands off the coast of Ecuador, noted for their wildlife,” of all the things Gene was likely to say, this one had Sam blinking. Ray woke up and stared at Gene.
“Eh?”
“Islands off the coast of Ecuador, noted for their wildlife. Nine letters. Something-something-l-something-p-a- something-something-something,” Gene waved his paper around to emphasise what he was asking. “Me crossword, you div.”
Ray was still staring blankly at Gene, when Sam answered “Galapagos?” He was bored enough to play along. Gene glanced at him, wrote that into his crossword, and his face broke out into a smile.
“Just for that, Tyler, you can buy me a drink.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Do you ever buy your own drinks, Guv?”
“Not when I have you lot to buy them for me,” Gene grinned at Sam. “C’mon Gladys, I’m thirsty.” With that, he grabbed his coat, and made to leave, holding the door open for Sam. Sam sighed, grabbed his coat, and followed.
“How’s Cartwright settling in then?” Gene asked Sam as they wandered towards the pub.
“She’s doing good,” Sam couldn’t help the smug smile that crept across his face. Gene glanced at him, then chuckled. “What?”
“You think all good ideas come from you, don’t you?”
“Well, because they generally do, yeah.” Sam replied indignantly. Gene just shook his head, and laughed again.
They reached the door to The Railway Arms, went to open it - and found it locked. Gene frowned. “Nelson say anything about it being shut?”
“Not when I left yesterday.” Gene grunted, then hammered on the door.
“Nelson, you in there?” When after a minute there was no reply, Gene stopped, and scowled at the pub.
“Let’s try round the back.” Sam suggested. Both men walked faster as they circled the pub and reached the back door. Gene hammered on it.
“Nelson? You there?” Silence greeted them. “I don’t like this, Sam.”
Sam nodded in agreement. “Break down the door?” Gene didn’t bother to respond. Instead taking a step backwards, he threw himself against the door. After two attempts, it shattered inwards, leaving Gene slightly off-balance. Sam grabbed him to make sure he didn’t fall over. “We owe Nelson a new door,” he grinned.
It was dark in the pub. “Nelson?” Gene called out again, then stopped dead as he took in the decorations. Sam had been close behind him, and barrelled into Gene at the sudden change of pace. He then saw why Gene had stopped: every bottle had been smashed, the bar had been kicked into small pieces of wood, the TV Sam had put up on the wall was destroyed, and all the seats had been ripped to shreds. In the middle of the floor lay Nelson; unconscious.
“Shit.” Sam ran forward to Nelson, check for a pulse. “Call an ambulance!” Gene looked around for the phone, found it on the floor, and after putting his driving gloves carefully on, dialled 999.
“Nelson?” Sam muttered in a low voice, aware of Gene giving directions. “Can you hear me mate?” There was no response. “C’mon, stay with us.” A pulse was there, though weak.
“Ambulance is on its way - I also rang CID, they on their way too. Told ‘em to bring Forensics.” Sam looked up at Gene, saw how angry he was that this happened.
“Did they leave anything, any clues?” Sam asked.
“Doubt it, though it will take a while to sort through this, and I don’t wanna touch it. Not when you’ll start witterin’ on about your ‘gay-boy science’. How is he?”
“Unconscious, won’t know till they have checked him out. But physically doesn’t look too bad. It’s brain damage I’m worried about.” There was a hammering at the door at that moment, and Gene carefully stepped over the debris to open it. Ray, Chris and Annie were there.
“Touch anything, and I’ll bounce ya into the middle of next week.” Gene warned. “Cordon off the area, wait for Forensics. Don’t let anyone in unless I say so. Got it?”
“Yes, Guv,” came the chorus.
“Cartwright, I want you and Tyler to go to the hospital and wait there. I want a guard on him 24 hours a day. Nelson is a friend, a good bloke, and nothing else is going to happen to him while I have a say in it. Chris, Ray, when Forensics get here, make sure they check everything. I want to make sure they miss nothing.”
“They probably won’t find anything, it’s a pub - lots of fingerprints here already.” Sam commented.
“Yeah, but don’t look, don’t get.” Typical Gene, hurt something that affects him directly, and he was like a bloodhound. Outside, the wail of the amulance sirens made their presence known. Just then, Nelson gave a groan.
“Nelson?” Sam asked urgently. Buy Nelson had slipped back into unconsciousness.
Sam sat on the uncomfortable chair, watching the unconscious man in front of him. Hospital chairs were designed by Torquemada, he decided. Who else could have come up with such a sadistic excuse of a seat? Footsteps behind him alerted him to the approach of Gene.
“How’s he doing?” Gene asked, handing Sam a tea.
“No change, really.” Sam replied, taking a large gulp of the drink. “Talked to the doctor earlier, after he came out of theatre. Two broken ribs, broken arm. They had to remove his spleen, and he had a lot of internal bleeding. If he makes it through the next 24 hours he should be ok, but he is in a bad way...” Sam paused, pinching the bridge of his nose to try and relieve the headache which was starting to build up. “What have you found out?”
“Forensics are still down there, but they doubt they will be able to get anything. I’ve got Annie and a couple of other doing a detailed search, seeing if they can find anything. Chris is coming here to take over watching Nelson.”
“Oh?”
“You and I are taking a trip to Bolton. Found out where Nelson’s parents live, they are listed as his next-of-kin.”
“Why not send Ray...?”
“Sam, anyone can watch over Nelson, but do you really want, for instance, Ray telling Nelson’s family that their son nearly died in an apparent racist attack in the middle of Manchester?”
“Let’s go.”
This was the part of the job Sam hated the most. You could never tell how people would react. He wondered which part of his subconscious put him in Bolton at 8am, after a nightmare journey in the Cortina, when he hadn’t slept a wink, and as a result was feeling like shit, with a cheerful Gene beside him.
“You know, it’s disgusting.” Sam mused out loud.
“Bolton isn’t that bad. I mean, it wouldn’t be me first choice of a place to live...”
“No, not that. The fact that I know you have had zero sleep, and yet here you are: clean shaven, clean shirt, cheerful... It’s not fair.”
Gene just grinned at Sam in return, before knocking on the door in front. A woman in her mid-sixties, wearing glasses, a floral house-coat and her hair in curlers answered.
“Mrs Betancourt?” Gene asked.
The woman nodded, then yelled, “Albert? Come here now!”
A man appeared, a similar age to the woman, but unmistakably related to Nelson. “Mr Betancourt?” Sam tried again.
“That’s me. What can I do for you boys?”
“We are police officers.” as Sam and Gene both pulled out their badges. “Can we come in?”
“What’s this about?”
“We would prefer if we came in and talk to you, Mr Betancourt. It’s about Nelson.” Gene said. Nelson’s father’s eyes widened, and he held the door open. Sam and Gene walked in, and were shown into the front room. The walls were covered with memorabilia: West Indies cricket memorabilia, souvenirs from Jamaica, photos of family. It was a lovely home Sam realised. It just served to make what he was about to say even harder.
“So, what’s this about, boys?” Mr Betancourt asked. “And should we sit down?”
Sam nodded. “It... might be an idea. When was the last time you talked to Nelson?”
“A couple of days ago. He rings us up twice a week, was due to call tomorrow. Has something happened?”
“I’m afraid Nelson is in hospital, sir. It appears he was attacked while preparing to open up the pub. When we arrived, he was unconscious, and we got him to a hospital quickly. It looks like he is going to be ok, but he is going to be in hospital for a while.”
Mr Betancourt blinked back tears, and gripped his wife’s shoulder to comfort her. “How... how badly was he hurt?” he asked.
“He is in a coma at the moment. They had to operate on him. He had internal bleeding, which they stopped, and they have had to remove his spleen. They think he will be fine,” Sam knew it was a lie, but he had to give them some hope, “but he will need a lot of rest and recuperation.”
Mrs Betancourt had sat silently, her knuckle pressed against her mouth. “Who would do this to my boy?” she asked, emotion thickening her voice.
Gene stepped in. “I’m afraid we don’t know, love. But my team are looking into it, and I promise you, I won’t stop until I found who did this. Nelson... Nelson is a friend. I’m going to catch the bastard who did this and put him away for a long time.”
“Language, Mr Hunt.” Mr Betancourt noted absently.
Gene flushed briefly, then carried on. “Did Nelson say anything to you about any problems he was having with anyone?”
Mr Betancourt shook his head. “No, everything appeared to be going ok the last few times we talked. He loved running his pub - he was always a sociable boy.”
Sam nodded. “Ok, we can take you to Manchester if you want to see him. Also, do you have a key for his flat? It appears to be untouched, and we don’t want to break the door down...”
Mr Betancourt went to the bureau at the side and pulled out a set of keys. “We don’t want to put you out - if you don’t mind, we will make our own way to Manchester.”
“Don’t be surprised by the police officer sitting close by - we want to make sure no one else hurts Nelson.” Sam said.
“Thank you, boys. We appreciate you looking after our Nelson.”
Gene and Sam walked into CID side by side. “Alright you lot, what we got?” Gene asked.
“Forensics will be a couple of days, but they aren’t that hopeful,” Ray supplied. “We did find a couple of swastikas painted on the door though.”
“National Front.” Gene spat out the words. “Giving us Englishmen a bad name.” Sam’s eyebrows went up into his hairline, but said nothing. “Could be anyone in this city. Them bastards are everywhere.”
“It doesn’t have to be the NF Guv...” But Sam knew the pattern by now.
“Be sensible, Tyler. Look at the facts, obvious attack against one of our coloured brethren, racist symbols, huge NF presence in Manchester. After the sit-ins last year, they are looking for a way to get back at anyone - desperation.” Sam looked at Gene, abruptly. He vaguely remembered hearing about the sit-ins at the time, before his dad left, but couldn’t remember anything about what was involved. Grudgingly, he nodded.
“Ok, maybe, just maybe, the NF were involved. But I’m still going to look at other lines of enquiry. Ray and Chris can come with me and check out Nelson’s flat.”
“You wouldn’t be the picky pain if you didn’t Sam.”
Annie was getting bored sitting outside Nelson’s room in the hospital. Hospital seats being what they were, it was hard to get comfortable, and the fact that she had been there for four hours, with hardly any distractions, meant her mind had started to wander. Nelson’s parents were in the room with him, and she didn’t want to intrude. She had just started daydreaming when a gentle tap on her shoulder brought her out of her reverie. She looked up at the smiling face of Mr Betancourt, who was offering her a cup of tea.
“Oh, thanks.” She smiled back up at him.
“You looked a touch - uncomfortable there. I thought tea might help.” Rubbing her neck to work the kinks out, she agreed with him.
“These seats hurt after a while.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Erm...” Annie looked at her watch. “’bout four hours, I think?”
“Long time for a lady to be on her own, doing a man’s job.” Mr Betancourt had pulled up a chair, and sat himself down beside her.
Annie grimaced as she took a sip of the tea. “Nelson’s a friend. I asked to do this.”
“Thank you, Miss...”
“Cartwright, but call me Annie.”
Mr Betancourt smiled at Annie. “So, how do you know my son?”
“Through The Railway Arms. Most of the team end up there in an evening. I used to go with Phyllis every now and then, go more now I am in CID. It’s kind of expected to show me face every now and then.”
“You don’t like it?”
“It just gets a bit much at times. Men and drink...”
Mr Betancourt chuckled. “You know, when Nelson came over from Jamaica, I expected him to run a pub. Just not one frequented by policemen.”
“You know, I don’t know all that much about Nelson, other than he runs the pub.” She said it as the realisation came over her.
“Ah. Always the way.” he said sadly.
“Tell me about him?” Annie asked quietly.
Mr Betancourt leant back in his chair, making himself as comfortable as he could. “Uncomfortable things.” he said. “So what do you want to know?”
“All about him...where was he born? Were you over here, or...?”
Mr Betancourt smiled. “Ah, the enthusiasm of youth. Well, he was born in Spanish Town, in Jamaica. 2nd February, 1930. He has a little sister, Bethany, who is still over there. He played a lot of cricket when he was younger.” A wistful look came over his face. “I had always hoped he would take it up. Cricket is to be cherished, loved. Those who show talent are prized. But he had other plans. Wanted to make a new life over here. He came over on the Empire Windrush in 1948, looking to start afresh.”
“Oh, he came over then?”
“Yes. We didn’t want him to leave, but he insisted. He had just turned 18, so who were we to stop him? People he admired were going over as well, so, we had to trust him.”
“Must have been hard for you.”
Mr Betancourt paused, obviously remembering back. “It was harder on his mother. She missed him dreadfully. Partially why we made the decision to move over here. We came in, oh, 1960.”
“Was it difficult for you to come over, to settle over here?”
“It was at first. Not everyone is like you - tolerant of people with different coloured skin.” Annie flushed, but smiled back at him. “It was hard on my wife - she missed her friends, the way of life. I think if she could go back, she would. Well, if it wasn’t for Nelson here. He won’t go home, not now, and we won’t leave him.” He looked at the door of the hospital room. “Not now.”
Annie reached over and touched the shoulder of the man beside her, trying to offer what comfort she could.
“C’mon Charlie. We know you know everything in this city. Which of the scum-bag groups are beating up publicans?” Gene punctuated his last comment with a clip around the ear of the man cowering in front of him.
Charlie Waite was skinny, pale and shaven headed. He could be poster boy for the National Front. “I don’t know nothing, Mr Hunt!” he squeaked out. “If it is about the Railway Arms...”
“How do you know which pub it is about?” Gene snarled, pushing his face into Waite’s. “I never told you.”
Waite tried to duck out of the way of the slap he could see coming, but he wasn’t fast enough. “Everyone knows, Mr Hunt!” he whimpered. “The Railway Arms is your pub. Why would anyone be stupid enough to try and hurt the barman there?”
Gene grunted. “You better believe it. So who is it? Someone ordered it, and all the signs are pointing straight to you lot.”
“Not us, Mr Hunt. Try looking elsewhere.”
“Give me one good reason to believe you.” Waite just stared at Gene, closed his eyes, and waited.
Sam carefully unlocked the door to Nelson's flat. "Search thoroughly, but try not to mess things up too much. Don't want Nelson to have to tidy up after us when he gets back."
"Yes, boss," was the response from Ray and Chris. As they stepped over the threshold, Sam looked around, taking in as much as he could from the first glance. The flat was a bit bigger than Sam's own, though not much. But whereas Sam's flat could be described as a doss-house - used primarily for sleeping, this, by contrast, was a home.
"Ray, take the bedroom. Chris, kitchen and bathroom. I'll take the main room." With that, the three split up.
Chris went into the bathroom, carefully opening cupboards to see if he could find anything of any use. Finding nothing of interest, he wandered through the main room, where Sam was busy searching through some papers, to the kitchen. He glanced around, and then opened the fridge. Pulling the milk bottle out, he took a sniff, pulled a face and poured the contents down the sink. He turned around to see Ray looking at him with a smile on his face. "Christ, you made me jump!"
Ray just continued to watch him. "Coming over all domesticated, are we?" he asked.
Chris grinned back at him. "Nowt worse than smelly milk in the fridge. Don't want him to come back to it. Nowt in bedroom, I take it?"
"Nah."
"Guess we should help t'boss."
"Aye." They wandered back out into the main area, where Sam was busily going through Nelson's record collection. When he turned to the two men his eyes were bright.
"Have you seen some of this stuff?" he exclaimed. "I mean, records by Kitch? He saw Bob Marley in concert in Manchester just a few months ago!" Sam waved the ticket stub he had picked up. " I mean, this is just... wow."
Ray and Chris looked at each other, then back at Sam. "Find 'owt of use, boss?" Ray asked. "You know, like what we were supposed to be looking for?"
Sam flushed. "I, er, got distracted." he mumbled. "Just seeing all this stuff..." he pointed at a photograph on the wall. In it were six men clustered round a newspaper. "That is one of the most famous photographs of the period. I just - wasn't expecting it here, now." Ray headed over to the small table by the window and started looking at what was there. Sam reluctantly left the record collection and went over to the writing desk by the front door and began looking through the papers there. He picked up a small book. "Found his bank book."
Chris moved over to where Sam was. "'Owt in it?" he asked.
"Nothing unexpected. Usual deposits and withdrawals." Sam sighed "Ok, so far we have seen no sign it was the NF, but then, no sign it wasn't. We are no further forward. Why the hell would anyone want to hurt Nelson?"
"Boss?" It was Ray, over at the other side of the room.
"I mean, yeah there was a swastika, but none of the usual graffiti you would expect. Normally it would be all over the place."
"Boss?" It was Ray again.
"What?" Sam was getting more irritated by lack of progress by the second.
"Might wanna see this." Ray had gotten out his handkerchief and was holding up a piece of paper. Sam walked over to him, and moved his head to one side to read what was on the sheet.
Pay up by the end of the week nigger - or else
"Nicely done, Ray." was Sam's only comment.
Annie was tired as she walked back into CID. All she wanted was a cup of tea, followed by a nice relaxing evening, maybe a long bath, a glass of wine. She made her way to the kitchen area, and was making herself the first thing on her list when Phyllis came over.
"Where are the others, Annie love?" Phyllis asked. Annie looked round CID and was surprised to see it virtually empty.
"Dunno. Guess the Guv has them out doing door to door or sommat. Why?"
"Guy came in, he is insisting on only talking to someone in CID."
Annie sighed. "Think he will talk to two women?" She smiled at Phyllis.
"Last time I looked, you were our only female... oh!" Phyllis watched Annie for a minute. "Where'd boss leave his tape recorder?"
The man sitting waiting for them in Lost and Found was scared. Annie could tell that from the second she walked in. It was tangible, someone she could almost taste. She sat down in front of him, and got her first good look at him. He was in his mid to late thirties, but looked older. His hair wasy greying, mouth permanently downturned. His eyes, however, were a piercing blue. He had been chain smoking since he arrived at the policestation if the pile of butts was anything to go by.
"Hi, my name is WDC Annie Cartwright. What's yours?" Annie asked brightly.
"I wanted to see someone from CID," the man in front of her insisted, looking at Phyllis who had just arrived in the room, placing the tape recorder on the table. Irish accent. What could have got him so scared, Annie wondered. She reached into her bag, and brought out her warrant card.
"See, sir, I am a detective. We are just a bit short staffed at the moment, so I asked Desk Sergeant Dobbs to come along and sit in. Why don't you tell us your name, then we can do what we can to help you." The man stared at Annie for a while.
"Seamus O'Neill" he volunteered after a moment. He stubbed his cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray, and immediately lit another. Other than that, he was silent.
Annie groaned inwardly. This was going to be one of those 'get blood out of a stone' interviews. "How can we help you, Mr O'Neill?" she asked.
The man in front of her watched her for a while. He then seemed to make a decision, and stood up, heading towards the door. "Look, this was a bloody stupid idea. Forget I even came in here. Please." The emotion which O'Neill placed on the word please made Annie react.
"Look sir, I don't know what is going on, but I can tell you are scared. Let us help you?" she pleaded with him. "Is it something to do with your family?" O'Neill looked at her, then visibly sagged. Annie led him back to the chair he had been in, and placed her hand on his arm. "Let me help you." she reiterated.
O'Neill nodded. "If it were just me... I wouldn't be here. But I have a seven month old baby girl... I co-run a bookmakers on Connor Street. Friend of mine gave me a chance, and it paid off. Everything was going great till about five months ago. Then this guy and his cronies started demanding protection money. Said he was collecting from all businesses, but in fact he is only targeting those run by immigrants. Anyway, I refused, and my partner agreed. Except it is getting worse - they have been harassing us, trying to get us to pay.”
“Harassing how, sir?” Phyllis asked.
“Knocking on the door at all hours, pushing dog shit through the letterbox, that kind of thing. It’s been annoying but you could live with it. Until last week...”
“Last week?” Annie asked. “What happened, Mr O’Neill?”
O’Neill paused, and his face twisted up in agony. “Me wife went out shopping, took out baby out in the pram. They followed her, and... they harassed her, spat at her, scared little Kiera, told my wife that the next time they would...” O’Neill stopped, unable to go on. After a minute, he looked directly at Annie. “Two days ago, they broke into our house, wrecked the pace. Broke all our furniture, set fire to a load of stuff. They left us this note,” with this, O’Neill reached into his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper. Written on it were the words
Time to pay up, you paddy bastard. Next time we will make sure the family is in
“I can’t go on. I’m scared, scared they will hurt my family.” With that, O’Neill bent his head and was silent.
“Mr O’Neill, you need to help us. We can stop them, but you need to tell us who - they attacked someone else, we can get ‘em, put ‘em away.” Annie knew she was begging, but she knew this information was important.
“Can you help look after me family?” O’Neill asked. Annie turned to Phyllis. O’Neill saw this move, and begged, “Look, unless my family are safe, you will have to find out elsewhere!”
“If I have to beat the Guv round the head meself, I’ll make sure your family are protected.” Phyllis said quietly.
O’Neill closed his eyes, and inhaled. “Thank you. The man’s name is Thomas Coker. Runs a casino in Rusholme, wants to go bigger though. Sees how much money some of the criminals are making, and wants part of it. So he decides to take advantage of a ‘booming market’ as they say, all the immigrant workers. But he decided he wanted more, and started going after businesses run by Irish, blacks, whatever. Demanded money for his protection. I’ve seen friends lose their livelihoods because of him. He needs to be stopped.”
“We will,” was Annie’s response.
Ray was sitting at his desk, looking distastefully at his typewriter, but knowing he would have to do some paperwork. His phone trilled out its tone. Ray sighed and picked it up. “Carling."
“Sgt. Carling? Forensics here. That piece of paper you brought in for fingerprints? Seems the person who wrote it was careless. We found a match. Came up as a Thomas Coker - the file is on it’s way over to you.”
“Thomas Coker?”
“Yes. He apparently was arrested for ABH a couple of years ago, but the charges were dropped.”
“ Name rings a bell. Ta very much for this.”
Gene was dozing on the uncomfortable chair outside Nelson’s room. When they realised how much police presence there was going to be for this case, the sister in charge had moved him to a side room, out of the way. He woke up suddenly, feeling a hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. He looked up into the eyes of Mr Betancourt.
“Sorry about that, Mr Hunt, but you should come.” Mr Betancourt said. Gene jumped up, and stroke into Nelson’s room. A smile broke out on Gene’s face. Nelson was sitting up, looking weak, but unmistakably awake.
“Mr Hunt,” he smiled at Gene. “Glad to know I am sufficiently important enough to have the man himself sitting outside.”
“Well, don’t want just anyone to do it, gotta have the best.” Gene watched as Nelson’s parents carefully kissed their son then left the room, leaving Gene alone with Nelson.
“How are you, my friend?”
“I’ve been better. I ache all over. Can’t remember too well what happened, before you ask.”
“Take yer time.”
“Well, can’t remember too well, but...”
Gene strode back into CID. “OK you lot, listen up!”
“Guv!” This came from both Annie and Ray.
“Will you two shut up and listen? I’m talking here. Ok, Nelson is awake,” and with this news, a sigh of relief went through the office, “and he will be fine. Being the good man he is, he did manage to give me a likely name of the man responsible. It’s a casino owner, by the...”
“Thomas Coker!” Once again, this came from both Annie and Ray. Gene looked at them, a touch crestfallen.
“How the bloody hell...”
“Forensics, Guv. They came up trumps.”
“Witness who is scared, Guv. I, erm, promised we would protect him and his family. And since no one knew anything at the time...” Annie trailed off, blushed, but continued to stare defiantly at Gene.
“Tyler’s a bad influence on you, Cartwright. Ok, you two,” pointing at two of the junior officers, “go over, look after Cartwright’s witness. Rest of you, time to pay Mr Coker a visit. Let him know that CID aren’t happy about their favourite bar being destroyed.”
“Shhh he is coming!”
“Will you divs crouch down - the idea is he is not supposed to see you.”
“Chris, will you get your elbow out of my eye?”
They had pulled Coker in without any problems - it appears that for all his hard-man exterior, he didn’t expect the police to come visiting with a warrant for his arrest. Sam glanced round the pub. All around there were whispers, giggles and the sounds of an excited CID. Gene had used his extensive contacts and managed to get the pub back in working order in record time. Amazing how fast he could organise something when he had a vested interest in it, Sam thought. Gene had pulled in a lot of the favours he had built up over the years. Joiners, carpenters, plumbers, electricians, all had been drafted in at short notice. Even the TV that Sam had put up on the wall had been replaced. Gene had acquired the booze as well - where from, Sam just didn’t want to know. He looked up at his Guv, watching him happily surveying the surroundings.
“Good job there Gene. He will be pleased to see things back to normal.”
Gene smiled briefly, then his face suddenly went back to its normal expression. “Yeah, well, had to be done if I want a drink. Not going to any other damn pub when this one is so close.” Sam smiled, then turned as he heard the door handle move. He glanced at Gene, then they both ducked down behind the bar.
“I’m sure it won’t be that bad, Nelson.” Mr Betancourt’s voice was heard as the door opened slowly. “Mr Hunt said he was going to try and tidy...” his voice trailed off as he saw the condition of the pub.
“Surprise!” CID members popped up from all over the room, grinning at the two people entering the pub. Nelson, from his wheelchair looked shocked, then his face broke out in a massive grin.
“What the hell have you done with my pub?”