Fucking Craven, Detective Inspector Craven.

‘Fraser?’

I pretend I can’t hear him, saying, ‘Hang on, pal. Hang on, mate.’

I look back up the road again and see a transit van spewing out SPG, tearing off after the wogs through the bonfire.

Ellis is back. ‘Soon as the ambulance gets here, Rudkin wants us back at the Station. Says it’s a right madhouse.’

‘Like this isn’t? You wait with them,’ I say, standing up.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I’ll be back in a bit.’

Ellis is muttering and cursing as I tear off back up towards number 2, back up towards Janice.

‘Fuck you want?’

‘Let us in. I just want to talk.’

‘There’s a surprise,’ she says but opens the door to let me in.

She’s barefoot in a long flower skirt and t-shirt.

I stand in the centre of the room, the window open, the smell of smoke and the start of a riot outside.

I say, ‘They threw a brick or something at a Vice car.’

‘Yeah?’ she says, like it doesn’t happen every other night of the fucking week.

I shut my mouth and put my arms round her.

‘So that’s what you want?’ she laughs.

‘No,’ I lie, fucked off and hard.

She squats down, pulling at my zip as I fall back and sink into the bed.

She starts sucking, my mind black sky with stars popping in and out, listening to the sirens and the screams, knowing the shit hasn’t even begun.

‘Fuck you been?’

‘Shut up, Ellis.’

‘It was fucking DI Craven in the car, you know?’

‘You’re joking?’

I get into the car, the street still full of blue lights and SPG.

The bonfires out, the wogs nicked, Craven and his mate in St James, and DC Ellis still not content.

I let him drive.

‘So where were you?’

‘Leave it,’ I say quietly.

‘Rudkin’s going to fucking murder us,’ he moans.