Roberts reluctantly took his hand, said:

‘I know who you are, you’re going to tell us how to run things, just what we need.’

The drinks came, Roberts was reaching for his wallet but Wallace beat him to it, said:

‘My treat.’

He raised the pint, inspected it, then said:

‘I’m not here to tell you jack shit, buddy. I’m here in an advisory position, not my idea I can tell you that, I could be back home, watching the Yankees having their ass handed to them.’

Porter raised his glass, said:

‘Hey, here’s to cooperation, right?’

Roberts drained his shot in one, shouted:

‘Sully, same again.’

Wallace clinked his glass against Porter’s, said:

‘Here’s looking at you, bro.’

He knocked off most of the pint in one toss, said:

‘Jesus H. Christ, that’s piss.’

Then he settled back in his chair, asked:

‘So, who shot your sergeant?’

7

Falls had finally left the hospital, the nurse telling her Brant was comfortable and got the look from Falls, who asked:

‘He was shot in the back a few hours ago and he’s comfortable?’

The nurse, white, was never entirely at ease with black people, they seemed so angry all the time. She ventured:

‘It’s what we say, you know, to reassure the relatives.’

Falls was beginning to enjoy the mind fuck, asked:

‘You noticed that Sergeant Brant is white?’

‘Am… yes.’

Falls took her time, then:

‘So, how do you figure I’m related to him?’

The nurse fled.

Falls headed for the pub, she had her new rank to celebrate, went to The Oval pub right beside the station, bought a copy of The Big Issue from the homeless guy, who said: