Cops like nothing better than a real shiner, a black eye in all its glory amuses them endlessly. So next day McDonald was taking a storm of stick. His story was he’d had a dispute with a motorist. No one believed it, and sure enough Brant came swaggering along, looked at him, said:

‘Motorists carrying knuckle-dusters, eh.’

Which told McDonald where Falls had got the weapon, but of course he couldn’t say anything. Just add Brant yet again to his ultimate hit list. Then the Super summoned him and on hearing the motorist yarn asked:

‘And you arrested him?’

‘Mmm… In the confusion, he slipped away’

Brown glared, went:

‘Forgetting something, are we, Constable?’

‘I didn’t get the registration, as I said…’

Brown shouted:

‘Sir, I didn’t hear you say “sir” when you addressed me. Now I have to wonder if you’re really cut out for this line of work. You seem to be exceedingly accident prone, not a good trait for a policeman.’

McDonald wanted to protest, say how he’d yet again been the innocent victim, but before he could even start to whine, the Super said:

‘Get out of my sight, have a look at the security ads, I hear they’ll hire any one.’

The desk sergeant assigned him to the snarl of traffic on Balham High Road which, if not the highway to hell, was definitely the Road to Perdition. As McDonald slumped off, the sergeant roared:

‘And if someone wallops you, call the cops.’

Brant was having a pint of Guinness, a ham sandwich curling alongside. The door opened and Falls came in, asked: