Brant asked:
‘You put some money on?’
‘On Falls folding?’
A little alliteration himself, it was contagious. Roberts brushed at his suit, an old number from his married days and not wearing well, said:
‘I’m the Gov, how’d it be if I was betting on my squad jacking.’
Brant smiled, went:
‘It’d be smart.’
They were currently tracking a stolen-car ring and pressure was on as the superintendent’s Lexus had been taken. A number of false leads had increased the man’s ire. One of Brant’s snitches now claimed to have real information. Brant’s ‘informers’… finks, had a lethal record of getting wasted. The current one was still hanging in. Named Alcazar, known as Caz, he had a history of hanging-paper, dealing in dodgy travellers cheques. Various times he was from:
Puerto Rico
Honduras
South America.
What made him stand out from the herd was, he’d never done time.
He was short, with black hair, a dancer’s body, and hooded eyes.
He was from Croydon.
And man, he could dance: flamenco salsa jive la Macarena.
His choice of weapon was a stiletto, pearl-handled of course. He put oceans of Brylcreem in his hair and smoked Ducados like a good ‘un.
What you might call a fully rounded individual. He wore a huge, gold medallion of ‘Our Lady of Guadalupe.’
Roberts asked:
‘Who’s this source we’re meeting?’
Brant gave him the full wattage of his smile, said:
‘You’ll like him; he’s a dancer.’
And she’d got it. Nothing.
3
Porter Nash had a new boyfriend.
Sorta.
Being a ranking officer and gay was not exactly usual.