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feeble excuse for not putting an entry onto the custody record.
It wouldn’t hold water if the Police Complaints Authority ever got
involved.
    ‘ Morning, Sarge - sorry, Inspector.’
    Henry glanced up. Derek Luton was standing there, smiling and
very smartly dressed.
    ‘ You coming to the briefing, Henry?’
    ‘ Yep, certainly am.’ Henry laid the statement carefully in his
desk drawer and stood up. ‘All psyched up for this,
Degsy?’
    ‘ Can’t effing wait,’ he said, rubbing his hands together
enthusiastically.
    Henry slid his jacket on. They walked towards the door. ‘I
hear it was a detective from NWOCS that got blasted,’ Henry
said.
    ‘ Yeah, believe so.’
    ‘ Name been released yet?’
    ‘ At the briefing, I think,’ said Luton.
    ‘ I heard Tony Morton telling FB he would deploy his whole team
for this. You could end up working with one of the
elite.’
    ‘ I’ll try not to wet my keks,’ laughed Luton.
    Just before they reached the door the phone rang on Henry’s
desk. ‘Shit. I’ll see you up there.’ He about faced and walked
slowly back, hoping it would stop ringing before he got to it. It
didn’t.
     
     
    Rider was in the bar of his newly acquired club. It was dark
and cool but smelled of old tobacco and spilled beer, beer which
had permeated into the carpet, making each tread a sticky one. The
whole place was suffering from neglect and bad management, needing
gutting and refurbishing.
    Rider sighed and let his eyes skim over the place. It was huge
- a former casino, though the last time a roulette wheel had spun
was in the early 1960s. Beyond the bar, dance floor and eating
areas was a warren of corridors and rooms going up three floors.
Rider wondered if he’d bitten off more than he could chew. It was
going to cost a lot to get it up and running properly, but the
joint had real potential.
    All it needed was cash and dedication.
    Jacko the head barman was polishing glasses. He had come with
the place - as had a few other staff - was a good worker and very
proud of his territory behind the bar. It was the only area in the
whole club that was spotless.
    Rider had only known Jacko about six weeks but had been
impressed by him from the start. He appeared honest, loyal and
committed to the place. He and Jacko had taken to each other and
Rider had no hesitation in keeping him on. A good bar manager could
be the lynchpin to the whole operation, and Rider knew a good one
when he saw one.
    The rest of the staff he sacked. They were lazy, idle,
incompetent and dishonest.
    He drank the last of his third gin and put the glass on the
bar. Jacko came, picked it up and wiped underneath it.
    ‘ Another, boss?’ he enquired.
    Rider shook his head. He was relaxed now. He’d gone through
that lightheaded, nervy phase that always seemed to affect him
after a confrontation. Jacko took the glass away.
    Conroy returned from the pay-phone in the entrance foyer, made
his way to the bar and told Jacko to get him a Bell’s. He scowled
into his drink as he tipped it back down his throat then proffered
his glass for another, this time a treble. His head was
throbbing.
    ‘ Left me fuckin’ mobile in the car,’ he said. ‘Just phoned the
driver to tell him to pick me up.’
    ‘ How’s the ear?’
    It was clanging like Big Ben.
    ‘ I’ll survive.’
    He took a mouthful of the whisky, ran it round his mouth,
swallowed and gasped. He stared at the smooth liquid for a moment
and at length said, ‘Haven’t seen that move for a while,
John.’
    ‘ Mm?’
    ‘ Disarming - yanking a gun outta someone’s hand. Used to be
your party trick, that, dinnit?’
    ‘ Not especially,’ said Rider. He had done it twice before,
though the gun hadn’t gone off on those occasions. He was getting
slow. ‘One day I’ll miss and some fucker’ll get blown
away.’
    Conroy appraised Rider critically.
    ‘ You never lost your bottle, did you? All you did was become a
drunk.’ ‘I got out of it, that’s all. I’d had