Read The Face (Harry Tyler Book 1) for Free Online Page B

the other two just pull it out of a jacket pocket.”
    Gary Shaw made a note of the names. “Leave it to me,” he said.

CHAPTER THREE
     

STARK RAVING NORMAL
     
     
    I t was 3.37 am as Harry sped along the M11 and on to the A11 towards home. He’d had “a couple of light ales” – five bottles of Budweiser and three large JD and Cokes – with the operational team who had taken out Sonny and breathless George. He’d meant to knock it on the head after two Buds, but you know how it is. Harry smirked as he recalled DC Brennan describing the way George’s face had drained of colour when he’d clocked that sea of pistols pointing at him. “Michael Jackson paid a plastic surgeon thousands to achieve that whitening effect,” he’d said. “Harry Tyler could have done it for him for nothing.”
    The laughs had been followed by anxious glances. In today’s brave new force, a good cop could get busted down the ranks or even fired for cracking a joke that could be construed as “racist” by any passing low-life/no-life
Guardian
-reading mug. One Met inspector had just been demoted to constable for a throw-away remark. Luckily, Detective Sergeant MacKay, the one West Indian officer in the squad, was generally considered “one of yer own” and had taken the remark in the spirit it had been intended.
    Harry slowed down to 70 as he ejected the Blink 182 CD from his car stereo and replaced it with the latest Bloodhouse Gang offering. He was still buzzing from the success of the op. It had taken months of hard graft to pull off and before he got the chance to unwind, Harry had made his notes, been thoroughly debriefed, worked out his expenses, dumped the Granada and picked up a newish Cougar from the workshop. He’d been the man of the match in the bar though.
    Harry had spent a good half hour chatting to Stacey, the woman detective sergeant from the surveillance team, the one with the baby-seat but no baby in her car. She was one of those Dorises you don’t fancy at first but who, at times like now, when you’re deadbeat, you start fantasising about. She was the sort of girl that you’ve really got to sack after the second or third shag … or maybe the fourth if she was a good bunk-up. He’d told her he had to go cos “one more drink and I’ll be under the table”. Stacey, laughing, had replied, “One more drink and I’d probably be under you.” There was something about the glint in her eye that made Harry think she meant it. In his mind’s eye, Stacey had cornered him in the bar, grabbed his balls and was whispering, “Anything you say will be held against me.” Harry felt his best friend stir. He went to punch her number into the moby but thought better of it. He was only five minutes from home.
    He clicked the CD on to the best number, “The Ballad Of Chasey Lain”, and sung along with his own words: “You’ve had a lot of dick, STACEY, but you ain’t had mine.” Harry laughed aloud. Fuck, he was tired. He swerved to avoid a splattered hedgehog and thought about breathless George again. The miserable mess of roadkill had had more chance than that gormless twat.
    It was drizzling as Harry pulled up on his driveway. Ah, that wonderful English summer. The house was a sight. He rubbed his sore eyes and briefly studied his three-bedroom semi. That clump of grass was still growing out of the gutter. The outside needed to be painted again this year. The drainpipe had a leak.
    The upstairs curtain twitched. Harry glimpsed his wife, Kara. She didn’t look too impressed. Bollocks, he thought. Why didn’t I call to tell her I was coming home? It wasn’t a lot to ask, one poxy phone call, but then Harry was selfish. He didn’t mean to be. It was just … he got busy, OK? She didn’t understand. You get so wrapped up in your work you can’t ALLOW anything else to get in the way. If you lose focus it could cost you more than the case. It could cost your fucking LIFE! Fuck, now he was ready to ruck her and