Read Vixen (Inspector Brant) for Free Online Page B

kids, their faces a riot of cream and sticky bun. The man had had enough, marched over, said:
    ‘This is scandalous! I mean, you’re supposed to be representing the status quo. I want your names and numbers.’
    He actually took out a slim red notebook and a flash gold pen, prepared to take the details. Falls drank some coffee, wiped her mouth delicately with a tissue then fixed her gaze on him, asked:
    ‘Is that your car outside?’
    ‘What? Oh yes, it is.’
    ‘In about two minutes I’m going to have it towed; it matches the description of a car wanted in connection with a string of robberies. You should have it back in… oh, let’s say three weeks. I obviously can’t guarantee its condition but I’ll ask them to be careful, you being a law-abiding citizen and all.’
    He stared at her, rage creasing his brow. Then he put the notebook away and he turned on his heel, walked out. Andrews asked:
    ‘Which car is his?’
    ‘I’ve no idea.’
    Andrews felt she’d learned a valuable lesson in dealing with the public.
    When they went to the counter, the owner said:
    ‘No charge, ladies, I’m honoured by your custom.’
    Falls wasn’t pleased, near shouted:
    ‘Did we ask you for anything free?’
    ‘No, but…’
    ‘But you presumed we’d be bought for a lousy stale bun.’
    She threw a pile of change on the counter and headed out. Andrews felt sorry for him, tried to give him a warm smile, it didn’t seem to do much good. Outside, Falls was waiting and Andrews said:
    ‘Wasn’t that a bit harsh?’
    ‘If you’re going to have a freebie, at least make it worthwhile; for a spoon of cream, you could lose your job. And,that guy would be on the phone every opportunity, asking for his favourite officers.’
    ‘Maybe he just meant well.’
    ‘He’s the public – they never mean well.’

‘I had intended him to kill somebody… spend the
rest of the story making him human… I was twenty
or thirty pages in before I realised he was black. Not
only black, he’s a black man who had tried, albeit
inchoately, to turn himself into a white man, to live
up to white values, at various times in his life, and
they always collapse on him.’
James Sallis, on the creation of Lew Griffin.

13
    ROBERTS HAD THE team gathered in the conference room. The phone was in the centre of the desk, the deadline fast approaching. Roberts had arranged for the call to be put on the speaker so they all could hear. He had the briefcase of cash beside it.
    Brant said:
    ‘So we’re really going to pay these assholes?’
    Roberts nodded miserably.
    Porter asked:
    ‘Have we at least a trace set on the money?’
    ‘We are going to try and see if we can catch them when they collect.’
    The team digested this, doubt writ large on their faces. Porter said:
    ‘They seem very confident that they are going to get the money without any problem.’
    Roberts’ face was set in stone, as if it had been achieved over his dead body. No one seemed reassured by this. The phone rang and some of the younger officers actually jumped. Brant smiled, he was looking forward to this. The robotic voice began:
    ‘Greetings friends, I assume I’m on speaker so I’ll take the liberty of addressing you en group.’
    Roberts tried to stay cool, said:
    ‘The money is here.’
    ‘Good man, you’re a splendid errand boy. Now here’s the arrangement. Are you ready because I’ll only say it once, so pencils ready guys?’
    Nobody moved, it was of course being taped. The voice began:
    ‘Get a large black holdall with the word “Swag” written on it. Then Roberts you, yes you – pay attention and stop sulking – you are to deliver it to the left luggage at Waterloo station before 8.00 this evening. Get a receipt in case it goes missing, Network Rail are a whore if you don’t have the ticket. That’s it guys, nice and simple, so I don’t see how you can fuck it up.’
    Click.
    Roberts looked round at the faces and said:
    ‘Get me a black holdall and write