The Stone Gallows by C David Ingram Page B

grease him up, he’d have run to the bathroom in his eagerness to help.
    Joe stood up and studied Derek. His chest was moving; the kid was breathing alright. Joe turned his attention to Gerry. ‘Now, I won’t waste anybody’s time by saying that it’s up to you to turn your life around. What I will point out is that I can always come back, and the next time, I’ll hand out some real punishment. To both of you. So if you and your dumb little buddy find yourselves contemplating getting up to something naughty, just remember. . . I’ll find you.’
    4.3.
    We made it half a mile before I had to stop the car. I pulled in at a bus stop, opened the door and threw up all over the tarmac. I could feel Joe’s eyes boring into the back of my head. ‘Sorry, sir.’
    â€˜That’s OK. And it’s Joe. While it’s just the two of us. You can go back to sir when we get back to the station.’
    I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’
    â€˜It’s shock.’ He held out his right hand in front of him. I noticed a barely perceptible tremor. ‘I feel a little bit like that myself.’ He checked his watch. ‘It’s nearly knocking off time. Let’s make a little detour. Take the next right.’
    Joe directed me to a pub called Yesterday’s Promise. Never had a drinking establishment been so aptly named. It was on the edge of a mostly abandoned industrial estate and had obviously collapsed onto hard times. Once it might have been a place for tired workers to go at the end of a long day, but as the businesses had moved out, so had the clientele. Exterior paint had long since peeled away to the bare wood, and the once white walls were now a dirty shade of grey. Joe caught me looking and said, ‘I know, it’s a shithole. . . which means there’s not much chance of running into management types.’
    Once my eyes had adjusted to the gloom, the place was better on the inside than I expected. Yesterday’s Promise was never going to make the Good Pub Guide – the promise of yesterday apparently failing to become the reality of today – but it was reasonably clean, with polished wood tables and an impressive selection of whisky. The place was deserted except for a barman who was about five feet tall, with a pointy nose and prominent teeth that made me think of a rat.
    I was going to order a Coke, but before I could speak, Joe put a ten down on the bar. ‘Two half and halves, Des, and get one for yourself.’
    He looked at me. ‘Why don’t you go and grab us that table in the corner?’
    I did as I was asked, taking a seat where I could watch the bar.
    Ratman – Des, as Joe had called him – prepared our drinks, the ten pound note disappearing into the till with not even an offer of any change. They chatted for a few seconds before Joe brought the drinks over. He sat down opposite me and polished off the whisky in one go.
    â€˜Christ, I needed that.’
    I didn’t especially want to have an alcoholic drink – I was still a probationary constable, remember – but my mouth was a desert. I took the tiniest sip of the lager, but my thirst outweighed my sense and I ended up downing half of it in one go. Now that the adrenaline was leaving my system, I was angry. Things had gone too far. Way too far.
    But what could I say? Joe was the senior officer, and I had watched without even trying to intervene. And hadn’t there been a little voice in the back of my mind all along, whispering that the little shit was only getting what he deserved? Wasn’t that what I was really angry about?
    Joe seemed to know what I was thinking. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t plan for that. I didn’t go in there with the intention putting the kid in a cast.’
    â€˜But you meant all along to hurt him. I mean, why else were we there?’
    Joe nodded soberly.