And besides, he’d have needed super-vision, since Shirley had been half a mile away, having decided to lose her own tail before tackling Lech’s. Northern Line to King’s Cross seemed a good bet, and had almost certainly been successful, in that Shirley had grown confused changing platforms, resulting in a brief, unexpected excursion to Mornington Crescent. She hadn’t noticed anyone else making the same tortuous journey, so assumed her follower was currently heading wherever the Northern Line went. Unless nobody had been following her in the first place. That was the trouble with this bullshit training game the Park was playing: nobody told you when it started, and when or if it stopped.
Once back at Old Street, she’d hovered by the station barriers, then walked a circuit – underground, overground – without spotting Lech, let alone his tail. So she decided she needed a little sharpener, just to keep her edges shiny, and headed into the toilets to do a line, which was when she’d heard Lech’s voice coming from the gents.
But all he needed to know was that she’d been there when the chips were down.
She made a sideways gesture with a flattened hand. ‘Moves like Wonder Woman.’
They were in a pub again, a different one, having left the colosseum by separate routes and regrouped on a side street off Shoreditch High. Black Mac – whom Shirley had rendered comatose with a small leather sap – was last seen propped on a toilet, outstretched legs keeping the cubicle door closed. He won’t die, had been Shirley’s considered opinion. And okay, she wasn’t a medic, but she had considerable pharmaceutical expertise.
Lech was twitchy, his eyes flicking doorwards every time it opened. You’d think he’d never beaten up a stranger in a toilet before. And when she’d showed him the sap, he’d actually groaned.
‘Put that away. It’s a deadly weapon.’
‘I’ll just say it’s a sex aid.’
‘Still probably arrestable.’
She’d been interrupted in her earlier mission, so headed for the loo before she’d finished her first pint, and returned brighter-eyed, bushier-tailed, then dumped the contents of Black Mac’s pockets on the table.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ Lech hissed, scooping keys and phone up and transferring them to his pocket. ‘Why don’t you just hoist a banner? “Muggers R Us”?’
‘Nobody’s watching.’
‘You hope.’ He thumbed through the wallet while Shirley took a few life-enhancing draughts of lager. She’d been in this pub before. Shoreditch was her stamping ground, though she might have to expand that definition. Stamping and bopping-on-the-head. She examined her fingers, which were a little tingly. Nothing gets the sap moving like swinging a sap … She thought about sharing this with Wicinski, but it was maybe too soon. He’d gone green when Black Mac hit the deck.
And now he said, ‘You know what I’m not finding?’
‘What?’
‘A Service card.’
‘Yeah, check again.’
‘I already did.’
‘Well, maybe he had it in his trouser pocket. I might have missed it.’
‘Or he didn’t have one.’
‘Or he left it at home.’
‘You ever do that?’
She didn’t. Her card was as good as sewn onto her body: there was always the chance she’d need to flash it at a copper making a drugs bust, or use it to impress someone. Which she hardly ever did, by the way. Maybe twice.
Lech said, ‘What if he wasn’t the tail?’
‘He probably was.’
‘But what if he wasn’t?’
‘What’s his ID say?’
There were credit cards in the wallet, their user name D Walker. Nothing with a photo on it. And no Service card.
Lech said, ‘He was wearing a reversible mac. He changed it while I was doing a loop. So I wouldn’t notice he was hanging around.’
‘There you go. Definitely a tail.’
‘Unless I got that wrong. Maybe he had it black side out all along.’
‘So what was he up to?’
‘Waiting for someone?’
‘So why’d he follow you into the toilet?’
‘Because he needed a piss,’ Lech said. Then: ‘Jesus, what have we done?’
‘Worst case scenario,’ Shirley said, ‘we’ve decked a civilian.’
‘And stolen his wallet and phone.’
‘Yeah, that too.’
‘This is serious!’
Which it was, but you had to see the funny side was Shirley’s take. And you could trace the culpability right back to Regent’s Park, if you wanted to get technical.
On the other hand, if you wanted to get evidential, you could trace it back to Shirley’s leather sap.
Lech said, ‘I’m not exactly unrecognisable.’
‘Neither am I,’ offered Shirley.
‘Yes, but he didn’t see you.’
Shirley thought about that. ‘You might be in some shit.’
‘Thanks.’
She looked at the booty on the table. ‘Probably we should get rid of this.’
‘We can post it back to him,’ Lech said.
‘Or he could pay for the next round,’ she said.
It didn’t seem much to ask. Not after Black Mac had wasted their time. But Lech was having none of it, and Shirley watched grumpily as the wallet joined the rest of the treasure trove in his pocket.
‘Another drink?’ she suggested.
‘I’m going home,’ said Lech.
‘Might be best to avoid Old Street.’
