BiteMarks by Drew Cross Page B

confirms my suspicions before the blaze comes into view.
    For kicks in these parts the local youths head out in teams, aiming to steal cars from red through to black in the same sequence as they are found on a snooker table. The first team to collect the black car then smash it into their pile of other vehicles and ignite the whole lot wins. Silver cars are a popular choice among the law abiding contingent who are unable to sell up and live elsewhere, nobody around here owns a pink or purple one.
    Judging by the sheer amount of burning cars that greet me, there was a closely fought contest involving a number of teams today. Intense flames stretch out their fingers high into the sky, and there are at least a hundred youths gathered around the periphery, smoking fags and joints, swigging from cans of cheap alcohol and laughing too loudly when a tire explodes or heated glass shatters.
    They see me coming from a long way off, but don't bother to disperse since I'm on my own and therefore not in a position to do a great deal.
    I take my time approaching, and remove my gloves as I get close enough to feel the heat on my face, then hold out my hands in front of me making a pretense at warming them on the fire. The crowd gives a low rumble of incredulous appreciative laughter.
    “ Well now, since there are one or two suspects for me to nick here, I guess you'd better start forming an orderly queue.”
    Another low rumble of amusement from the group.
    “ You think you're down with us now Mr Po-Lees?”
    The aggressive challenge from a large muscular lad with neck tattoos, Scott Abbott, recently released after a ridiculously short stretch for GBH.
    “ I don't really care either way, Scott.”
    “ I can make you fucking care.”
    I maintain my calm, anticipating, savoring “With the help of this lot you could, I agree, but not on your own.”
    Scott turns scarlet from the gold neck-chain up, unable to rein in his quick temper as I deliver the end of the sentence.
    “ Besides, I thought that it was only girls and wimps that you were brave enough to swing your fists at?”
    The punch starts somewhere in the next county, a comedy wind-up devoid of all technique that I can see coming a mile away. I step inside the arc of the blow, driving my elbow hard into his jaw, snapping the head back and knocking him clean out. For my encore I catch him around the chest as he sags, ensuring that he doesn't smash his head on the floor and lower him down into the recovery position, ensuring that his airway is clear, once again I don't fancy the paperwork if I hurt him too badly. “If he doesn't wake up after a couple of minutes he'll probably need an ambulance, Just keep an eye on him and make sure he's breathing in the meantime. I think what you guys need here is marshmallows on sticks.”
    I gesture at the raging fire, the comments directed at a group of girls watching open-mouthed, then walk away before the crowd remember that there are more of them than me, resisting the urge to take a bow. Just.
     
    * * *
     
    Her tone is low with arousal as she guides my hand between her legs, rocking gently against my fingertips and watching my reaction intently.  “I'm not looking for anything serious, but I believe in asking for what I want.
    You know how it is, the job takes precedence over everything else and before you know it, it's been entirely too long.”
    She gives a short self-conscious laugh. “Sorry did that sound desperate?”
    “ No, not at all. My place or yours?”
    “ Yours this time, Shane.”
    The answer direct and non-negotiable, a good recovery all things considered, although I am entertaining the suspicion that I'll enjoy the subtle psychological power games more than the actual sex. One thing's for sure, I'm going to know an awful lot more about D.I Karen Cobb before the evening's finished. She catches my appreciative appraisal of her great body, but not the distracted trail of my thoughts, smiling at me as I gently stroke the