shoot-’em-ups with huge video screens and digital imprecations.
‘Think you’re tough enough, punk?’ one of them challenged as Rebus walked past. They had names like Harbinger and NecroCop, this latter reminding Rebus of how old he felt. He looked at the faces around him, saw a few he recognised, kids who’d been pulled into St Leonard’s. They’d be on the fringes of Telford’s gang, awaiting the call-up, hanging around like foster children, hoping The Family would take them. Most of them came from families who weren’t families, latchkey kids grown old before their time.
One of the staff came in from the café.
‘Who ordered the bacon sarnie?’
Rebus smiled as the faces turned to him. Bacon meantpig meant him. A moment’s examination was all he warranted. There were more pressing demands on their attention. At the far end of the arcade were the really big machines: half-size motorbikes you sat astride as you negotiated the circuit on the screen in front of you. A small appreciative coterie stood around one bike, on which sat a young man dressed in a leather jacket. Not a market-stall jacket, something altogether more special. Quality goods. Shiny sharp-toed boots. Tight black denims. White polo neck. Surrounded by fawning courtiers. Steely Dan: ‘Kid Charlemagne’. Rebus found a space for himself in the midst of the glaring onlookers.
‘No takers for that bacon sarnie?’ he asked.
‘Who are you?’ the man on the machine demanded.
‘DI Rebus.’
‘Cafferty’s man.’ Said with conviction.
‘What?’
‘I hear you and him go back.’
‘I put him inside.’
‘Not every cop gets visiting rights though.’ Rebus realised that though Telford’s gaze was fixed on the screen, he was watching Rebus in its reflection. Watching him, talking to him, yet still managing to control the bike through hairpin bends.
‘So is there some problem, Inspector?’
‘Yes, there’s a problem. We picked up one of your girls.’
‘My what?’
‘She calls herself Candice. That’s about as much as we know. But foreign lassies are a new one on me. And you’re fairly new around here, too.’
‘I’m not getting your drift, Inspector. I supply goods and services to the entertainment sector. Are you accusing me of being a pimp?’
Rebus stuck out a foot and pushed the bike sideways. Onthe screen, it spun and hit a crash barrier. A moment later, the screen changed. Back to the start of the race.
‘See, Inspector,’ Telford said, still not turning round. ‘That’s the beauty of games. You can always start again after an accident. Not so easy in real life.’
‘What if I cut the power? Game over.’
Slowly, Telford swivelled from the hips. Now he was looking at Rebus. Close up, he looked so young. Most of the gangsters Rebus had known, they’d had a worn look, undernourished but overfed. Telford had the look of some new strain of bacteria, not yet tested or understood.
‘So what is it, Rebus? Some message from Cafferty?’
‘Candice,’ Rebus said quietly, the slight tremor in his voice betraying his anger. With a couple of drinks in him, he’d have had Telford on the floor by now. ‘From tonight, she’s off the game, understood?’
‘I don’t know any Candice.’
‘Understood?’
‘Hang on, let’s see if I’ve got this. You want me to agree with you that a woman I’ve never met should stop touting her hole?’
Smiles from the spectators. Telford turned back to his game. ‘Where’s this woman from anyway?’ he asked, almost casually.
‘We’re not sure,’ Rebus lied. He didn’t want Telford knowing any more than was necessary.
‘Must have been a great little chat the two of you had.’
‘She’s scared shitless.’
‘Me, too, Rebus. I’m scared you’re going to bore me to death. This Candice, did she give you a taste of the goods? I’m betting it’s not every scrubber would get you this het up.’
Laughter, Rebus its brunt.
‘She’s off the game, Telford. Don’t
‘Think you’re tough enough, punk?’ one of them challenged as Rebus walked past. They had names like Harbinger and NecroCop, this latter reminding Rebus of how old he felt. He looked at the faces around him, saw a few he recognised, kids who’d been pulled into St Leonard’s. They’d be on the fringes of Telford’s gang, awaiting the call-up, hanging around like foster children, hoping The Family would take them. Most of them came from families who weren’t families, latchkey kids grown old before their time.
One of the staff came in from the café.
‘Who ordered the bacon sarnie?’
Rebus smiled as the faces turned to him. Bacon meantpig meant him. A moment’s examination was all he warranted. There were more pressing demands on their attention. At the far end of the arcade were the really big machines: half-size motorbikes you sat astride as you negotiated the circuit on the screen in front of you. A small appreciative coterie stood around one bike, on which sat a young man dressed in a leather jacket. Not a market-stall jacket, something altogether more special. Quality goods. Shiny sharp-toed boots. Tight black denims. White polo neck. Surrounded by fawning courtiers. Steely Dan: ‘Kid Charlemagne’. Rebus found a space for himself in the midst of the glaring onlookers.
‘No takers for that bacon sarnie?’ he asked.
‘Who are you?’ the man on the machine demanded.
‘DI Rebus.’
‘Cafferty’s man.’ Said with conviction.
‘What?’
‘I hear you and him go back.’
‘I put him inside.’
‘Not every cop gets visiting rights though.’ Rebus realised that though Telford’s gaze was fixed on the screen, he was watching Rebus in its reflection. Watching him, talking to him, yet still managing to control the bike through hairpin bends.
‘So is there some problem, Inspector?’
‘Yes, there’s a problem. We picked up one of your girls.’
‘My what?’
‘She calls herself Candice. That’s about as much as we know. But foreign lassies are a new one on me. And you’re fairly new around here, too.’
‘I’m not getting your drift, Inspector. I supply goods and services to the entertainment sector. Are you accusing me of being a pimp?’
Rebus stuck out a foot and pushed the bike sideways. Onthe screen, it spun and hit a crash barrier. A moment later, the screen changed. Back to the start of the race.
‘See, Inspector,’ Telford said, still not turning round. ‘That’s the beauty of games. You can always start again after an accident. Not so easy in real life.’
‘What if I cut the power? Game over.’
Slowly, Telford swivelled from the hips. Now he was looking at Rebus. Close up, he looked so young. Most of the gangsters Rebus had known, they’d had a worn look, undernourished but overfed. Telford had the look of some new strain of bacteria, not yet tested or understood.
‘So what is it, Rebus? Some message from Cafferty?’
‘Candice,’ Rebus said quietly, the slight tremor in his voice betraying his anger. With a couple of drinks in him, he’d have had Telford on the floor by now. ‘From tonight, she’s off the game, understood?’
‘I don’t know any Candice.’
‘Understood?’
‘Hang on, let’s see if I’ve got this. You want me to agree with you that a woman I’ve never met should stop touting her hole?’
Smiles from the spectators. Telford turned back to his game. ‘Where’s this woman from anyway?’ he asked, almost casually.
‘We’re not sure,’ Rebus lied. He didn’t want Telford knowing any more than was necessary.
‘Must have been a great little chat the two of you had.’
‘She’s scared shitless.’
‘Me, too, Rebus. I’m scared you’re going to bore me to death. This Candice, did she give you a taste of the goods? I’m betting it’s not every scrubber would get you this het up.’
Laughter, Rebus its brunt.
‘She’s off the game, Telford. Don’t
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