Beast of Burden Read Online Free Page B

about it and find out where he actually is. I'm saying use what they taught you your first day about adapting to situations in order to avoid conflict. And I'm also saying that if you continue to show your face round here, causing trouble for people like Frank — who's done his time, completely rehabilitated himself, and is now a productive member of that society you've promised to protect — then I'll have no option but to file a formal complaint with your superiors.”
    I thought about what he said for a good long while, took on his arguments, digested them.
    Then I gave him my answer: “Get fucked.”
    “I could complain about you now, anyway. And I will if you don't haul your arse out of my club in the next ten seconds.”
    I pointed at him. “I won't be threatened.”
    “You're not being threatened.”
    “Nah, I'm not going to be threatened by some poof fuckin' jailbird—
    “You're being promised , Detective. Cal's a good lad, but if he's hit, he'll hit back, sometimes a little too hard for his own good. And I don't need you provoking him on my premises. You want to get your jollies harassing ex-cons, do it somewhere else.”
    A pause, let the tension bubble for a minute, then I smiled at him, nodded my head like everything was matey. “Okay, I get you.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Yeah,” I said. “No problems here.”
    He moved out of my way, waved at the door. “Glad we understand each other.”
    I went out into the gym, saw the lads who'd been watching go back to punch bags and sparring. I opened my baccy tin, pulled out the ciggie I rolled before and put it in my mouth. Halfway across the gym, I sparked it up. Made sure I'd smoked it down by the time I got to the front doors, then I dropped and stamped, turned round to see the poof glaring at us from the doorway to the office.
    Let him file his fucking complaints. We both knew I'd be back, and that I'd keep coming back until I got a hold of Callum Innes.

4
    DONKIN
     
    I was fucked if I went back to the station, and my hackles were still well and truly up, so instead of calling it a morning, I decided to cruise round the old estates, looking for a familiar face.
    Pissed us off that Innes wasn't at the poof's club, but it pissed us off even more that I didn't have an official reason for going round there. I'd heard that he was a mong or whatever, reckoned I had a spare morning, I might as well go round there and take the piss out of him for a bit. But then the poof had to stick his fucking nose in, take the fun out of the situation.
    So I had an itch that needed to be scratched. And I didn't think I was going to get any relief until I saw Paddy Reece.
    The first thing about Paddy Reece, he wasn't Irish, but every March he'd be on the streets and in most of the pubs, making out he was blarney as fuck in order to get a free pint. Second thing, Paddy was a nine-carat smackhead. Not only that, but he was the kind of bastard you wouldn't want to babysit, not with his priors. Two girls, they were fourteen and he was eighteen. Didn't matter that both girls were early drinkers, and that both looked like they were forty years old with the experience to match. Whatever it said on their birth certificate was what the court prosecuted, and smackhead Reece, for poking the pair of them in a drunken haze, found himself down for a two-stretch as an adult kiddie-fiddler. After he got out, he kept himself to himself, except for when he needed to score or when I managed to get my hands on him.
    I drew my car up alongside Paddy as he walked. When I honked the horn, two short bursts, he near shit himself.
    “Y'alright, Paddy, I didn't know you were out.”
    He saw us, pulled a face. “Aw, fuck.”
    “That's not much of a hello, is it?” I cranked the wheel, jumped the pavement. This lad wanted to pump his feet, I could keep driving, run the bastard down. I flung open the car door and he backed up a couple of steps. I got out of the car, pulled out my baccy tin, started to roll a