London Falling

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Costain entered the service station and stopped when he saw Quill standing there, not even pretending to look at the chocolate bars displayed in front of him. Costain headed for the toilets, and Quill immediately followed, as if he didn’t care who noticed. Costain made astonished eye contact with him just before the door, turning to take in the SUVs he’d left on the forecourt outside, with Mick and Lazlo currently filling up the first two vehicles with diesel. No, nobody was watching. He closed the toilet door behind them.

They stood in the cubicle, with the door bolted: the seat gone, the toilet bowl blocked, everything smelling of shit, a single bulb making it all ghostly white. The cold made their breath bloom around them.

‘What the fuck is Toshack doing?’ asked Quill. He was speaking too loudly.

‘I don’t know.’

‘“I don’t know, sir!”’

‘I don’t know, sir. Do you want me to recite my rank, nick and surname, too, in case Lazlo pops in for some fags?’

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