Director's cut

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An explosion rattled the windows. It was followed immediately by the sound of glass smashing and a car leaving tread on tarmac.

Rick Cole said, “What the…?” then he heard a voice from the past. He pressed the phone closer to his ear. “I need a favour. I seem to remember you owe me one.”

Cole answered, “Now ’ s not a good time. Did you hear it?”

“Hear what?”

“Sounded like a bomb, in the High Road.”

Cole's door was open. In the main office every phone was ringing. In the corridor coppers were on the move, perked up like sniffer-dogs on heat. Even for old-timers alarm bells and distant sirens were shots of adrenalin.

“How the fuck would I hear it? They could nuke your part of town and I wouldn't hear it from here. Too many council estates between us. Anyway, good times are things of the past. So give me a time?” Cole paused, then, “Midnight.”

“Right. Same place. You remember the place?”

Cole nodded into the phone and hung up. He remembered the place.

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