said. âYou just come under the general heading of associates. Thereâs folk in this town want that dump closed down. And if youâre the excuse thatâs just fine by me.â
âIn other words youâre just fishing, man,â Dizzy said with disgust.
âOh, no, itâs you idle bastards go fishing. We go tiger hunting. And if you know who the tiger is in this particular jungle you could do yourself a lot of good by filling us in. Guarantee your ticket back to Manchester or London or whichever swamp you surfaced from, Iâd say, instead of a spell at Her Majestyâs. Know what I mean?â
âUp yours,â Dizzy B muttered as he took the back seat offered in DC Sharifâs unmarked car. DC Val Ridley glanced round at him from the driving seat.
âTo what do we owe this pleasure?â she asked Sharif as she started the engine.
âWhat do you think? Do they ever go anywhere without their stash?â
âThat could be construed as a racist remark,â Dizzy B said.
âCould it?â Sharif asked with a smile that could have been construed as a sneer in the DJâs direction. âI thought I was talking about musicians. Colour donât come into it, bro!â
At the police station the DJ found himself being processed behind two men he recognised.
âTheyâre not leaving anyone out then?â he said to one of the two doormen from the Carib.
âGot us out of bed, man.â
âAnd theyâve brought Darryl in, anâall,â his companion said.
âLetâs have less chat and more attention to whatâs going on here,â the custody sergeant said, waving the two doormen towards the cells. âName?â
âDavid Sanderson,â Dizzy B said abruptly as he listened contemptuously to Mohammed Sharifâs summary of his arrest and emptied his pockets with all the familiarity of one who had not only stood in front of a custody desk but behind it as well. âCan we get this over with? Iâve got things to do, places to go.â
âCID want to talk to him about other matters, sarge,â Sharif said quickly as the sergeant glanced quizzically at the tiny amount of cannabis the DC handed him in a plastic evidence bag. âWhen Val Ridleyâs readyâ
âMy guest, Mr. Sanderson,â the sergeant said, gesturing towards the cells where the Caribâs doormen had already been incarcerated. As Sharif personally slammed the heavy door behind his prisoner, the two menâs eyes met in mutual dislike through the peep-hole before Sharif closed that too.
âPaki bastard,â Dizzy B Sanderson shouted loudly enough for Sharif to hear before flinging himself angrily onto the bunk on the other side of the cell. âLetâs see the race relations industry sort that out, shall we?â
Four hours later Dizzy B was sipping a vodka and cranberry juice in Bar Med, the stylish new café bar which had just opened in premises near the university that had once been a bank. Kevin Mower leaned back on his tubular steel chair and grinned sympathetically.
âYou and Omar didnât hit it off then?â
âBastard thinks weâre all just down from the trees,â Sanderson grumbled. âLess than an eighth I had. There was no way they could make out I was dealing. I accepted a caution, but they kept me there two hours trying to get me to grass up my supplier. Did I buy it in Bradfield? Did I buy it at the club? Heâs in London, for Godâs sake. Whatâs it to them?â
âThey seem to be going over the top about the Carib,â Mower said, pulling a face over his orange juice cocktail. âThereâs no sense in it when itâs the kids up at Wuthering who are really running out of control. Itâs awash with the hard stuff up there.â
âLook at this,â the DJ said, flinging a copy of the Bradfield Gazette across the table in Mowerâs direction.
Aubrianna Hunter
B.C.CHASE
Piper Davenport
Leah Ashton
Michael Nicholson
Marteeka Karland
Simon Brown
Jean Plaidy
Jennifer Erin Valent
Nick Lake