Lazybones by Mark Billingham Page B

said. “So why is the simple grudge scenario not playing out…?”
    They walked on past the sandwich bar and the bank. Music was coming from behind open windows, drifting out of bars and down from roof terraces. Rap and blues and heavy metal. To Thorne, the atmosphere on the street seemed as relaxed as he could remember. Warm weather did strange things to Londoners. On sweaty rush-hour tube trains, tempers shortened as temperatures rose. Later, when it got a few degrees cooler and people had a drink in their hands, it was a different story…
    Thorne smiled grimly. He knew it was only a small window of opportunity. Later still, when darkness fell and the booze began to kick in, the Saturday-night soundtrack would become a little more familiar.
    Sirens and screaming and breaking glass…
    As if on cue, as Hendricks and Thorne walked past the late-night grocers, two teenagers, standing outside, began to push each other. It might have been harmless, it might have been the start of something.
    Thorne stopped, took a step back.
    â€œOi…”
    The taller of the two turned and looked Thorne up and down, still clutching a fistful of the other’s blue Hilfiger shirt. He was no more than fifteen. “What’s your fucking problem?”
    â€œI don’t have a problem,” Thorne said.
    The shorter one shook himself free and turned square on to Thorne. “You will have in a minute if you don’t piss off…”
    â€œGo home,” Thorne said. “Your mum’s probably worried.”
    The taller one sniggered, but his mate was less amused. He looked quickly up and down the street. “You want me to smack a couple of your teeth out?”
    â€œOnly if you want me to arrest you,” Thorne said.
    Now they both laughed. “You a fucking copper, man? No way…”
    â€œOkay,” Thorne said. “I’m not a copper. And you’re just a couple of innocent young scallywags minding your own business, right? Nothing I should have to worry about, you know, if I were a police officer, in any of your pockets.” He saw the eyes of the taller boy flick toward those of his friend. “Maybe I should check, though, just to be on the safe side…”
    Thorne leaned, smiling, toward them. Hendricks stepped forward and hissed in his ear. “Come on, Tom, for fuck’s sake…”
    A girl, two or three years older, walked out of the shop. She handed each of the boys a can of strong lager, opened one herself. “What’s going on?”
    The boy in the blue shirt pointed at Thorne. “Reckons he’s a copper, says he’s going to arrest us.”
    The girl took a noisy slug of beer. “Nah…he’s not going to arrest anybody.” She pointed with the can toward the bag Thorne was holding. “Doesn’t want to let his fucking dinner go cold…”
    More laughter. Hendricks put a hand on Thorne’s shoulder.
    Thorne carefully put the bag on the ground. “I’m not hungry anymore. Now turn out your pockets…”
    â€œYou love this, don’t you?” the girl said. “Have you got a hard-on?”
    â€œTurn out your pockets.”
    The boys stared at him, cold. The girl had another swig of beer. Thorne took a step toward them and then they moved. The shorter boy stepped around his friends and away, running a step or two before slowing, regaining his composure. The girl moved away more slowly, dragging the taller of the boys by the sleeve. They stared at Thorne as they went, walking away backward up the street.
    The girl lobbed her empty can into the road and shouted back at Thorne.
    â€œPoofs! Fucking queers…”
    Thorne lurched forward to chase after them but Hendricks’s hand, which had never left his shoulder, squeezed and held on. “Just leave it.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œForget it, calm down…”
    He yanked his shoulder free. “Little