well, you
The police computer spat out Shelley’s address in response to the car registration number, and the bizzies were round there in no time flat. Things were complicated by the fact that the bloke Donovan had served the subpoena on decided to get his own back and denied all knowledge of a young black process-server with a legitimate reason for being in the street.
It took me the best part of an hour to persuade the police that Donovan was telling the truth and that I wasn’t some gangster’s moll trying to spring my toy boy. Thighs like his, I should be so lucky.
The one good thing about the whole pathetic business was that Shelley had been out when the police had turned up. With luck, she’d still be out. As I drove him home, I said, “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, you doing the process-serving.”
“I’m serving the papers properly, what’s the problem?” he said defensively.
“It’s not good for your image or your mother’s blood pressure if you keep getting arrested.”
“I’m not letting those racists drive me out of a job,” he protested. “You’re saying I should just lie down and let them do it to me? The only places I have a problem are the ones where rich white people think that money can buy them a ghetto. People don’t call the cops when you go to serve paper in Alderley Edge, or when I turn up on a doorstep in Hulme.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking it through,” I said, ashamed of myself for only seeing the easy way out. “The job’s yours for as long as you want it. And first thing tomorrow, I’ll get your mother to have some proper business cards and ID printed up for you.”
“Fine by me. Besides, Kate, I need the money. I can’t be scrounging off my mother so I can have a beer with my mates, or go to see a film with Miranda. The process-serving’s something I can fit around studying and having fun. You can’t do that with most part-time jobs.”
I grinned. “You could always get an anorak and work with Gizmo on the computer security side of things.”
Donovan snorted. “I don’t think Gizmo’d let me. Have you noticed he’s got well weird lately?”
“How can you tell?” I signalled the right turn that would bring me into the narrow street of terraced brick houses where the Carmichael family lived.
“Yeah, right. He’s always been well weird. But this last few weeks, he’s been totally paranoid android about his files.”
“He’s always been secretive about his work,” I reminded him. “And not unreasonably. A lot of what we do for clients on computer security is commercially sensitive.”
“There’s secretive and there’s mentally ill. Did you know you even need a password to get out of his screen savers?”
“Now you are exaggerating,” I said.
“You think so? You try it the next time he goes to the loo. Touch a key when one of the screen savers is running and you’ll be asked for a password. You didn’t know?” Donovan’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He opened the car door and unfolded his long body into the street. Then he bent down and said anxiously, “Check it out. I’m not making it up. Whatever he’s up to, he doesn’t want anybody else to know. And it is your hardware he’s doing it on.”
“It’ll be OK,” I said, trying to reassure myself as much as Donovan. “Gizmo wouldn’t take risks with my business.” Which was true enough, I thought as I drove home. Except that what Gizmo thought was fair game didn’t necessarily coincide with the law’s view. And if he didn’t think it was wrong, why would he imagine it might be risky?
The response to the
Chronicle
’s story sharply polarized the
Northerners
cast in a way I hadn’t seen before. Up to that point, I’d been beginning to wonder whether I could possibly be right about
“What happened to that lot?” I asked as soon as Gloria closed the dressing room door behind us.
Rita Hardwick, who shared the room and played rough
The police computer spat out Shelley’s address in response to the car registration number, and the bizzies were round there in no time flat. Things were complicated by the fact that the bloke Donovan had served the subpoena on decided to get his own back and denied all knowledge of a young black process-server with a legitimate reason for being in the street.
It took me the best part of an hour to persuade the police that Donovan was telling the truth and that I wasn’t some gangster’s moll trying to spring my toy boy. Thighs like his, I should be so lucky.
The one good thing about the whole pathetic business was that Shelley had been out when the police had turned up. With luck, she’d still be out. As I drove him home, I said, “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, you doing the process-serving.”
“I’m serving the papers properly, what’s the problem?” he said defensively.
“It’s not good for your image or your mother’s blood pressure if you keep getting arrested.”
“I’m not letting those racists drive me out of a job,” he protested. “You’re saying I should just lie down and let them do it to me? The only places I have a problem are the ones where rich white people think that money can buy them a ghetto. People don’t call the cops when you go to serve paper in Alderley Edge, or when I turn up on a doorstep in Hulme.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking it through,” I said, ashamed of myself for only seeing the easy way out. “The job’s yours for as long as you want it. And first thing tomorrow, I’ll get your mother to have some proper business cards and ID printed up for you.”
“Fine by me. Besides, Kate, I need the money. I can’t be scrounging off my mother so I can have a beer with my mates, or go to see a film with Miranda. The process-serving’s something I can fit around studying and having fun. You can’t do that with most part-time jobs.”
I grinned. “You could always get an anorak and work with Gizmo on the computer security side of things.”
Donovan snorted. “I don’t think Gizmo’d let me. Have you noticed he’s got well weird lately?”
“How can you tell?” I signalled the right turn that would bring me into the narrow street of terraced brick houses where the Carmichael family lived.
“Yeah, right. He’s always been well weird. But this last few weeks, he’s been totally paranoid android about his files.”
“He’s always been secretive about his work,” I reminded him. “And not unreasonably. A lot of what we do for clients on computer security is commercially sensitive.”
“There’s secretive and there’s mentally ill. Did you know you even need a password to get out of his screen savers?”
“Now you are exaggerating,” I said.
“You think so? You try it the next time he goes to the loo. Touch a key when one of the screen savers is running and you’ll be asked for a password. You didn’t know?” Donovan’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He opened the car door and unfolded his long body into the street. Then he bent down and said anxiously, “Check it out. I’m not making it up. Whatever he’s up to, he doesn’t want anybody else to know. And it is your hardware he’s doing it on.”
“It’ll be OK,” I said, trying to reassure myself as much as Donovan. “Gizmo wouldn’t take risks with my business.” Which was true enough, I thought as I drove home. Except that what Gizmo thought was fair game didn’t necessarily coincide with the law’s view. And if he didn’t think it was wrong, why would he imagine it might be risky?
The response to the
Chronicle
’s story sharply polarized the
Northerners
cast in a way I hadn’t seen before. Up to that point, I’d been beginning to wonder whether I could possibly be right about
“What happened to that lot?” I asked as soon as Gloria closed the dressing room door behind us.
Rita Hardwick, who shared the room and played rough
Similar Books
