The Phoney War Council

We are all four of us sat round a table in the smoky snug of the Dog and Frog. Beth, Mike, Ray and I are all slumped back in our chairs. I look like shit, Beth feels like shit, Mike’s been smoking some shit, and Ray is a shit. We are all aggressively drinking strong European lager.
“So, who’s gonna start then?” Beth slammed her pint down on the table and looked at me. Ray was clearly never going to start and Mike seemed barely capable. It was a surprise therefore when he spoke.
“I’ve lost my job.”
“I’ve lost half my hand,” said Ray.
“I’ve lost my dog,” I said and with that Beth started pointing.
“Your job was a piece of shit you shit. Ray, you’re better off with only one hand, it was idle anyway, and you,” she paused, “I’ve got your dog and I’m glad you’re not dead, you shit. Oh and did I mention I’ve lost my sister?”
“Um…we were going to tell you about that, but we weren’t sure…” Ray was cut off.
“Sure of what? How I’d take it? You bunch of shitty cowards.”
“Beth, we aren’t sure if she is dead. I didn’t even know she was your sister to begin with and then I wanted to be sure.”
“You saw her face down in that filthy river for fuck’s sake. She wasn’t looking at all the pretty coral and the nice fishies.”
“Look, all I want to know is what is going on” said Mike.
“Keep your voice down will you?” We all looked around us and a silent group decision was taken to whisper and we all simultaneously sat up and huddled.
“What about Cutler?” I said recalling the name of the only policeman I knew. “Can’t he help us?”
“No.” Beth, Mike and Ray chorused breaking the whisper.
“Alright then, what about the local press, there’s a reporter, I’ve met her.”
“She’s the fourth this year. I’m surprised she’s lasted this long.” “Haven’t you noticed all the stories in the paper about fêtes, jamborees, car boot sales and egg painting competitions?” Beth chipped in.
“It’s not exactly gritty stuff I’ll admit.”
“You’ve got to remember, normal rules don’t apply here. People get away with what they like, when they like. The only justice anyone ever gets is revenge.” Mike said.
“Violence and intimidation is the answer,” added Ray.
“But do you two actually know anyone violent and intimidating?” Beth asked.
“I do,” Ray said just as an off-duty PC Derek Derringer heaved his sizable frame to the bar.

The gap between the people who live in this town and the police is widening, if only in height. PC Derringer is 6’9” and a half. He cannot help but talk down to you. If you ask him, he will tell you that whilst his lofty view carries with it a considerable advantage in his line of work, he can’t help but feeling it singles him out as a target and a freak. He’s right of course. When on duty, his helmet refuses to help and it extends his mountainous portfolio to well over seven feet. Looking up at his bearded mass from my lowly bar stool, I get the feeling that PC Derringer’s solution to most issues is ‘Smash it’ even if it’s not. People aren’t built that size so that they can become actuaries or financial advisors. PC Derringer is a dynamic wall in every respect. In uniform, for every one of your arguments he has a bland Home Office response. The introduction of targets has largely meant that the police can quote statistically at you even if they are not able to help you directly. Either way, I have found that there is little point in arguing with someone who has the ultimate sanction of force on their side even if they have no intention of using it. If you can pick your prey up gently by the throat, why should you compromise?

Ray struggled to free his legs from underneath the table and squeeze out in the direction of the bar. Everyone as expected raised their glasses to signify that it was Ray’s shout.
“Derek. Long time no see.” PC Derringer stood at the bar with his head ducked.
“Long time no arrest Ray, none that I’ve heard of anyway.” Beth coughed on her cigarette; Mike kicked her under the table.
“You’re not undercover right now I take it?”
“What in here? You must be joking.”
“Point taken. Listen Derek, a friend of ours is missing.”
“Really Ray?” Suddenly PC Derringer was suddenly interested, “Anyone I know?”
“Trudie,” Ray looked over his shoulder towards Beth, “Her sister.” PC Derringer turned round to face the table and looked us all up and down one by one. When he’d finished scanning us he asked when the last time any of us saw her. We mostly looked down. Just as it was getting awkward I took the lead.
“That’s just it, none of us can remember, she’s not answering calls and we can’t find her.”
“This Trudie, she’s not on holiday?”
“No.” Beth said quietly.
“Look is there something you’re not telling me?” I felt a nudge in my leg; Beth urging me to say something. Before I could open my mouth, PC Derringer stepped in. “I understand how it is round here. Write down her name and address, I’ll make some enquiries.” With that he swallowed his pint of strong European lager and left.
“I thought that went well,” said Ray.
Everyone else just looked up with eyes that said, “Shut the fuck up Ray and get the drinks in.”

When Ray finally returned to his seat the grilling began.
“What the fuck did you do that for Ray?”
“He might be able to help.”
“Who do you think Derek works for Ray? Here’s a clue, you tried to use his passport to get to Amsterdam last week.”
“Derek is a good guy.”
“What makes you think that? Because he didn’t bust you last time he found you drop dead drunk in the gutter?” Beth was really laying into him now.
“Yeah Ray, just because he lets you smoke dope only means he can’t be bothered to do the paperwork.”
“Look he’s OK, you’ll just have to take my word for it.” Sniggers went up around the table.
“Bullshit Ray, he’s filth and he works for Cutler.”
“Let’s just say he owes me one.”
“How do you mean?”
Ray held up his mutilated hand. “Derek was the one who did this.”