It was a compelling thought – fuck knew how long it would be before he felt fresh air again – but he wasn’t stupid enough to try it. He knew they’d round him up in seconds.
It wasn’t long before they reached the police station anyway, driving in via a back entrance halfway down the middle of a high street, where they were greeted by a desultory wave from a bloke in the car park and, when they entered the building, with a bored-looking nod from the desk sergeant. He was another fat bastard like Bastion, and had a ‘seen it all, done it all, you’re not such a hot shot’ look about him. And he confirmed it while he booked Vinnie in.
‘Little hard nut are we, eh?’ he asked once he’d read out the charge sheet. ‘Let’s see how long you last in the holding cell, then, shall we?’
One of the coppers who had brought him in looked at the sergeant in confusion. ‘Holding cell?’ he asked. ‘I thought he’d be given his own pad.’
‘Not just yet, Gary, we’re all out of superior rooms, I’m afraid.’
They all sniggered and, watching them, Vinnie scowled. Let the cunts laugh, he thought, pushing his chest out and flexing his fists again. He’d show them who’d have the last laugh.
But it wasn’t his only thought; there was another one. One that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. In fact, not so much a thought as a niggle of an emotion. One he didn’t like the feel of, so he fought to keep it where it lay.
Which was in the pit of his stomach. ‘Come on then, fellas,’ he said, ‘Show us me new pad, then. Only I’m a bit peckish, so I hope room service are still working.’
The other plod – the one he hadn’t been cuffed to – suddenly grabbed Vinnie by the arm. ‘Think you’re clever, do you? You’re nothing but a Yorkshire fucking tyke.’ He grinned nastily. ‘And guess what?’ he added, glancing again at the desk sergeant. ‘The lads in the holding cell have all had a few bevvies already and, trust me, they’re gonna love you, lad.’
Without further comment to either of the others, he marched Vinnie through a door, and down a corridor, yanking him to a halt in front of the caged bars of a holding cell, the desk sergeant not very far behind.
Vinnie straightened himself right up and tried to look unimpressed by the inhabitants, three of whom were standing in a ragged row, presumably to greet him. They were a black bloke in his twenties, sporting a giant Afro hair-do, a couple of old geezers, filthy-looking (not to mention stinking) who were obviously tramps, and a fourth man who looked to be in his forties. He was covered in tattoos and obviously out of his tree on something, because he was sprawled out on a bench, a pool of recent-looking sick glistening on the floor beside him and contributing to the stench.
The copper unlocked the door and pushed Vinnie inside. ‘Some entertainment, lads!’ he quipped. ‘You all be nice though, okay? He’s just a little kid with a big gob.’
Vinnie slipped his hands into his jeans pockets and fashioned a grin for his bemused audience. He was shitting himself and he needed a strategy. Which of these fellow inmates was he most in with a shot at captivating? He needed to get someone on side, and quickly. The man who’d thrown up was beginning to stir now and pushed himself upright and, by some instinct – it wasn’t rational, the man was stinking and covered in vomit – he stuck out a hand. ‘Alright, mush?’ he said. ‘I’m Vinnie.’
The man laughed, but not unpleasantly, and immediately shook the outstretched hand. ‘Now then, you little cunt, you’re a bit young to be in here, aren’t you? What the fuck did you do?’
The black guy laughed as well then and, having obviously risen at the sound of his approach – like dogs do when they hear the rattle of a tin – they all sat down again on the remaining benches that went around the three walls. Vinnie breathed a silent sigh of relief and joined in the laughter. ‘Fucking GBH or ABH or something. Fuck knows. Whatever it was, I bit the big fucker’s cheek off.’
The big bloke and the black man both laughed even louder, thumping each other on the arm. Maybe they were friends. The black man wiped his eyes then and said to Vinnie, ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, that’s livened us up a bit! I’m Maurice, man,’ he said, holding his own hand out. Vinnie shook it. ‘And this here’s Grant. How long you here for?’
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