Disclaimer: Pierson, Freemantle, blah, blah, blah…

Rating: 12A

Warnings: Violence (non-graphic) and bad language

Notes: Takes place in late summertime of 2000, i.e., around the time of "Lullaby" but before "Find the Lady" (well obviously.)

The Waiting Game

By NorthernStar

Duncan watched Mickey Webb wolf down his second slice of toast, dripping with butter, egg yolk and sauce from the fried beans on his plate. There were more calories in front of Mickey than a man needed in a whole day. Duncan's own breakfast was a modest cup of tea and two slices of toast with the barest scraping of low fat marg, ordered without much enthusiasm to keep to the strict diet Shona had him on. And yet he'd be a few pounds heavier by the end of the day. Mickey would still be a rake.

It wasn't fair.

Duncan took another gulp of tea and made himself look away from the huge pile of eggs, bacon, sausages, beans, hash brown, mushrooms and tomatoes being enthusiastically inhaled by the narrowest member of CID. Not that it made much difference. He could still smell it, rich and enticing.

The waitress was looking their way again – or rather, Mickey's way – immediately going back to collecting dirty plates when she saw Duncan noticing. At the table beside them there was a pale looking woman, sipping a tea while her daughter, dressed in a blue check school dress, slowly read aloud from a reading book. Every so often the woman would give a little rock to the pram next to them. The only other occupants of the café was a large man, dressed like a builder in paint strewn jeans and a grubby T and the ratty man cooking the food.

Mickey stifled a yawn between bites and that was the last straw.

"D'ye mind?" Duncan asked. "Bad enough I have to watch ye eat that, without seeing the evidence as well."

Mickey covered his mouth. "Sorry."

The immediate apology softened him. Mickey must really be tired if he wasn't capable of coming up with a response.

"Did you get any sleep after the Patterson trial?"

Mickey shook his head. "Nah. That git brief - Tompkins innit? – He 'eld it up. Didn't give evidence 'til gone free."

"What time d'you get home?"

"I didn't." He admitted. "'Ad some paperwork to do."

"Better hope the DI doesn't find out you went on this obbo without sleeping first."

Mickey looked up. "You ain't gonna tell 'im?"

Duncan shook his head. "Just get some sleep before tonight, OK?"

They'd been watching the bookies down the road, observing the people going in and out. CID was pretty sure the place was being used to launder money and somehow a local MP was involved. He and Mickey had got a few good pictures during the night, but nothing that explained any connection to the MP nor anything concrete that would satisfy the CPS on the laundering charge. They could only hope the next watch, Kerry and Boulton, had better luck. Or he and Mickey would be in for a third sleepless night.

Mickey gulped down a delicious looking strip of bacon and Duncan sighed. This time he looked over Mickey's shoulder to look out the window. There was a NatWest bank across the street just opening its doors to begin the day. He watched as a few customers who had been waiting outside filed in.

Mickey continued to munch.

A few minutes later, a Securicor van pulled up outside the bank. Duncan's eyes followed one of the guards as he got out, case in hand, and headed into the NatWest.

Mickey noisily dipped more bread into his fried egg and Duncan distracted himself by taking another unsatisfying bite of his toast. Once he'd finished his tea, he'd leave and Mickey could eat whatever the hell he liked. He hoped Mickey and his breakfast (and the waitress - who was looking their way again – if she so wished), would all be very happy together. This time Mickey caught her eye and she blushed. Mickey smirked. Then yawned, rubbing at his shadowed eyes before returning to his monster breakfast.

With a heavy sigh, Duncan knew that no matter how frustrating it was, he wasn't going anywhere. No way should Mickey be driving in this state. CID was understaffed as it was, without its newest member snoozing his car under a bus.

The door clattered behind him and Duncan looked up to see Boulton walk in, fresh as a daisy after hours of sleep, probably on a tea run to help pass those bottom-numbing hours watching the comings and goings of a bookies. He looked in a goodish mood too, but you never could tell these days. He seemed to swing from scarily good moods to equally frightful bad ones.

Woman trouble, Mickey had decided unsympathetically. And Duncan was inclined to agree.

Behind the DS, across the street, something caught Duncan's eye. He dropped his tea and managed to yell, "Sarge!" before the Securicor van parked over the road exploded. The glass in the café windows flew in, Boulton was thrown forward by the force of the blast and everything around them descended into chaos.

---

The café echoed with the sound of screams and crying. Mickey got to Boulton first. He was sprawled face down amid the shatters of glass. Mickey could see the back of his head was a mess of blood, staining his wannabe carrot-head into brilliant scarlet. Leaning over, Mickey checked he was still breathing and that his airways were clear even as he heard Duncan yelling at everyone to be calm and then yelling himself into his mobile phone.

Mickey wiped sweat away from his brow and was surprised to see his wrist come away coated in red. The sound of police sirens wailing in the distance underplayed the mangle of noises as Mickey carefully checked Boulton over.

Duncan knelt down. "Ambulance is on its way. How is he?"

Mickey shrugged. "Dunno."

Duncan leaned in to look himself just as two masked men burst in, waving sawn-off shotguns and obviously very on edge.

"Nobody move!"