Charlie flipped a cigarette up into his mouth and lit up, wrapping his hand around the flame to enjoy the temporary warmth. He shook the match out, inhaled, and blew a puff of smoke into the sky. A few of the stronger stars popped out bravely despite the city pollution, but cloud cover concealed the rest of them. He turned his head at the sound of footsteps, instantly alert, and then relaxed when he saw Keller jogging towards him.

"Well?" he said, dropping the hand with the cigarette down to his side.

"We're good," Keller replied. He looked oddly discomfited. "This is a blind spot: no CCTV, no occupied buildings with a good viewpoint."

The van's headlights picked out a sprinkling of dark patches on the leg of Keller's uniform pants. "What happened there?"

Keller grimaced. "You ever heard that old tip about not pissing into the wind?"

Charlie laughed: a husky, phlegm-filled sound. He coughed the last of it out and said, "Serves you right for pissing on the job."

"Fuck you."

Charlie grinned and carefully ground out the remaining half of his cigarette against the cool metal of the van before tucking it behind his ear for later. He walked around and unlocked the back doors of the vehicle, pulling them both open before climbing inside and moving up towards the front seats. "Give me a hand, would ya?"

Keller hesitated. "I got him in there by myself, he ain't that heavy."

"You want me to get a hernia, you selfish fuck? Move your ass."

They unloaded the van together and carried the contents to a section of the river which had no railings; Charlie didn't much fancy any more heavy lifting. He'd already made his excuses for not bothering to weight the thing down, since the presence of a cement block would only make the police ask unwelcome questions. Similarly there had been no point in wrapping it up in anything.

Keller seemed to be unhappy with this last decision, as he now had an extra set of stains on his uniform. He must have felt them soaking in because he looked down immediately after dropping his end and cursed. rubbing ineffectually at them.

"Looks like I'm doing my own laundry again," he muttered.

Charlie looked sidelong at him and grinned. "Wife still giving you a hard time?"

"She's alright."

"Sure she is." Charlie raised his hand and imitated the motion of a whip, whilst adding the sound effect. "Wah-chhh."

"Could we get the fuck on with this?" Keller snapped. "Before some old dear walkin' her dog spots us." He looked down at their cargo, soon to be someone else's problem, and his expression wavered for a second. "Should we close his eyes or something?"

"What for? Fish'll get to 'em anyway."

Not wanting to risk a trip to the dry cleaners himself, Charlie planted his boot firmly against the body and rolled it off the bank and into the Tiber, already reaching up to his ear before he heard the splash. Within a second the cigarette was back between his lips and he opened his matchbox, only to find it empty.

"God damn." To Keller, who was already walking away, he called: "You got a light?"

Keller glanced back. "Nope, sorry."

Charlie cursed, a black temper overtaking him, and threw the useless cigarette into the water. Talk about a mood-killer.