One thing that the Cow abhors is an agent holding out on him - there are consequences. In three chapters
"How come we always use my car?" Bodie asked as they cruised around in the gold Capri. "Oh yeah," he answered his own question, "'cos you've lost your motor!"
"I've never lost a motor!" Doyle snapped back.
Bodie grinned broadly. He enjoyed having a bur to rub under Doyle's skin. "Reported it, 'ave you?" Although Bodie already knew the answer. Cowley would kill him if he found out.
Doyle had been having a boozy night out with his former police colleagues; it was a farewell party for a two of their number. Married to each other, they'd decided to start life again in New Zealand. They were sent off as only their hard-hitting pals could manage. They all noisily staggered off their separate ways at closing time. They knew that they were too drunk to drive - and how embarrassing would that be if they were booked?! - and so took taxis home. Next day, nursing a massive hangover, Doyle dragged himself through the day. He had little to report to Bodie, as he didn't remember quite a bit of the evening. He was relieved to get the day over. Bodie dropped him off at the pub to collect his car once they'd signed off for the day. The car park was empty. Doyle felt a panicked stab in the guts and looked quizzically at his mate; the blank look was shared.
"Are you sure this is the right pub? You were well gone, mate," Bodie asked, beginning to enjoy Doyle's confusion and anxiety.
"I do remember that much," Doyle snapped tetchily.
Now Bodie was really enjoying himself. "Want to report it in?"
Doyle heard the undisguised glee in Bodie's voice and bit back a reply. "Take me home," he ordered, noting that his headache was returning big time.
Once at home Doyle waited for Bodie to disappear round the corner before leaving his flat and heading for a newsagents that had a public phone. Doyle knew that calls to and from his flat were logged at CI5 HQ and there were certain things he didn't want the Cow to know about. He put in a call to one of his drinking mates from the previous evening and said that he thought his car had been stolen. Carlson took down the details and agreed to make discreet enquiries. Doyle contacted him again next day and Carlson told him that, surprisingly, the car hadn't surfaced. Doyle's heart sank. He knew that Bodie would delight at this news. Doyle not mentioning the car again told Bodie all he wanted to know. There was a small part of him though that was concerned. The Cow would skin Doyle alive if he knew. Having one of the pool cars nicked while on assignment was one thing; having it pinched while an agent was carousing till the early hours was something else entirely. Doyle knew he'd have to bite the bullet sooner or later. He reminded himself of his own mantra: thinking about it is worse than doing it. He'd sleep on it.
It was two days later that Doyle plucked up the courage to face the Old Man. He'd arranged to see him while Bodie thought he was playing squash. Doyle stood to attention like a naughty schoolboy being found out and having to face the headmaster. Cowley looked at Doyle sadly once the tale was told.
"And why have you only just come to me now? Did you think that it was going to miraculously appear in CI5's car park?"
That's exactly what Doyle had been hoping for. He said nothing, and Cowley let his agent's upper lip sweat on it for a while.
"Yesterday the car did surface," Cowley began, "I was curious as to how you and the car could be in two separate places at once. Then it occurred to me that you may be holding out on me. There is one thing I abhor above all else - it's an agent holding out on me."
Doyle sensed an axe about to fall. Cowley glared silently at his agent. Since he had nothing left to offer in the way of an explanation or an excuse, Doyle remained silent - very uncomfortably silent - under the headlights of Cowley's basilisk stare.
"I think you may know of the Church Street stakeout from the duty sheets?"
Doyle knew this wasn't a question his boss wanted answering; he also knew now which particular axe was going to fall in his direction. He continued staring into the empty sky from the window above Cowley's head. The changing shapes of the cumulus seemed to bedazzle him. The rhetorical question hung in the air.
"I've had a stakeout there for three weeks now. Howard and Copeland drew the short straw on that one, but I think they're a bit bored with that by now. You can take over there – on your own. You'll have 4 hours relief for sleeping but that's as much as I'll allow."
Doyle was determined not to show any emotion. Howard and Copeland hadn't been unlucky in drawing the short straw; they'd been unlucky in being in charge of an op that went belly-up. There's no rank in CI5 but someone has to be in charge of the troops when several strands come together. Months of hard work had been blown up in the space of an hour. Doyle didn't know the details, only the gossip which grew gorier by the teller. So at least some of the gossip had been right – the pair had been exiled. Now it was Doyle's turn. He was glad that no mention had been made of Bodie. He'd not like to be stuck in a room with him for hours on end while his partner made his feelings clear. This was Doyle's mess-up not his friend's.
"You're still here, Doyle."
"Running all the way, sir." This was a phrase he'd got from Bodie and it seemed to go down well with the Old Man.