Chapter 3

Be-be-do-ba, be-be-do-ba, be-be-do-ba, beeee

Ah hahahahahaha! "Don't even go there, Jack!" Ooooooohhh!

Be-be-do-ba, be-be-do-ba, be-be-do-ba, beeee

John Boulton woke up with a start to the sound of American sitcoms and his mobile ringing loudly. He realised that he must have dosed off in front of the telly, a common occurrence in his life, that is, if he ever does manage to dose off. John fumbled around and found the phone.

"Boulton."

"John, its June here. I've just been called - Rourke has just been seen receiving a large suitcase from someone. We think it's drugs. I'm on my way over."

"Where did it take place?" John asked, stifling a yawn.

"Underneath Basal Bridge, in back of the Bronte estate," June said.

"Close to home." John said, feeling slightly more awake.

"Yeah. I'll be at yours in 10 minutes. See you outside."

John grumbled to himself as he hurriedly threw some clothes on. He washed his face with cold water to help shake the sleep out of his head.

'The first bit of sleep I've had in ages,' John thought,' and Rourke decides to disturb it with his drug deal. I'm going to make sure to disturb him.' The thought of giving Rourke trouble gave John oceans of pleasure.

June rang the bell just as John was tightening his tie. He came running down the hallway, switching off lights and grabbing his keys, mobile, warrant card and black leather jacket. This is John Boulton at the top of his game. Locking the door quickly, he ran down the steps and opened the door to the block, and she stood there, long black trench coat, warding off the misty rain. It was 2:30 AM, and the streetlights gave her a golden glow, as if she had phosphorescence around her. She flashed him a quick smile and motioned to her car.

"Let's go, I've gotten a call. Rourke's gone to Switcher's Night Club with his suitcase. We think he's going to flog his goods there."

"Switcher's Night Club? Never heard of it." John said, stepping into her green Alfa Romeo 156. "Nice car - does the Yard pick it up?"

"No, it's mine. I needed something with an engine under it, one that guzzled gas and went like hell. Sort of like my old car back home." June smiled.

"Spoken like a true American." John looked over at her and smiled as the engine revved.

"I picked you up a coffee on the way over. Here. I wasn't sure how you like it, so I just left it black. There's paraphernalia in the glove box if you need it." The Doors played softly on the car stereo, one of John's favourite bands. June made her way quickly through the London streets, paying no mind to speed limits. John wondered about her driving ability. She drove as if she's always driven on the left-hand side of the road.

"Is it hard for you driving on the left?" John asked.

"Not at all - I've done courses to learn how to do it. What's hard is driving back home - for the first few minutes I'm a hazard to everyone within a 5-mile radius but I adjust. Once you've learned how to do it both ways, your mind adjusts accordingly." June seemed to enjoy speaking about her home.

"And where is home?" John inquired, sipping his coffee.

"Arlington, Virginia, on the outskirts of Washington D.C. I don't miss it often, as I love England. However, it is good to go back to rest one's karma, so to speak." June's voice seemed to switch from reminiscent to business again, and John had a feeling that any further questions about America would not be welcome.

"Do you know anything about Switcher's Night Club?" John asked.

"We know it's ran by Michael Blake - he was one of the names on the list we went through earlier. We believe Blake may be a connection to Escoverda. The legitimate end of the business, fronts for which people like Rourke come in and sell drugs. They appear to be external, your average everyday dealers, but the nightclub turns a blind eye because it's all connected. The dealer gets caught; the nightclub stays above reproach, they get a new dealer to step in."

They pulled up to Switchers 'Nite Klub'. It looked like the kind of place that should have been shut down sometime in the 70's. Loud thumping base and drums thudded all around them, audible in the car with the windows and doors shut. There was a gorilla on the door. It was on the edge of the Sun Hill area, in the grey zone divided up between Barton Street and Sun Hill. John wondered if this was on their patch.

"Nice place." John said, sarcastically under his breath.

June grinned, "Yeah. The kind of place I'd spend a top night out in." Rolling her eyes, she said, "Let's make this quick."

Stepping out of the car, the pungent odours of kebab, marijuana smoke, and sweat tickled John's nose. The gorilla eyed them suspiciously but waved them through. John spotted Rourke sitting in a corner, suitcase open on the table, with a few girls sitting next to him.

Rourke spotted John walk in and let out a little scream. He grabbed the case and started to leg it across the dance floor. Unfortunately for Rourke, he tripped over someone's dancing feet and fell, the suitcase in hand. That was all John needed.

"Tony, Tony, Tony. What do we have here?" John said, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him to his feet.

"Sod off, you pig." Rourke said, glaring at Boulton.

"Now Tony, where are your manners? Speaking like that in front of a lady. What's in the case?"

"Clothes. I'm going on holiday to Ibiza. Piss off, Boulton. I ain't done nuffin' wrong."

"Well, let's just see if you remembered your swimming costume. June, have a look for our friend Tone, here." John pried the case out of Rourke's hand and gave it to June. John gave Rourke a shake and grabbed him behind the arms, holding him tightly in an awkward position.

June opened the case carefully. Inside the suitcase were 10 pairs of underwear. Inside the underwear were packets of ecstasy and marijuana. June said, "It's E's and weed, John."

"Right, I'm arresting you for possession of drugs with intent to sell. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not answer when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. You're nicked." Tony Rourke struggled in vain against Boulton handcuffing him but allowed himself to be led out of the club into the back of June's Alfa. John didn't notice, but as June left the club she saw out of the corner of her eye the barman on the phone, glancing at them. She figured that Escoverda already knew that Rourke had been picked up. They would have to watch their steps.

* * *

Driving back to the station with Rourke in tow was quite an experience in itself. For starters, he was high, probably off of his own gear. First he whined that he was hungry. John told him to save it for a bloke named Reg back at the station. Then he whined that he didn't like the music. June looked over at John and turned up the radio, 'Riders on the Storm'. She started to sing, audible but not loud.

John stifled a grin and chuckled to himself. 'She's got a good sense of humour,' he thought to himself.

Rourke whined that he felt like he was going to throw up. June screeched the car to the side of the road and shouted, "John get him out of here now!" John took Rourke out and let him do what he needed to do by the side of the road. John put him back in the car and glared at June.

"Why did I have to deal with him?" John asked.

"Because I'm driving and I don't feel like scrubbing some junkie's vomit out of my car, that's why! I didn't see you volunteering to take your car!"

"I didn't think we had time, besides, you could have used a station car." John said, angrily.

"Yeah, whatever, where was I supposed to get a station car at 2:30 AM? I was at home in my pyjamas watching South Park, for your information, when I got the call. I live in Islington. Do you have any idea how fast I drove to get to your apartment?"

John said, "What sort of copper watches South Park? Are you fourteen years old or something?"

Just then, Rourke said, "I'm not fat, I'm big boned! Yeah I like cheesy puffs! Kyle's in love with Wendy Testaberger!"

John looked at June, "Are you happy now? We've got Eric Cartman in the back seat."

June raised her eyebrows, "And how do you know who Eric Cartman is if you don't watch South Park yourself, eh John? Who's fourteen now?"

June looked over at John briefly, stuck her tongue out at him, and drove on to Sun Hill nick. Even in the dark car, she could see the smile glinting in his eyes.

* * *

On the night check-in desk at Sun Hill station, Reg Hollis was organising, which was a sure-fire way to annoy the morning relief, although Reg didn't see it that way. Pens, pencils, rubber bands, paper clips, and scissors, everything in its proper place. Everything neat, nice and orderly. In walked DS Boulton and that new American girl from the Yard, Special Agent Gowan, Reg thought. It's a bit late for them to be catching crooks. I wonder what they're up to.

"One single room for the night, please Reg. Our friend Tony Rourke is checking in." John smiled.

"What's he in for?" Reg asked, filling in the necessary custody papers.

"Possession with intent to sell." John looked over at June who was getting herself a glass of water from the cooler.

"Why are you two out so late?" Reg asked, quizzically, as if the answer to the question was the meaning of life.

"It's, erm, inter-branch compliance, Reg. Special Agent Gowan, here, wanted to evaluate my methods of apprehending criminals." John shifted his weight from his left foot to his right foot and gave Rourke a shake for good measure. Rourke groaned, his stomach still doing flip-flops.

"Well, if you need to evaluate uniform's methods, I wouldn't mind taking you on patrol with me to show you how uniform operates, that is, if you want to, Special Agent Gowan." Reg said, looking at her.

June smiled, sipped her water and said, "I may take you up on that Reg. I'll let you know when a good time would be."

"Put him in cell 3 Sarge." Reg said. "And don't forget to let me know, Special Agent Gowan. May I call you just Agent Gowan?"

June nodded, and as soon as they were out of earshot, she whispered to John, "I see what you mean, every nick's got one." and giggled.

After they finished with Rourke for the evening, it was 4:30 AM. They decided not to interview him tonight, as it would be more effective once he was in withdrawal and needed a fix. June offered to drop John back at his place, and he gladly agreed.

* * *

Dawn was just starting to break the dark blue sky, streaking the horizon with pink and orange stripes, with light blue traces around the sides. It was going to be a warm day today, despite the fact that it was October in London.

June said "Indian summer."

John looked over at her, "Hunh?"

"Indian summer - it's what we call it in America. Warm days into the fall - it means a hard winter is ahead. Isn't the sky beautiful?"

John looked around him, noticing the sky changing from night to dawn. "Hmm, yeah. Colourful, isn't it?"

June laughed, "I take it you didn't do art in sixth-form."

"I dropped it as soon as I could. I have no time for that artsy rubbish. I'm a copper. All that arts stuff seemed to me to be a waste of time."

"You should take more of an interest in humanities - literature, arts, history. It's only through an understanding of man's motives that we can truly solve social problems." June finished her water and crushed the paper cup, dropping it in the empty coffee cup. She steered out of Sun Hill station and drove down the street. A stray dog scampered past them on the pavement.

"This from the woman who watches South Park."

"Oi, you, give over. It's good for a laugh, on nights I can't sleep. I didn't say it was high art. I just said it was funny!" June exclaimed, nudging Boulton in the arm.

"I'm only teasing, don't get all defensive, June!" John smiled to himself. 'Someone can dish it out but can't take it.'

"Anyway," June started, "I reckon you spend your nights watching Yank shit- coms: Friends, Spin City, and Fraiser. I bet you thought I would be a stereotypical Yank, all know-it-all, let's go to Lei-ces-ter square, 'Hey are you from England?' nonsense. We're not all living in the dark ages or on package holidays."

"And you're proof of that?"

"Yes, I do think I am, for your information." June said, a hint of irritation evident in her voice. "I do the best I can to fit in, and not act like a stereotypical Yank. I hope that I can abolish some of the stereotypes which a lot of my countrymen and women seem to relish fitting into."

"Well, let's just say that you're not what I expected and leave it at that." John smiled at her.

"Quite. However, you're everything that I expected: pompous, arrogant, full of himself and enough of a know-it-all to compensate for my efforts." As they were pulling up to a red light, June turned her head to John and gave a sickeningly sweet mocking smile.

John pretended that he was offended, "Oh I get it, who's stereotyping who now? Frankly, Special Agent Gowan, I'm shocked at your dark-ages interpretation of English coppers. We don't all go around wearing the tit on our head and respond to "Hey Bob," you know."

June turned her head towards John in a mock glare. She found him smiling back at her, teasing, and enjoying the banter that occurs when two people lack sleep but enjoy each other's company. She thought he was handsome from the outset, and found his sense of humour and devotion to the job a wonderful switch.

"Well, Detective Sergeant Boulton, you certainly are proof of that."

John reached over and ran his fingers along a stray strand of her hair. Their eyes locked together, knowing just what it was that hung in the air, not sure if they should give in or resist each other's desire. At that moment, they heard a loud, steady honking behind them. June turned her head quickly to notice the signal had turned green.

"Shit!" she exclaimed, quickly switching gears into first. June gunned the engine, tearing through the streets.

* * *

For the rest of the ride back, the thought of what might have been hung heavy in the air between them. Neither of them spoke, as they were both lost in thought.

"Sorry, John." June said, as they pulled into his block of flats.

John jumped a tiny bit, startled by hearing her speak. "What for?"

"It's wrong to create an atmosphere between two people working on a case together. I'm apologising for my lack of professionalism. I should have been more restrained. It won't happen again."

John turned his head to look at her, "And why shouldn't it happen? June, since the moment I saw you, you've had me spinning. You are telling me that you have the same sort of feelings for me. Why shouldn't we be allowed to explore this?"

"Because," June said firmly, "It's not proper, it's not right for two officers working on a case to have an atmosphere between them. It could jeopardise the whole operation, put us in danger, and cloud our judgement. I am not about to ruin years of work, and sully the memory of the officers who gave their lives to bring Escoverda to justice, by blowing this operation for a one-night stand with my partner. I don't want to hear any more about it. Lack of sleep clouded my judgement. It won't happen again. If you can't respect this, I will request another partner on the case."

John was taken aback. He was hurt that she would feel this way. He knew that partners on a case, technically, shouldn't have any romantic interest between each other. It happens, though, and ignoring the feelings that he had for her would be almost impossible. He never felt like this before in his life. John was angry and confused by her sudden rejection.

Picking up the pieces of his bruised ego, his voice had a steely cold edge that even surprised him, "Ok. If that's how you feel, strictly business from now on. I apologise for any perceived impropriety on my part. I thought you felt the same. I must have misread you. I agree, it won't happen again. Goodnight."

John didn't wait for a response before he opened the door, and got out of her Alfa, slamming the door behind him and quickly walking to the door to his block of flats. June rolled down her window.

"John, be back at the station at 1:00. We'll interview Rourke then. Goodnight." And she pulled away. John turned his head to watch her leave, until her taillights disappeared around the corner. He sighed to himself and unlocked the front door of the block of flats. Another scotch was in order.