OOM: 2x02. Things're gettin' a little bit tasty around 'ere.

[the_gene_genie]

 

‘Bolly! Operation Burnin’ Ring, tip off! Tasty as Jane Fonda inna bap. Get in, Bols!’

Car chases. He loves ‘em. Proper police work.
 

~ ~ ~
 

Surveying the damage of the overturned Austin Princess with the dead bloke half hanging out of it, it crosses his mind that maybe ramming the Quattro into the side of it wasn’t his best ever idea. Drake’s sure Jed Whitlow was on something but he’s in two minds about it. On one hand, the man’s a gyppo and a car thief and society has everything to gain from his demise. On the other...well, he doesn’t like to be the actual cause of anyone’s death, unless they’re shooting at him or holding someone hostage or similar. Which Whitlow wasn’t. Off his head on pills or something, and driving all over the road, but not actually threatening anyone else. Directly.

Drake favours the latter view, Ray the former, Chris undecided as ever. And while he himself isn’t sure, he’s not going to show that in front of anyone. So he snarks his way through it but gives in to her suggestion that they cordon everything off and get cause of death verified.

He’s sure it’ll be fine. Whitlow was just a gyppo and the ringleader in a massive car theft scam. And...well, let’s just say he has a hunch on this.
 

~ ~ ~
 

It barely takes an hour before SuperMac’s in his office. Followed closely by Drake, who, she says, ‘appreciates that this sort of thing happens’ and is clearly blaming him for causing Whitlow’s death. He doesn’t appreciate that but at the same time, he has a nasty suspicion that maybe he did. And the Super isn’t really giving much hope.

‘I’ve seen good coppers crucified for stuff like this.’

Shit.

And then...

‘...in fact, DCI Hunt’s a hero.’

OK, that surprises him just as much as Bolly. And the story that follows doesn’t do a great deal to make him feel better.

‘Whitlow was out of control. Which is why he would’ve ploughed straight into that kiddie.’

...Okaaaay.

‘Oh, I’ve spoken to them personally. A witness who says they saw a child standing directly in the path of the Princess. If Gene hadn’t shunted the vehicle, it would have hit that child.’

He keeps his face carefully impassive, even as Drake is outright with her scepticism.

‘Good grief, I feel like Richard Nixon. We have a witness. The press hounds’ll love it. Prompt action saves the day. Well done, everybody. Well done, Gene.’

Maybe he should be grateful, but he’s not. Alex wants to prove that Whitlow had drugs in his system but how the hell is he supposed to agree with her in front of SuperMac? If he goes against him, he’ll never find out how deep the corruption goes – and that Mac is willing to spin this story in front of the whole of CID barely a week after telling them all that they need to be whiter than white shows just how unstoppable he thinks he is.

‘Thank you very much, sir.’

He has to go along with it. That it might stop another inquiry into his methods of policing is just a bonus really. But he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like any of it.

Drake follows SuperMac out and after a moment, he follows. She’s asking about Kevin Hales, the copper who killed his best mate in Soho. Just another thing he doesn’t want her digging into and he needs to fend her off otherwise she’s going to get in over her head.

‘You can’t leave things alone, can you? Pick pick, pickety-pick.’

‘I was trying to help you out back there, Guv. We could have sorted this car crash thing without resorting to...’

‘To what, Bols?’

‘To...whatever methods you’ve now decided to run with.’

She sounds resigned, or something close to it. Like she wanted to believe that he doesn’t just do whatever he wants, whenever he wants to do it. But he always has. It’s the kind of copper he is. It’s only the times that have changed, less leeway for the police, more checks, less funding, more criminals, and they’re close to a drug epidemic in London these days.

And SuperMac, pretending to be the modern face of the Met and all the while...he’s not sure yet. Not exactly. Not specifics. But he’s sure he’s a dirty, rotten bastard.

‘A quick reminder, Drakey. I am one of the good guys and you are on my side.’

‘This’ll never be my side.’

‘What, you’re saying you’re not a good cop?’

‘I’m saying I know where I belong.’

He knows where that is. Here, with him. But she’ll never have it and he just looks at her for a moment, giving nothing away but wondering, briefly, what it’d be like to not have her fight him for once.

‘As for Kevin Hales, drop it like it was hot shit. Ta muchly.’

He stalks off, feeling worse about the day than before. The rest of CID are with him on this, they’re happy enough with the story Mac’s spun. But Drake isn’t, of course, and he knows her well enough to be able to predict that she’s not going to back off just because he’s told her to.

Truth is, life wouldn’t be the same if she did what she was told all the time. Easier, but not the same.
 

~ ~ ~
 

He opens a window so he can hear SuperMac singing his praises to the press outside.

It’s not right. None of this is right.
 

~ ~ ~
 

The gypsies have stolen Whitlow’s body. Drake wants to go down to the camp and retrieve it, which is fair enough, even if he does make a point of saying that if the body disappears, so does the inquiry.

‘Why don’t you let me handle this.’

‘You in a field with a bunch o’gyppos on yer own, don’t be ridiculous. They’ll tie you up as a sex slave an’ make a rabbit trap outta y’knickers.’

‘You don’t have to come.’

‘Don’ trust me?’

He doesn’t give her the chance to reply because he knows he doesn’t need to. She wasn’t going to answer that which is as good as a resounding no. And he doesn’t want to hear it.
 

~ ~ ~
 

There’s a doctor, Battleford, who always seems to be at the camp. The bloke’s a poncy sort of drip, all stupid glasses and half a beard. But he’s not a gypsy and is a doctor, so he gets talked to like a human being. Up until the man wants to shake his hand.

‘All square?’

Mason. Super.

He doesn’t shake. For one thing, he’s not one of those freaks. For another, any little esteem he had for man due to his profession has just plummeted down through the ground. And later, at the station, when it transpires that the car belonged to the good doctor and the brakes had been cut, it looks like the bloke might have more to do with this than he first thought. But it’s irrelevant in the end because after he’s chucked into the interview room all he wants to do is shake his hand.

‘I’ve told you before Mr. Hunt, I’m a decent chap, a square sort of bloke. Are you a...’

Cue SuperMac.

‘...a square sort of bloke? You must be, surely?’

He can feel the man’s smirk behind him.

‘Oh, he’s square and on the level. Aren’t you, DCI Hunt?’

It’s a long few moments before he shakes that hand, feeling the telltale squeeze of his fingers. What he’d really like to do is punch the guy’s lights out but with Mac there, what else can he do? He just wishes Bolly weren’t there as well, watching every move.
 

~ ~ ~
 

Mac takes him to a sauna, of all places. For all his enthusiasm for male bonding, seeing a bunch of sweaty blokes with no kit on is not his idea of a good time. And while he wants to get close to his boss, getting a full frontal is not what he had in mind.

‘You seen this Superglue stuff on the telly? Bonds anything, they reckon. Fella stuck to a board, swinging from a helicopter. ‘mazing. We need to be Superglue and there are ways of doing that. Your predecessor, DCI Garrett, didn’t understand that.’

He pauses and Gene looks at him. He shouldn’t be surprised that it’s come to this, really. But he is.

‘I don’t want to see your chair vacant. Don’t want to see you end up like Garrett. You know what you have to do.’

‘Join the club?’

‘Show me you’re with us. We have to stick together.’

There’s no choice. The threat’s been made and he can’t be pensioned off like Garrett was. He has to stop SuperMac and he can’t do that from a bungalow in Margate.

‘I ‘ave t’warn you, I’m not very good in clubs. Serving a lifetime ban from the Scouts.’

Mac is amused. Mac claps him on the leg, something he’d really rather he didn’t do. Especially when he leaves and another bloke follows him out. Another Mason? Or...no, he really doesn’t want to go there.

A Zippo is pulled from his towel and he smokes a cigarette, thinking it over. No choice. No options.

He wonders if Alex likes saunas. They wouldn’t be so bad if...well. Now probably isn’t the best time to be pondering on that.
 

~ ~ ~
 

‘Mac’s got a real hold on you, hasn’t he?’

‘Oh, shut it.’

‘You closed down a whole line of enquiry just to keep on side with him. Thick as thieves.’

‘Are you goin’ t’get me Alva or do I have to do it meself?’

‘You’re a rotten man.’

‘You leave Battleford ou’ o’this.’

‘It’s too late. He’s already on his way in.’

‘Y’know, you’re wastin’ your time, Drake.’

‘And you’re letting me down, Guv.’
 

~ ~ ~
 

It cuts.

She really thought he was bad. After everything, she thought he’d gone bad.

It cuts, but he’s a man. He’s doing it for the best. It’s the right thing to do.

It still cuts.
 

~ ~ ~
 

‘They’re tryin’ t’change everythin’ around us. It might not be perfect bu’ it works.’

‘What is the matter with trying to improve the system? Corruption...’

‘Corruption! Sorry DI Drake, ‘ave you just accused me of bein’ corrupt?’

‘I think you’re scared. I think you’re scared of change.’

She’s nodding, both their voices raised, both battling to win. She just...doesn’t know what he’s doing. And he can’t tell her. Can’t.

‘I ‘ave always followed my own lights to keep the streets safe, OK? You give me the tools an’ I will do the job bu’ do not watch me work because it is no’ for the faint-‘earted.’

There’s a moment of quiet and he can see her decide to change tack. It’s so like a woman. And while he realises that shouting at each other doesn’t often get them anywhere, he’s a bit insulted that she really thinks he’s that easy to manipulate.

Though it is nice to have her up in his space like this.

‘You’re the thin blue line, Gene, I know. But I saw you let somebody off the hook because of the way they shook your hand.’

‘Did you though, Bols?’

‘Well, what did I see?’

Maybe she thinks coy will work, that tone of voice that seems to offer something. He can’t help responding in kind but he’ll not be moved. Not this time.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                (this’ll never be my side)

‘Well, whatever it was, you don’ like it, don’ watch.’

‘...please let me in.’

‘No.’

How can he?

...are they still talking about this case?

‘Just...talk to me. Trust me.’

Like she trusts him?

She’s so close he can count the freckles on her nose.

He’d like to trust her. And does. He always knows she’ll do the right thing. But she can’t give him the benefit of the doubt, can she? She never does, never has. She doesn’t want to fit in, doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want...

...he finishes his drink and has to move away. The tension is too much to stand still in and he has to break the contact. The way she slams the door when she leaves tells him that she’s still angry at him, was just trying to get him to talk.

Doesn’t want him.
 

~ ~ ~
 

‘I don’ like the blindfold.’

‘It represents your spiritual darkness.’

‘Well, I’m not really all tha’ spiritual, Mac...’

‘You’ll be fine.’

 

He’s a Mason.
 

~ ~ ~
 

Battleford was sleeping with Alva, Jed Whitlow’s girlfriend. She’s pregnant with his child. Whitlow was blackmailing the doctor to keep his mouth shut because association with a pikey would destroy his reputation. And when he couldn’t afford to pay any more, Battleford killed him.

‘Doctor Battleford, you’re free to go.’

Drake doesn’t take it well. Of course she doesn’t. He’s not taking it well and he’s the one doing it. But she...she calls him dirty. And rotten. She’d followed him to the Lodge and saw him join the club, she really thinks he’s one of them. And suddenly, he’s had enough. Because she’s never going to quit and more than that, he can’t stand her thinking of him that way. It’s not who he is. He’s a good copper.

So he tells her. Tells her that he needs to be close to Mac, needs to go along with it so that he can find out how high this corruption goes. He tells her how he hates the Masons and their freaky behaviour, how it sickens him, how much he hates what’s happening to the Force.

‘...thank you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m scared a lot of the time and you were one of the only things I could rely on.’

He’s close. She touches his tie, a faint brush.

‘For being stubborn, and angry, conceited...’

‘...you’ll ‘ave me blushin’.’

It is a bit embarrassing. She’s looking at him like...like she did at New Year, right before he kissed her. Her voice is quiet, like it was then, and he’s trying not to think about it.

‘You don’t get it, do you.

...you don’t get it.’

He doesn’t. Because she can’t mean...

‘I thought I’d lost you.’

He can’t say it out loud. But it might be the first time it’s come to him, with absolute clarity, that she could never lose him, only throw him away. Because he can’t go anywhere, wouldn’t want to go anywhere, without her.
 

~ ~ ~
 

He’s tired of pissing about. So he walks Battleford into the gents and shoves his head into the urinal until he coughs. SuperMac isn’t happy about it but once he points out that the bloke is practically a paedophile, he gives in. He also points out that Drake’s trouble so he gives her a public dressing down for his benefit; he knows she’ll know what he’s doing. All in all, not a bad end to the day. Chris even proposes to Shaz in front of everyone and she says yes. It’s quite nice really, not that he’d admit to such a thing out loud, obviously. And Alex comes to find him out of the way of everyone else.

‘What if...you’re real.’

‘What if...you were quiet.’

It’s a nice dream.

‘You an’ me, Bols, we’re a team. Fightin’ the rot together.’

Her half-smile is enigmatic, but he thinks he might as well clear something up while they’re here.

‘You erm...know all tha’ stuff you were saying earlier, ‘bout lettin’ you in. I take it you were employin’ tactics.’

She looks shifty, bites her lip, nods her head.

‘Mmm. Yeah, psychological tactics.’

He’s not sure if she’s telling the truth. There’s room to hope, maybe.

‘Don’ underestimate me, Bols.’

 

Not a bad end to the day at all.