I know what you're thinking...

It's not that often they have the whole weekend off. Someone must be smiling down at them though because it's happened - for Gene, that means the match at Maine Road (and City pull off a frankly magnificent win against the poncey Londoners), home for the wife's dinner and then the pub, where he knows he'll be met by his team for a big night.

He knows this, because he told them so the night before, stalking out of his office at six to bellow;

'Weekend off, you lot! You know what that means. Railway Arms, half six tomorrow and raid your piggy banks. Any of you fairies cry off, I'll have you cleanin' the cells all of next week, got it?'

There had been mutterings of 'Yes, Guv' from all around the room and none of them had seemed reluctant - not even Tyler, really - so he knows it'll be a good 'un. It was slightly confusing to find a note in his pocket, in his own handwriting, informing him that he's got a bet on with Sam but that sort of thing has been happening more and more recently, so he's getting used to it, even if he still doesn't understand it. It generally works out in the end though.

So, when he stalks into the Railway Arms (ten minutes late, so they'll all be there and waiting) he doesn't even look around before hailing the room in general.

'Who's got me pint in, then?'

Going undercover in the pub had seemed like a great idea - one of Sam's few good ones - for the simple reason that the shift was scheduled for a Friday night and he was going to be going out getting pissed anyway, so he might as well do it at someone else's expense. He knew they'd never get anything out of the United supporters because he knows that the United supporters don't know anything. It's a football crime. The people who know about it are going to, unfortunately, be the City fans.

One shift, and one bellyful of beer, later and they had nothing to show for it but his enormous hangover and his smug conviction that he'd been right all along. Oh, and a massive bruise on his shoulder from the regrettable incident with the table but heigh ho, injuries in the line of duty are inevitable.

Tyler bursts into his office as excited as a virgin in a brothel, babbling on about how one of the United faithful was the murderer. They'd been told in the pub that there was going to be a scrap over this death and maybe, just maybe, it was all a ruse to pit the fans against each other and bring the city up to fever pitch on match day.

He likes this idea for one simple reason, and points a sky-blue dart at his DI.

'So the City fans are innocent?'

'Yes.'

'In that case, I approve of yer findin's.'

Little bastard's right an' all. In a way. Turns out it was a United fan that killed Colin Clay but as Gene's keen to point out, it was him that said it was a football crime all along. Pompous git refuses to apologise though and Tyler dares to call him childish?

He'd argue the point but it appears his Sergeant needs a lesson in what happens to bastards who call in sick to go watch the big match. So he takes off after him, happy with life and looking forward to getting down the pub to celebrate another scumbag behind bars.

...one pub's as good as another, right?

 

( Plus ça Change )