Greta Pusey Ex-cop.chap.4

8/9/2019 Greta Pusey Ex-cop.chap.4

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GRETA PUSEY: EX-COP

Chapter Four

The Greasy Pig

'Do you really want to take the Tai Chi Class as well?' Oscar asked, adding

pointedly, 'It would mean an early start.'

I wished now I hadn't offered. I'd forgotten that his oldies class ofTai Chi

lovers liked to start at the unearthly hour of eight. But having the best motives

when I said I wouldn't mind taking his place, I stuck to my guns and insisted that I

wouldn't mind getting up early, even if it did mean every morning. Course, Oscar

knowing me so well, he knew I was lying, but he accepted myoffer anyway.

IfI didn't know about his personal problems, all this would make me begin

to think he was trying to hand every single class over to me. But I knew it would

only be temporaryuntil he'd sorted himselfout a bit.

The window-breaking calamity had just been the beginning. The next thing

was a complete stranger speaking to him by name in the street and saying they'd

met 'Down the Pig'. I was far from a regular at Oscar's favourite club, but even I

knew that nobody called it The Pig everyone always said they were going 'Down to

Greasy's'. First it was a silly joke among the gay membership, then it just stuck till

everyone had forgotten how it started.

Oscar wasn't a man easilyupset, and if that had just been one incident he

would have shrugged it offand forgotten it. But coming on top of the window-

breaking, it ruffled him.

Then the latest thing was so horrific that at last I'd persuaded him to go to

the police. A newly slaughtered baby piglet had been left on his doorstep, wrapped

in baby clothes. He'd actually tripped over it coming out ofhis front door.

Naturally the cops asked him all the usual questions did he have any

enemies, had he recentlyupset anyone, could he point the finger at anyone, all that


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stuff. IfI hadn't been with him at the time, he would have just said no to everyone

of those questions. But I reminded him of the stranger who'd said they'd met 'down

the Pig'. He'd been right not to want to mention it to the cops it involved such a

difficu

lt explanation. Pity

one

ofthe tw

owh

ointer

viewed him wasn

'tone

ofthe

gays whoI knew still worked out ofShady Lane cop-shop. It would have made it

all easier for everyone. Anyway, we got through it in the end, including a

surprisingly detailed description of the stranger in the street, who the cops seemed

to see as Number One Suspect for the whole lot. Then I surprised Oscar by not

leaving with him.

I had a special reason for hanging out at the police station. I wanted to get

hold ofa former colleague whoowed me a favour, to look some stuffup on the

computer. I could have done it myselfbut I wasn't allowed access any more. So he

trawled through scads of stuff, looking for any reference to Natasha or Nadia or

Nadine Robertson. What made it difficult was her having such a common

surname. But no surprise, in the end he found guess what? a record ofa

Natalie Roberts, caught red-handed trying a bit ofshop-lifting in a really amateur

way. There was just that one item, but it might help me in dealing with this leech

in future. Naturally, she'd say she wasn't and never had been Natalie Roberts nor

a fumble-fingered shoplifter. But I knew I had her.

*

Apart from Oscar confiding that he'd decided not to go to The Greasy Pig for a

while, nothing much happened for a while after that. I did ask him whether he was

intending to cut out having a social life altogether, and got rather a short answer.

'Course not,' he said. 'There's always Joe's Hole.'

Which left me wondering but not keen to ask him to explain. Until I got the

bright idea of looking in the local phone book and found that Joe's Hole was a club,


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and not what I'd been thinking. Then I got the bright idea ofgoing there myself

some evening. Should I ask Ari to come with me? No, I decided to goon myown.

It was bound to be a club for gays and lesies, soI decided I'd better look a bit

bu

tch.I

scru

bbed myface till it sh

one, p

uton s

ome

old c

ord tr

ousers

Ikeep

for

such housework as I seldom do and an old lumberjack shirt, ditto, and found I still

had a pair ofDr Martens from that phase in my school -days. Checking up in the

full-length mirror, something didn't seem right. Of course! The hair. Except for a

mad fit Ionce took and went to a hairdresser who gave me a so-called re-style with

multi-coloured hair standing up in spikes, my hair is short, curly and mouse-

brown. Too girlyfor a les. Ifound some ofAri's hair-stuff in the bathroom and

plastered it on till I had nice straight sleek hair like a 1930s film-star (male, of

course). I reckoned that would help me pass, and set offon the old bike.

Never got inside the place, though. Went round the back to park the bike

out ofharm's way, and found a free-for-all going on. Had a quick look before

wading in and got a shock to see it was three youngish-looking toughs all setting

about Oscar. He's pretty good as a rule he can take on two attackers at once and

beat them. But these three had weapons ofsome sort. In the bad light it looked as

if they all had iron bars in their hands. And however good you might be at

unarmed combat, taking on three sturdyopponents at once, all geared up with

metal arsenals, is a no-win situation. SoI dropped the bike and joined in. I'd

always wanted a try at kick-boxing and it looked as ifnow was my chance to give it

a go. That was more ofa fair match, speciallyonce we'd managed to disarm all

three, and they were soon hot-footing it out of there. But then we got lucky. One

of them tripped over my bike where I'd chucked it down all anyhow, and we caught

him. Without any discussion, we dragged him into the front of the building where

the light gave us a better view.

'D'you know him?'I asked.


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The disturbing thing about Oscar's 'no' was, it was easy to tell he was lying.

Why would he do that? I had no time to think it over.

'Well, anyway,'I instructed, 'hang on to him while I get the police to come

and pick himu

p. Are you

su

re he's n

ot the

one wh

osp

oke t

oyou

in the street the

other day?'I went on while calling up myold work-place in Shady Lane.

'No, never seen the blighter before.'

And before I had a chance to see what was going on, the next I knew, the

geezer was speeding offdown the road on my bike. No point running after him.

Even a good runner like me can't chase after a bike and catch it.

'What happened?'I gasped at Oscar.

'I don't know,' he went, avoiding my eye. 'He must have slipped out ofmy

hands.'

This was so clearly ridiculous that I didn't bother to answer. Nobody as

experienced in martial arts as Oscar had been for so many years could possibly

lose their grip on a captive. But I still couldn't work out what Oscar was up to.

Nor could the police when they arrived. They were pretty disgusted with us

both. Didn't bother with taking notes. Just suggested we go to the Watford

General A & E for a bit ofpatching-up, and come into the station tomorrow to make

our statements.

Good thing Oscar had his car with him. I didn't fancy walking about all over

Watford with a few former assailants maybe loitering about looking for another

chance to do me some damage. We didn't talk much on our way to the hospital,

nor while we were waiting for a bit offirst-aid, nor afterwards when he drove me

home. Just a few muttered remarks about where our bruises were and him

thanking me for my help. There was a lot I wanted to say but it seemed pretty

useless, with him clamming up about it all.


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Even when he'd been stitched in A & E and the doc had asked him how he

got that gash on the side ofhis head, he just muttered something about walking

into a wall in the dark. The doc was quite miffed at being told an obvious untruth,

bu

t he was probably

used t

oit, beca

use he le

ft it at that.

The whole thing left me baffled, a feeling I'd often got when I'd been a police

officer. But I'd never got used to it.

It all added up to a lot ofstuffOscar didn't want me to know about. In a

way, that was fair enough. I had no entitlement to knowing all about his private

life. The trouble was, when I got included into it, it wasn't exactly private any

more. But did that give me the right to poke and prod and well, to be truthful

investigate myold friend and new boss? Yes, I thought so. That meant it was time

to have a brain-storming session with Ari and Alfie, like we did in the old days.

Meantime, normal martial arts sessions had to goon.

No surprise that next morning all the ladies - yes, sadly, all the classes were

ladies only, even though we didn't stipulate that - maybe they were the onlyones

who thought they needed to learn unarmed combat to defend themselves - were all

clucking and cooing around Oscar. Seemed like nobody noticed that I had a few

bruises and scratches too. No, it was all 'poor Oscar', 'what happened', and even

'shouldn't you be at home resting?' as theyfussed about. Naturally, Oscar being

Oscar, he soon put a stop to all that and got his class going. SoI did the same.

Just as myfirst session was all trooping out, a stranger came in. She was

Chinese or some sort ofOriental, and I thought at first how funnyfor me, an

English woman, to be teaching Oriental martial arts to someone who should have

learned it all at home. But then she spoke to me.

'Greta? Is it you?' she said with only a trace of that accent that seems to get

the letters r and l mixed up. 'You don't remember me, do you? I went to the police


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station in Shady Lane to ask for you and they told me I'd find you here. You saved

my life.'

Then, seeing I was still dead baffled, she went on, 'My name is Ah Weng So.'

In a

flash

Irecalled h

ow we

'd

first met. P

oor little Ah Weng S

ohad been

huddled in a doorway in the centre ofWatford, in the middle ofgiving birth. And

I'd held her hand in the ambulance all the way to the hospital. After that, it all led

toone ofour biggest cases, in the course ofwhich we'd freed a number ofChinese

who'd been kept as slaves in a factory . . . And Ah Weng So had been one of them.

'Ah Weng So! How are you? Did you go back home? What happened to

your baby? How is your husband?'I was firing questions at her like a regular

police interrogator until she started laughing and waving at me to stop.

'We have been granted asylum, me and my husband and the baby, and we

are studying for our application to be British citizens,' she told me. 'And I went to

see you at Shady Lane to give youour thanks once again, but also to ask, can you

help us to become emplo yed? We do not want to be a burden on our new country,

and we are having difficulty in finding work.'

I had one ofmyflashes ofbrilliance.

'Can your husband do any martial arts? Ifhe can, is he good enough to be a

helper in our classes here?'

Ah Weng So shook her head sadly.

'No, he is a very quiet and shy man, a very good tailor and shoe-maker, but

he knows nothing ofunarmed combat.'

I was just about to start shaking my head when she went on, 'But I am a

black belt in karate. Is that good enough?'

I could have kissed her, but she was alreadyon another subject.

'Greta, I think I should change my name to something more English. What

do you think ofSheila?'


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Greta Pusey Ex-cop.chap.4