The Calling: The Fallen Angel Series, #3

By S C Cunningham

Kind erthfolk agree a deathbed deal to hang around a bit longer, become invisible, and protect the vulnerable they've left behind. Awakening to find themselves in a hi-tech MI6-esque crime unit surfing our planet, they have to wonder if they made the right choice?

They don't like rules, have sex in the skies, and kill more than they save.  Which is not a good look for an angel.

Their defence? 'If criminals don't live by the rules, then why the hell should we?'

Their bosses aren't happy. They may end up below ground. And just as things couldn't get any worse, David Howard of The David Trilogy joins the unit.

How the hell does a playboy serial killer gain access to a celestial crime unit? Why isn't he in hell? What does he know? Who owes him a favour? With spies, illicit affairs, and family drama, it's probably best not to ask.

The heaven-hell balance is changing, and we humans are stuck right in the middle.

AUTHOR

Having worked in the industries she writes about, British crime writer and crime investigator SCCunningham creates (crossover/standalone) thrillers, crime, steamy romance, family drama, and urban fantasy, with a skilled mix of sizzling tension, fuelled humor, and thought-provoking authority, rare in fiction. Her novels are attracting Hollywood attention.

An ex-model, British-born of Irish roots she married rock musician saxophonist Raphael (Raf) Ravenscroft (Pink Floyd, Marvin Gaye, Abba, America, Tina Turner, Mike Oldfield, Chris Rea, Robert Plant, Gerry Rafferty, 'Baker Street' sax intro), and has worked in the worlds of music, film, sports, celebrity management, children's charity, and crime (CID, RIT, LRT, Crime Investigations. Wanted & Absconder Unit. MCT Intel Analyst).

REVIEWS

'What if all we know about good and evil is only the surface of the truth?'
"Loved this, it has a Warehouse 13, Reaper, Fringe, Torchwood, Heroes, Shadow Hunters, Women of the Otherworld, and Breakout Kings vibe"
'Wow is this hard-hitting!'
'A special team guards us, but they don't look and act like you'd think they would.'
'A unique twist on the classic Heaven and Hell tale'
'Blissfully raw, absolutely perfect. 5 Stars!'
'Wow! Makes a great film. Raw, edgy, and completely addictive'
'There is romance and it's definitely of the sizzling variety with a very hot chemistry'
'Dispensing justice among the living in a way that nobody notices. A whisper here, a suggestion there, a shove, or an intervention at the right time.'
'It plays like a film and is an exciting trip to an originally created world.'
'The concept is great, love the author's storytelling. She has a fantastic imagination bringing it to life.'
'What if angels are simply enhanced humans who made deals with the higher powers?'
'Siobhan's writing style is easy and faultless, I wanted to jump into the pages and be part of it'
'Download this one today, don't get left behind!'
'I liked the premise that Good struggles with Evil, and that the lines between the two are sometimes blurred'
'Fast-paced, witty comments mixed with an almost "thinking-out-loud" style that moves the reader through the story quickly'
'I loved this wonderful real-life prose in a world that could be real life, who are we to know! You won't be disappointed'
'This surprised me. It has such promise as a series. Will truly be one of those magical books that are a must-read'
'So descriptive I felt as if I was reading line for line an investigative report.'

THE FALLEN SERIES - standalone

The Deal
Karma
The Calling
Already Dead
They Know

• Language: English
• Publisher: S C Cunningham
• Release date: Nov 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215867990

S C Cunningham

British Author of psychological thrillers, steamy romance, contemporary supernatural, and crime dramas, with a skilled mix of fueled tension, dark humor, and pulsating passion. Her works offer a fresh level of sincerity and authority, rare in fiction. As a respite from the grime of crime she writes illustrates and narrates children's books. The Ginormous Series teaches important life messages. She also writes The How-To Series; Write That Book, and Feel Good. An ex-model, British-born of Irish roots, she married a rock musician and has worked in the exciting worlds of music, film, celebrity management, and Crime (CID Crime Investigator - Wanted & Absconder Unit - Major Crime Team, Intel Analyst). REVIEWS “Hard-hitting, powerful, this rom thriller has it all; sex, murder, power, glamour, secrets, lies, revenge, wicked laugh out loud. No wonder this one's going to Hollywood.” “Gripping Story - I admire this author, she isn't afraid to push the boundaries.” “Holy Shit is all I can say!!! These books are going to make AMAZING films!!!”  “Pick it up when you have plenty of time because you won't want to put it down.” “50 shades crossed with Martina Cole.” “I read a lot of books, this book moves up to one of my top 5 reads.” “My God you shocked my shoes off. Excellent work!” “I read this book in 3 days, you just don't want to stop reading.” “Had me reading to the small hours. Gripping!" “Powerful emotional writing with bags of tension, a classic psychological thriller. Loved it.” “I raise a glass, I'd love to meet anyone who writes like this.” “Blown away to the point of speechless. Shocking, vivid, bloody well written!!” “This reminds me a little of American Psycho only so very much better!” “A talented writer, I WANT MORE!” www.sccunningham.com

Book preview

The

Fallen Angel

Series

Book III

The Calling

by

S C Cunningham

The Deal

Karma

The Calling

A picture containing graphical user interface Description automatically generated

Copyright © 2022 by S C Cunningham. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events, or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

THE DEAL

Dear Heavens, I was taken by a bad man and got away,

but the next girl didn’t. If I promise to be good and do my best’est, when I die can I sit on a cloud for a while, be invisible, have superpowers, and get the baddies that

slip through your fingers? Please. Thank you.

Amy Fox, age 4 yrs.

CORRESPONDENCE

Dear Heavens, thank you for keeping our deal.

To be honest I’d forgotten all about it, I was only four!

Just so you know, it’s not working, there are way too many rules up here. If criminals don’t play by them, then why the hell should we? What’ya gonna do, kill me?

I’m already dead.

Amy Fox, age 32 yrs.

Dear Heavens, well, I’m still here!

And I thought life was tough, but this place is full on twenty-four seven with no lunchbreaks... is there some kind of Union I can talk to?

Erthfolk’s stupidity doesn’t help. FFS, please make them wake up and look around. They have no idea how precious it all is, and they won’t, until it’s gone.

What a waste!

Another thing, how the hell do I get out of this deal?

There’s way too much red tape, and they’re not worth it.

Please sack me.

Amy Fox, timeless.

THE STORY THUS FAR

At the age of four Amy Fox was taken. She survived.

A week later, another little girl was taken. She didn't.

Angry that a bad man has gotten away with murder, she prays for a deal - that if she’s a good girl, when she dies, she can sit on a cloud for a while, be invisible, and help get all the baddies who slip through the police, and heavens fingers.

Decades later, her deal long forgotten, feisty career-girl Amy mysteriously dies. Her lifeless body is found beneath a London commuter train.

She awakens in the afterlife to discover an international network of like-minded souls, the fallen. Working in Crime Units throughout the skies, ex-erthfolk protect the underdog.

Her UK unit consists of commander Micael, ex-MI5 boss Maggie, ex-hacker Pyke, ex-SAS lover Jack, and ex-sex-trafficked-victim Alice.

Below ground live the witnesses; Warlord Gregori, his evil daughter Mara, and her husband-to-be, great warrior, Qyl (pronounced ‘kill’)

The fallen and witnesses have lived side by side for centuries, gathering the souls of dead erthfolk. The fallen encourage good deeds, the witnesses encourage bad. The summary of which dictates where erthfolk go next, above or below ground.

In books I and II, The Deal and Karma, we find lovers Amy and Jack working as a team to track-trace-terminate multiple criminals and keep witnesses at bay.

When Amy finds out that Mara is Jack’s ex-wife, Maggie and Gregori are her parents, and Mara her stepsister, the family drama starts. Coupled with Jack and Amy not playing by the rules, spies within the nest, and complaints being reported. their jobs are on the line. Heaven and hell no longer work in unison.

The good news is violent arch-enemies, Jack and Qyl, like a game of football, they often secretly down tools (sim. Germany v England, Christmas 1914) and play on rooftops.

WARNING; adult themes, sex, swearing, triggers.

Hyde Park Mews, London

At 04.30 hrs the exclusive Belgravia mews, with its quaint pastel-colored houses and flower lined cobbles stood empty and silent in the moonlight.

A scruffy white transit van sat parked outside the street’s wisteria arched entrance. One of two and a half million in the country, the vehicle went unnoticed.

The driver’s seat had a direct view through the archway into the mews, and on to a small garage door, the private entrance to The Staggz Club. A gentlemen’s meeting place, so discreet that neighbors barely knew of its existence.

Staggz was a den of iniquity, a place where those with money could do what they want, when they want, and with whom they want, no questions asked.

Hidden in plain sight, its dark basement rooms stretched beneath cobbles, giving no idea of what was going on below cheerful rows of flowering shrubs.

The garage door opened, a male in butler’s uniform peeked his head out to check the coast was clear, the mews was empty. He stepped back, and allowed a club member to leave, quietly closing the door behind him.

With staggered walk, tousled hair, and cheery gaze, the male had the satisfied look of a man who’d been shagged senseless and dressed in a hurry.

With his torn, wine-stained shirt flapping, his bare chest glistening, his fly gaping, and his expensive suit jacket dragging behind him, he weaved up the street towards the archway, in search of a black cab.

The van driver checked an image on his phone, his chiseled face lit up for a second before closing the file. He turned to the row of masked faces sat behind him.

That’s him. Remember, no kill. Today we’re just transport.

They didn’t see the outline of a shadowy figure standing between them and the male, waiting beneath the arch, nor see his cigar smoke percolating overhead, nor hear the clip-clop of his black patent shoes on stone, as he walked towards their target.

Someone had beaten them to it.

10 Days EARLIER

CHAPTER 1

Wapping, East London

As the buzz of the city was stirring, Jack sat at a café table, on a street corner. Stretched out, legs and arms crossed, eyes shut, head titled skywards, he basked in the morning sun, listening to the cacophony of police sirens screaming towards him from all directions.

A smile crept across his face. There was nothing quite like the sound of scrambling law enforcement.

Brakes screeched as marked vehicles lined up in a semi-circle around the building opposite him. Early commuters stood transfixed, mouths open, eyes darting, trying to work out where the danger was.

The dulcet tones of Pyke rang in his ear, interrupting the fun.

Bonjour Monsieur, it’s tres busy up here, are you done yet? Pyke cheered in his very bad French accent.

Although he couldn’t speak another language, even his English was dubious at times, he had a thing about mixing lingo’s up, chucking in the odd cheeky little foreign word here and there. Mainly because it annoyed the hell out his teammate, the maddeningly perfect, darkly complicated, Jack Mallan.

Jack relaxed back in his chair, sipping on black coffee, smiling at the image of Pyke rushing around their office, surrounded by his Stonehenge of screens, running from one data-filled job to the next. Eyes flitting, tattooed keyboard-fingers nimble, creating a little chaos around the planet as he went. It was one big video game to him, except with a one-thousandth generation console. A hacking whiz-kid’s dream.

Nope, sighed Jack, his eyes following fleeing pedestrians.

I’ve tipped off police. What’s left for you to do? asked Pyke.

So, I see, Jack shook his head. Aren’t they gonna suss one day, with all our mysterious anonymous calls?

Yep, they’re asking questions, their bound to, our intel leaks have a one hundred percent success rate.  I mix up how we dish the info, keeping it non-traceable. They’re confused, but overall, I think they’re just grateful for the help, wherever it comes from.

A late arrival police vehicle screeched around the corner with noisy, flashing, blues and twos, narrowly missing the lounging, Jack.

Fuck me, blasted Jack, legs, and arms akimbo as his chair rocked backwards, spilling his coffee. 

I’d rather not thank you mate, offered Pyke. Sounds like police have got this, you’re done mate, the next job is lined up, I’ll send you the details.

Wait a minute, give a man a break. I’m just enjoying the view for a bit, Jack sat back, flicking coffee off his jacket sleeve. Glad he’d worn black, a useful color in the grime of crime.

What view? Pyke flicked on a few nearby street cameras. He saw confused members of the public running to the safety of nearby doorways and alleyways, police cordon’s being rapidly set up, traffic being re-directed, snipers clambering across rooftops and the leisurely figure of a tall male, dressed in black, sat on a street corner, sipping coffee, his face smiling up at the sun.

Did you mention they had weapons? asked Jack. cos the gun unit are here.

Yep.

That’s over the top isn’t it, they’re not armed.

It gets a speedier reaction, Pyke zoomed his camera in on Jack as he sipped coffee. On our holidays are we mate? he grinned, shaking his head. I’m running my arse off up here. We’re so gonna swap jobs one day. Any casualties?

Nope, everyone alive and kicking, no blood, no nothing, I’ve been a good boy, Jack chuckled.

What’s so funny? Pyke eyed him suspiciously. What’ve you done now?

Nothing mate, nothing. It’s just the thought of you outside the office.

I did live down there once you know.

Not being funny, but a skinny, gobby, tattooed skinhead standing up to a warlord would not end well. We’d be picking up pieces of you scattered across the planet.

Charming, I’d like to see you do what I do, there’d be no planet, scoffed Pyke with a smile, knowing Jack was right.

His skill set was via a keyboard, being a recluse on erth, he’d never seen the inside of a gym or fought for his country, like ex SAS Jack.

Not on your Nelly mate, Jack replied. Couldn’t do your job for all the tea in China, me and technology don’t get on. My digits are too fat, and I haven’t got the patience. Last computer I owned got thrown out the window. Don’t know how you do it.

Pyke grinned, the thought of the short-tempered hulk, with hands the size of hams stooped over a screen made him shiver.

I may surprise you one day big boy, promised Pyke. I’ll come down on a job with you, it would be good to get out of the office.

Oh gawd, heaven help us, sighed Jack. Ok, but you can only come out to play if it’s an easy job, like saving a hedgehog or something, no violence, no termination stuff.

Can I bring gloves and a stab vest, teased Pyke. Hedgehogs are spikey little creatures.

When alive, before he’d made his deal, Pyke had been the best hacker in the business. Jack was proud to work with him.

All joking aside, you’re our secret weapon, we’d be lost without you. If the witnesses ever got a hacker with half your skill set, we’d be in trouble.

Nah, I’d beat ‘em hands down, beamed Pyke. Although, it’s only a matter of time before they do source a good programmer. So, no casualties then?

Nope.

That last head office update was serious, Jack. The bosses are on Maggie’s case, and some or her enemies would love to use our naughtier activities as an excuse to close her down, I can’t keep covering for you guys.

Yeah, yeah, no casualties.  I got the memo, less force, no unauthorized terminations.

Jack sighed, the job was gathering more and more red tape, maybe it was time to hang up his wings.

Maggie is the most violent woman I know, she kills with ease, no second thoughts. Hope you remind her, that they’re watching her as well. Keep an eye on her Pykey boy, we don’t want to lose the old bird, and I don’t want to move units. I love my little family, even you.

Are you saying you love me? teased Pyke.

No, don’t go getting any ideas mate.

You sure?

Absolutely sure.

Sure?

Shut up Pyke, Jack barked. Pyke jumped.

Ouch! That hurt, Pyke mumbled, rubbed his ear. Chill mon petit chou, he smiled, watching the irritated Jack on camera, shuffling in his chair. He loved teasing him. Don’t worry I’m watching Maggie, but I haven’t got time to watch you and Amy too.

I’ll sort us. Look at this job, you’d be proud how I delivered the bad guys, no blood, not a drop.

Hmmm, well, we’re only on day one, let’s see how it goes.

Amy’s the loose cannon, Jack’s eyes scanned the skies. But like she says, they don’t play by the rules so why the hell should we. She has a point.

Well, for one, they don’t have our strict bosses, and for two, we don’t want to be sent below, the customer service is shit, and we won’t be welcome.

Where is Amy anyway? Jack didn’t like it when she went off on her own, the girl needed constant supervision.

A whoosh of wind wrapped his body, sending his shaggy hair into further disarray. Amy landed, plonking herself in the chair opposite him.

You called, Sir, she smiled, straightening her hair. Hello Pyke, she shouted, loud enough for him to hear, through Jack’s mic.

I think that’s her now, Pyke smiled. You two get back here as soon as, your next jobs are lined up.

Click.

The line went dead.

About time Miss Fox, Jack teased. I’ve been managing this one on my own, where’ve you been?

A loud explosion whooped their ears, shattering nearby office windows. Birds swooped from trees, dust and smoke percolated the air, glass rained on pavements. Scattering bystanders screamed in horror.

Oops! muttered Jack.

Pyke’s angry voice re-connected. No blood you said!

It was a controlled explosion, there’ll be no casualties mate, trust me, relax, soothed Jack, with more conviction than he felt.

Pyke clicked offline, with the frustrated jab of a tattooed digit.

Jack turned to Amy, arms folded, waiting for the answer to his question.

She brushed dust from her suit, blew her fringe out of her eyes, and beamed back at him. For a second, she imagined them as just a happy loving couple, having a normal coffee on a normal street, chatting about normal things. But they were far from normal.

Maggie forced me to have a wellbeing check, for heaven’s sake. I did it to shut her up, honestly, she worries too much. Have I missed anything?

She looked across the street at the mayhem.

What kind of check? asked Jack, eyeing her.

You know, a health check kinda thing, apparently were all getting them these days, no big deal, she swept his question away. What’s the job?

What did they do, say? he pushed.

Nothing much, they asked a few questions, then I slept as they lay hands on me and gave my body an MOT, it was quite nice actually, I feel rejuvenated, you’ll love it.

Did they ask you anything, find anything? he wasn’t giving up.

No, all is good, she eyed him, curious. Why’re you asking, do you know something?

Nothing, shrugging innocent shoulders. Just looking out for you, you did go to hell after all, not many get to come back. Witnesses love to devour a good soul.

Yeah well, when their boss is your dad, and he wants you to rule with him, nothing will happen to you, no matter how much you piss him off, she leaned in, reached out and picked up his coffee cup.

So, tell me, what’s going on here? she took a sip, wincing at the lack of milk.

Gregori is not the type to give up that easy, he wants you down there with him, he’s not going to stop, Jack sighed. She had no idea how much danger she was in, her father was a conniving little bastard. His nose twitched at the memory of him. And he stinks, can’t they do something about that down there?

Yeah, well, what can I say, you can’t pick your family.

Your mum’s alright. Well, actually, more than alright. She’s the toughest, coolest, old bird I know.

Yep, what she saw in Gregori I’ll never know, Amy sighed. If you and I had a kid, we would’ve been great parents.

Ambulances started to arrive, snipers settled into position, tooled up Special Ops jumped out of vans and scurried crablike in multiple directions, surrounding the building from all sides.

An expectant energy filled the air as the command team, and cordoned bystanders, held their breath.

What’s going on? repeated Amy

Not a lot, it’s a bank raid, I’m done. Let’s go, he stood up and stretched, his break-time over.

But it’s only just starting, Amy stared at the scene, itching to fly in and get in the thick of it.

Nope, the robbers have just realized the vault is empty. Right about now, they’re standing open mouthed, staring at an empty room. The police have arrived and are standing alongside them, confused, working out what to arrest for. No casualties, apart from the odd heart attack after six months of intense preparation and massive funding to get into an empty room, he chuckled.

Why, how?

I arrived earlier and moved it all to the bank’s boardroom, a few floors above. The next board meeting will be fun, there’s a lot of dosh, valuables and dodgy documents that didn’t expect to see the light of day, piled high. Pyke leaked it to the cops, and I stopped to have a coffee. Job done.

Nice one, Amy laughed, shaking her head, it wasn’t like Jack to create a harmless way to foil crime, he normally liked to jump in and cause violent havoc.

You got the memo then? she raised an understanding eyebrow. Just because they’ve changed the rules doesn’t mean we have to play by them, we just have to be clever and not get caught.

Try saying that to your mother, Jack grinned, leaning across the table to cup her beautiful face in his hands. Maggie, in a bad mood puts the shits up the devil himself.

Yep, like mother like daughter Jack Mallan, you’d better watch out, she giggled, kissing the tip of his nose.

Just as long as you’re not like your father, or your sister, he chided, taking back his cup and sipping coffee. Jeez what a crazy family, have I got time to back out of this wedding?

She bashed his shoulder in mock anger, sending more coffee over his coat. He was now wearing more than he’d drunk. Yeah, but who married and is about to marry both Gregori’s daughters?

I know, he sighed. A glutton for punishment, that’s me, sad but true, he nonchalantly chucked the cup over his shoulder, it landed in a rubbish bin.

Show-off, Amy sighed.

Unseen by erthfolk, he stood up, swooped his smiling wife-to-be up in his arms and lifted her high into the clouds. Amy’s swirling, joyous, laughter filled the skies.

Only babies and animals could sense their presence. Grownups had lost the ability long ago, too busy surviving life.

CHAPTER 2

From the bank’s pillared entrance, six soot-faced robbers staggered into the daylight with their hands cuffed behind their backs. Each with the hand of a police officer on their shoulder. Dazed, confused, some near to tears, as they wondered how the hell it had gone so wrong. They’d just risked it all on an empty room. Bollocks!

Detective Constable Tony DeAngelo stood back from his fellow officers and leaned against a parked blues-flashing vehicle, surveying the scene, almost feeling sorry for the guys.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Detective Chief Inspector Jason Dickman walking towards him, waving at his nearby driver that it was time to go. As he approached, DeAngelo stood up and braced himself.

DeAngelo, we’ve got to find out who these anonymous callers are, Dickman hissed, low enough for no one else to hear. It’s getting ridiculous, we’re looking like idiots.

DeAngelo nodded. Yes, Sir, grinning to himself, it was easy to make Dickman look like an idiot.

They’re right every time, where are they getting their information from? Fuck! Dickman didn’t like not being in control.

It’s a mystery, Sir, but a good one. We got the baddies, that’s what we’re here for, DeAngelo enthused, looking over at the line of disgruntled suspects being loaded into the back of vans, trying to raise a smile, but his boss wasn’t having it.

The station was used to Dickman complaining, he never had a good word to say. As DeAngelo looked into his dissatisfied face, pink with alcohol, and thin-lipped with frustration, he tried not to focus on the dark blue vein, furiously pumping across his forehead.

He also tried not to focus on the thought of Dickman standing in front of a toothless old wino on his knees, giving him a blowjob at the back of the custody block, while his wife and kids were at home. Dickman didn’t realize there were external cameras.

Admittedly it was a long time ago, and he was a newbie, a volunteer special at the time, but gossip in the police was non-forgiving and relentless.

Like all industries, some bosses were brilliant, some were a nightmare, it was normally only a matter of time before the bad’uns got sifted out.

But Dickman was a cunning bastard, in control at all times, with his eye firmly on the top job. Anomalies made him look stupid, and he didn’t like looking stupid.

He wasn’t what DeAngelo called a proper copper, he was more concerned about himself than protecting others, he shouldn’t have been in the force, he didn’t have the right personality for it. A politician, maybe, a policeman, no.

In all walks of life, whether it be religion, politics, teaching, nursing, music, film, finance, there was always one bad apple that gave its fellow colleagues a bad name. For DeAngelo, Dickman was his station’s bad apple.

He would be chucked out eventually, the bad’uns always fuck up in the end, but for Dickman, it was taking way too long. His nasty bullying was affecting too many of the good guys, policing was stressful enough, some had committed suicide.

A self-absorbed ladder-climber, Dickman didn’t give a toss about saving victims, about right or wrong, about protecting the community, or supporting his staff. He had no idea how to lead, and there weren’t enough staff management courses in law enforcement.

Dickman only cared about how he looked on paper, and how he could tick-box, speed-hack, his way to the top without paying dues. His condescending, fast-tracked, lack of experience was dangerous. Dick by name, Dick by nature.

When in Dickman’s company DeAngelo would bite his lip, say the least amount as possible, and try to work around the man’s stupidity.

A dangerous man to upset, he had a cruel fondness for getting colleagues in trouble, for dobbing them in it. Getting an officer stuck on was his way of deleting competition and keeping staff quiet.

DeAngelo bided his time, patiently waiting for the moment Dickman would be knocked off his perch, it was a matter of time, karma doesn’t miss a trick, but it just took way too long sometimes.

I want MCT and cyber all over it, Dickman hissed.  Call Pat Murphy. We need to track them down, find out who they are, and how they know so much? Are they in competition with rival gangs, corporations, governments, what?

But they are helping us, Sir...

Dickman spat him a look. The forehead vein pulsed with anger. DeAngelo nodded, rescinded, and subconsciously stepped back, in case the vein burst.

Yes, Sir, major crime, and cyber, on it.

Without a thank you or goodbye, DeAngelo watched the huffing creature walk towards his waiting driver. Holding open the passenger door, the driver gave him a long-suffering greeting.

Poor bugger, fancy being stuck in a car with that for hours, DeAngelo muttered under his breath, wanting to buy a pint for whoever had scrawled CUNTMAN IS A DICK on the back of a cubicle door at the station’s gents.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Pat Murphy’s number. As he listened to the ring tone, waiting for it to connect, he looked up to the skies and nodded.

I know you’re there, my mum used to tell me so, and I’m grateful. We’re understaffed, underfunded, and run by a bunch of idiots with zero people skills. Ignore him, and keep sending the intel, we need all the help we can get.

He thought for a moment, squinted his eyes, and cautiously asked, do you take requests?

He raised an eyebrow, as if waiting for a reply. Nothing. He carried on.

Can you do something about him? tilting his head to Dickman’s departing screech of wheels. The idiot needs sorting, pronto.

He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head with a half laugh. Maybe he was going mad in his old age, but it was worth a punt. He walked towards the prisoner vans.

A small white feather sashayed to the ground in his path. He stopped, and stared at it, a quick look to the skies showed that there were no birds around.  Checking no one was looking, he reached down, picked it up and popped it in his pocket. He’d been heard.

Thanks mate, he winked at the sky. Sooner rather than later would be nice.

His phone answered.

Pat Murphy, Cyber Crime unit. How can I help you?

Pat, it’s Tony, a quick one. Dickman is breathing down my neck, any news on the anonymous calls?

Hasn’t that plonker been moved on yet, haven’t they sussed him?

Nope, he’s still here, pushing for his next promotion, sighed DeAngelo.

I remember when he was my skipper, he couldn’t make a decision to save his life. And it was always everyone else’s fault. He still got that angry vein across his forehead?

Oh yes.

You heard about the one about him and the old drunk...

Yep, D’Angelo raised his