CHAPTER 22
We had had Christmas off, so the unwritten rules said that we would have the delights of New Year’s Eve, and a night shift at that. It was never a popular slot, because anyone who was anyone HAD to be out, had to be drunk, and had to fall over, and that ‘anyone included an awful lot of arseholes, not just the ones with the liquid ‘engage twat mode’ button, but those who started out bad and simply got worse.

It was a night to make our apologies to the ladies and park up in the middle of the city, because that was where the bulk of our calls would come from. We had a favourite little slot there, whenever we stagged the city centre, and to my amusement we found it coned off when we arrived, with a large home-printed sign ‘Ambulance Only’. We weren’t there that long, because there was a fight on St Mary’s, a patch-up and hand to coppers job, almost as soon as we arrived. Thankfully, that one had been a case of grabbing the Big Green Case and trotting round the corner. Ten minutes after we had seen The Spirit Of Goodwill away in the cage in the back of a police van, I was round the corner in Chippy Lane checking a girl who had decided to check how well she could walk in stupidly high heels after stepping into a previously-owned meal, as in previously-eaten.

Luckily, she had fallen on her well-padded arse rather than cracking her head, so I parked said arse in a chair outside Dorothy’s and leaned out a couple of shallow cuts. For once, we seemed to be escaping the usual carnage, so as midnight approached, based on the cue left by our reserved space, I took our flasks into Heidi’s to see if I could cadge some hot water to go with our tea bags. For once, it wasn’t raining, but the air temperature was like a knife, and the light breeze was making it even worse. I watched the revellers passing, men in T-shirts, girls in nothing much at all, and simply could not understand how they coped.

I found a space at the bar and made my request, and the young barmaid, decked out in a sort of cod-German arrangement that left me rather distracted, took the flasks.

“Can do better than hot water, if you want. Coffee or tea?”

“Oh, lovely! Could we have one of each?”

“No problem. Got a constant boil thing in the kitchen. Two minutes. Milk? Sugar?”

“Got them in the wagon, thanks”

“Two minutes, then”

She was as good as her word, returning with two flasks of delight just as the countdown started. She put them down on the bar and said something I couldn’t hear; I leant forward, she suddenly took my head in both hands, and I got a really, really solid snog. Oh.

“Happy new year, you. Hope you didn’t mind”

I looked at her, smiling, her tits halfway out of the corsety thing she was wearing, and bloody hell. I simply reached over and pulled her back for another one.

“Er, that should answer your question”

“In the nicest way. I’m Angela, but people call me Ange”

“Jennifer. Jen”

“I know. Seen you up at the Smugglers, so, well, I guessed you’d be, you know”

She grinned, once again.

“Now, it’s busy time, so both of us have to work, yeah? Want my number?”

“I think so”

She actually had it written ready, and the paper was in her bloody cleavage, oh god.

“Drive carefully, Jen. See ya!”

She was off to serve a customer, and I was in a daze. I took the flasks back to the wagon, passing them to Tom before climbing in.

“Mine’s coffee, yours is tea. We can swap as we need to, butt”

“What’s up with you---oh!”

He passed me a sterile wipe, pointing at my mouth, and I looked at it after use, seeing the lipstick Ange had left there.

“Jen, was that your doing, or someone grabbing a freebie?”

“Er, sort of the second”

“Good job it wasn’t a bloke, then. He’d have ended up in the back of the van”

“It wasn’t a man. It was one of the barmaids”

“Not one of those in those, you know, tops?”

I simply nodded, and he grinned.

“I know men who dream of that!”

“Um, yeah. She already had her number written out for me. On a bit of paper”

“Oh, god. She didn’t have it, you know, tucked between, er…”

“Yes. Exactly. Right there”

He sobered up a little.

“Jen?”

“Yeah?”

“Lots of us get phone numbers pressed on us, this night, sometimes with a bit of groping, or even worse. It’s a nuisance, aye? But she was working, so I doubt she was pissed. How do you want to play it? I’m going to take a guess you’re not complaining”

“Well, I, er, sort of pulled her in for another one”

“And how did she react?”

“Could we just drink some of this and hope we get a job soon? I… Neither of us is complaining, okay?”

Things stayed quiet for the next hour, as we attacked our plastic boxes of leftover Christmas food, his being far more traditional than mine, seeing as Hira had been the primary provider.

“Here, Jen. This is for you. No nut allergies?”

It was a thick slice of proper Christmas cake.

“Connie’s Mam does us one every year. It’s actually rather nice”

He wasn’t wrong, and it was very moreish, as were his mince pies. They kept us occupied till the pubs started losing their customers as underclad people wobbled their way down Chippy Lane before heading off into the night, or rather morning. There were the usual charming sights of both sexes returning their fast food to the street, or sometimes down their front, both sexes disappearing up alleys to find somewhere they thought was private to unleash their bladders, or couples of a variety of pairings seeking similar privacy for the purpose of much closer friendships.

Neither of the latter two groups was very successful at finding the seclusion they sought and, to be honest, some clearly found some things so urgent that they couldn’t really wait.

I really hate that shift.

The next call came in at one-thirty.

“Where are you at, Tom?”

“Mill Street, outside Heidi’s”

“Can you make to junction of Glossop Road and Planet Street, just off the Newport Road. Single vehicle RTC, police in attendance. One casualty, believed to be driver”

“Understood, Central. Five to ten minutes, depending on traffic”

“Understood”

It was another session of Tom’s Warp Factor Lots, as he caned it round Adam Street and onto Moira Terrace, the blue flashing visible from some way off. There were two marked Traffic cars there, as well as a local marked car and an Audi A3, which had seemingly decided to stop by in a corner shop, what exactly for not being clear. I was out. Leaving the flasks I had been cuddling on the front seat of the van, and it was Sergeant Gould yet again.

“Morning Jen, Tom”

“What we got?”

“Police side, a fail to stop who tried to play the magic maze game, lost it here, went into the shop there. Driver’s airbag didn’t deploy for some reason, and our driver had dispensed with use of the seatbelt. Face hit the windscreen hard. Left him in place as soon as we knew you were tasked, just in case, aye?”

He shook his head.

“Not really in a fit state to give us a blow, so we’ll need bloods from him. Reeks of booze”

“Right. I’ll get to it, then”

Conscious, responding, pupils equal and reactive, no tingling in extremities. No crackling from his lungs apart from---ah. BP and pulse within acceptable ranges. Face like a serving of raw hamburger, with a matching circular cracked depression in the windscreen. Tom was at my shoulder as I straightened up.

“Nothing to indicate anything more serious than his face, although I suspect he’s cracked a couple of ribs. I think his spine’s okay, but I’d like to get him onto a board and head brace once he’s out. He’s absolutely rat-arsed. Sergeant Gould?”

“Aye?”

“We’ll need a bit of muscle to lift him out, and then to put him on a board, plus, of course, getting him and the board onto our trolley. Someone riding with us?”

“Yeah. He’s been nicked already for the fail to stop and dangerous drive, but we want the blood test. If he’s as pissed as we think, then we really want that one added to the list”

“No problems. Quiet word?”

I led him away from the car and lowered my voice.

“That’s an Audi. Their stuff works. I had a look at the steering wheel, and you know how it’s all smooth there, till the air bag goes off?”

“Yes. And?”

“I could see a line in the surface, like a cut. I think the bag’s either been fiddled with or removed”

“Really? I’ll have someone look at that who knows what they’re doing. Ta”

He came out of the car easily enough, and we got him secured on the backboard with the big square headpieces in place, but he would get no analgaesia till his bloods were secured, oh dear how sad never mind: he’d completely fucked someone’s shop through being a prick.
We ran him into St Dai’s where there was a queue, but there was a sensible nurse who secured the bloods so that I could slip him a bag of industrial strength paracetamol to take away what must have been a serious headache, not to mention the bruising. A nice copper was with us throughout, and just before we were finally about to hand over to Casualty, he got something on his radio which made him laugh out loud.

He bent over our driver with a grin, ran through his name and remined him he was still under caution, and then…

“You are further arrested for possession of a Class A drug with intent to supply”

Oops.

Mr Plummer gave us the news just as we were going onto rest days.

“Dai Gould sends his regards, Jen, as well as his thanks. ‘Lovely spot’, he said, and asked if you wanted to switch jobs”

“What was it?”

“The airbag. Dai got their specialist, because of the explosion risk, and it turned out the whole shebang had been removed and replaced with half a kilo of heroin. Nice one!”

The next day, still buzzing, I rang Angela. The day after that, I was really buzzing.