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Max was a creature of habit. Every Thursday he went to lunch at the Yumyum Cafe, weather and customers allowing. The Cafe was nothing special to look at- cheap Formica topped tables, mismatched chairs and stained ceilings - but, in Max's humble opinion, the cafe cooks prepared the best Shepherds Pie in the country. On a cold day, with his hands and feet numb, there was nothing like a lovely, juicy pie and a mug of tea to warm the cockles.
He was sitting in his favoured seat by the window when he saw a van come hurtling down the street, going so fast it almost took out an old woman crossing the street. Moments later a car hurtled around the corner in obvious pursuit.
What happened then took seconds. A small terrier ran out onto the road; the pursuing car's driver hit the brakes and swerved; the car hit a patch of ice, fishtailed and flipped, slamming into the wall of a building across the street.
Shock was followed immediately by recognition. The car, now lying on its roof with its wheels spinning, was a bronze coloured Ford. Max swore, leapt to his feet and ran out of the cafe even as others were just beginning to respond.
He sprinted across the street, dropped to his knees next to the driver's door and peered inside. A figure was hunched on the roof, curled up and obviously unconscious.
"Oh fuck! Mister Smith!" He reached inside and carefully shook the big man's arm. "Hi, you alive in there?"
There was a groan, but not from him. Another figure, also twisted upside down, groaned again. "..Gene...god...."
Max slid onto his stomach and pressed his hand to the big copper's throat. He waited, chewing his lip, then breathed a sigh. "He's alive, lucky bastard. How 'bout you over there?"
The younger cop slowly twisted around, and Max spoke quickly. "You should maybe not move, matey. You could have bad damage."
Even as he said it, Max smelled the very recognisable tang of petrol and turned to see the pinkish fuel leak trailing down onto the road and under the upturned car from the busted fuel tank. It was heading straight for the shattered - and hot - engine. "Shit!"
"Whaa..." The big cop finally stirred, gloved hands twitching. "...happened..."
"You zigged when you shall have zagged, or preferably gone right over the bloody dog. But I've got to get you out, you've got a leaking tank, this thing could blow at any moment." He slid his hands under the man's upper arms. "C'mon, work with me here."
One of the gloved hands moved, reached out towards the passenger side. "Sam…is he…"
"Yeah, he's alive. " Max looked about anxiously, say a fella standing watching a few feet away. "You grab the other one and pull him out, quick about it!"
The lad hesitated. "Shouldn't move him till the…"
"Mate, we aint got time to argue. Better a bit damaged than a lot dead. Now pull him out of there!"
The bloke nodded, bent down and got hold of the younger copper and began dragging him through passenger side window. Max was doing the same with the big cop; he had him by the arm, took a handful of camel coat and began to pull.
It wasn't easy; the doorframe was buckled, the window small and the cop was no lightweight. With much groaning and cursing on the part of Mister Smith and not a little cursing on his own part, Max finally had him out on the road. Another bystander helped him drag the cop across onto the far footpath a safe distance away, where they were joined by the helpful lad doing the same with the young cop.
With good timing, as it happened. Max smelled smoke and looked up in time to see flame flaring from under the crumpled bonnet. He was about to call out at the various watchers to bugger off, but noted their own good sense of survival already had them scattering away from a potential bomb.
The large cop tried to sit up and Max pushed him down gently. "Take it easy, yer nong, you could have damage inside."
"M..car…"
"Write off, sorry. Better it than you."
The cop groaned again, flopped back down. "Bugger."
Max sat next to him and gave him the once over. Bruises, a nasty cut on the forehead that was leaking blood across his face, a swollen eye where he'd obviously impacted on the steering wheel, a big cut to his left leg above the knee, but no external gushing blood. He tried to move again, turned his head as Max held it to check for bumps, and hissed in pain. "Sam…"
The other fella - Sam, apparently - was a couple of feet away on the footpath with a coat from a thoughtful bystander under his head. He looked to be in about the same condition, banged up but not obviously mangled. "He's alive right now, not sure how bad 'e is."
There was the sound of sirens in the distance - some quick thinker had called for help - and Max had to hold the big man down as he tried to sit up "Look, you nitwit, just keep still, or I'll sit on ya. I'll go check him over, okay?"
"Mouthy…bastard.." The words were gasped out, pain-filled, but the glare from the green eyes was more aware and filled with things unspoken.
"Yeah, that's me. I'll take a look at him, so lie still or…"
As Max climbed to his feet, there was a thump and crackle and he saw flames climbing inside the car from the spilled fuel beneath it. They'd got the two coppers out with minutes to spare.
Max slid down next to Sam and slid his fingertips across one bruised cheek. He was cut and bloodied, and barely conscious. One hand twitched as Max touched him and the dark eyes opened. "Gene…?" It was a dry whisper, but even so, Max could read the fear. A hand reached blindly out along the dirty concrete and some impulse made him take it and rest it on the large man's chest.
"There he is, mate. Still with us."
Sam sighed, groaned, and closed his eyes.
Things happened fast then, and Max was pushed out of the way by ambulance personnel and firemen and other coppers who arrived on the scene within minutes of each other. He watched from a distance as the two men were loaded into an ambulance and driven away.
There seemed little left to do then but head off for a well-deserved cuppa and maybe an afternoon off in front of the telly.
Some days were just not worth getting up for. Manchester seemed to make too many of those sorts of days, as far as Max could see; wet days, miserably, muddy, icy days so he ended up with mucky pants from kneeling in puddles and chilled hands and felt so dirty he wondered if he could ever get clean again.
It really was time to think about a career change. I'm gettin' too old for this shit he thought, as he pulled up the collar of his coat and headed for the bus stop. Too old, too plain, too much pain. The lines from a John Denver song kept whirling through is head...
Then empty the ashtray, sweep up the floor, put a lock on your door. If somebody calls in the morning, just say we don't live here no more.
It would be all right to do that, to close the door and just walk out. O'course, the question always was, walk where? Into the canal, maybe. He snorted, shoved his hands deep in his pocket, searching for his packet of fags. Dimwit, you are! Like that would make things better!
He stood inside the shelter, lit up a cigarette and stamped his feet against the cold. The bus wouldn't be there for fifteen minutes and he was dyin' for a pee. Max looked around; the street was momentarily empty. He dropped the ciggy, turned, undid his fly, brought out his prick and let loose a stream of piss with a genuine sigh of relief.
There was the sound of a car pulling up behind him; Max hurriedly did himself up and turned as a deep, hoarse voice spoke.
"One quid fine for pissin' in a public place, yer filthy beast."
He glared at the brown Ford. The passenger window was half-way down but he couldn't see who was inside. "Well then they should bloody well put more urinals around. What's a bloke to do, bust a bladda?!"
"I'll put your suggestion to council. In the meantime, tidy yerself up and get in the back o' the car, I'm takin' you in."
Max grumbled as he stepped onto the road and opened the car door. "Just what I need right now, police brutality. Haven't you got ---"
And then he almost fell as he ducked his head to enter the car and saw the grinning face of his Mister Smith looking back over the seat at him.
"Max, you are so easy. And I mean that in the worst possible way."
"Blimey!" Max collapsed onto the back seat, smile bursting across his face. "You look bloody awful!"
"Thanks 'eaps, as if m'mirror didn't already tell me that."
In fact, Max thought he looked all right, considering. There were purple and yellow bruises visible across his face and neck, and healing cuts as well, although the swelling around the eye was the best by far. Not bad at all for someone who nearly ended up as cooked bacon. "And yer friend, Sam, is it?"
"He's good too, as good as the nutter gets, anyhow. Now, close the door will ya, the heat's getting out."
Max closed the door, smile fading. "So, you arrestin' me then?"
"Yeah, right, like I've got nothin' better to do than run around arresting blokes who piss on bus shelters. Just relax, Maxy, I'm takin' yer for a ride."
As rides went, it was a relatively short one; across town to a quiet street, a nice area without being posh, but still above the sort of place Max could afford to live in. Gene drove into a street blocked off at one end by a park, of red brick homes with tiny gardens where light spilled out from windows, making yellow and white pools of light on the wet street.
"You live here then?" Max asked, as he climbed out of the car.
"Not me, mate. Come on, this way," and he led Max to the front door. "He had this wretched little flat but he got sick of it a few months ago, moved out here. Dunno how he affords it. I'd suspect he was on the take 'cept I know the nutter's principles." Gene inserted a key in the door, opened it and motioned Max inside. "He is bloody lucky with some of his bets, though. Unnatural, I call it…"
Inside it was warm and clean, and Max hesitated on the mat, uncertain. Down the short corridor he could see through into a living room, where a gas fire was lit and lamps gave the whole place a comfy feel. It looked, felt, smelled good and Max was suddenly aware of how dirty he was, how out of place.
Gene stopped at the entry to the living room and looked back, frowning. "What's up?"
He shook his head. "Dunno. Shouldn't have come. What's this for, then, bringin' me here?"
"Because we wanted to thank you." A head appeared around the corner from further down the corridor. Sam. He smiled and stepped out into view, tossing a tea towel over his shoulder. "You left before we could." Sam walked towards Max and held out his hand, easy and welcoming. "Thanks, Max, it was a good thing you did."
Max took the hand briefly, shrugged. "No problem, glad I could help."
"Now come on in," Gene said, continuing into the living room, "let me get you a drink. Beer, or spirits?" he asked, heading for a bar in the corner.
Given a choice, Max was happy to take a glass of good scotch, lightened with a touch of water to take off the edge. He wandered the room, glass in hand, studying it with interest.
"Nice place. Self-decorated, is it?"
"Oh yes, Sam has definite ideas about décor. He declined my housewarming gifts of plaster wall ducks and framed Clint Eastwood prints, why I dunno." Max followed Gene as he left the living room through the opened glass separating doors and past the dining room, into the kitchen. "And he has ideas about being a chef, as well, though he doesn't yet wear a funny white hat. I live in hope, though, of the day. He can certainly burn stuff better'n anyone I know."
Max felt suddenly tired, and equally dirty. "I should probably get home. Need to eat and get a wash."
Sam shrugged. "If you need to, Max, but I was hoping you'd stay for dinner. And why not have a wash here? Bathroom's upstairs, first floor, there's clean towels in the cupboard next to the bathroom."
It was an odd offer, but the idea of a warm bath and a hot meal was too much to resist. "Thanks a lot, think I'll take you up on that."
The bath was a blessed joy and he soaked himself clean, even washed his hair with some of the shampoo in a cabinet over the basin. His clothing was damp and a bit smelly but the benefit of the bath was worth the inconvenience of having to redress in his work gear. By the time he came downstairs, Sam was serving a dinner made up of homemade meat pie with veg and fresh bread, and tea. Absolutely perfect.
There weren’t nothing fancy about the dinner, just good home cooked food, but it was a clean meal, in a clean place with good company and Max enjoyed it more than he had any meal for a long time. The two coppers were easy company, telling stories about their working day, the strange and mysterious life of coppers with tales of chases and arrests, murders and mayhems, crooks and robbers and shady deals. And all the time they watched each other, uncertain beneath the surface. He could tell that, could tell how much they wanted, how close they were and yet, still so far away. Only a few inches between them, and two lifetimes of principle and upbringing and stubborn pride keeping them apart.
Max wished he had one of those magic lamps that he could rub and get the genie out to grant a wish or two. Wealth for himself, enough so he’d never have cold knees again. And love for these two, the sort of impossible love Max had only known once and would likely never know again. In their time and their place, that was a curse, the sort of love that wrecked lives and reputations and lurked at the back of your heart forever. And maybe wishing them that was a cruelty because it was hopeless and dangerous and mad.
But as he watched them, so close that they…almost…touched, he wondered if maybe they’d make a go of it, even as dangerous and mad as it was. Because sometimes mad things happened in a crazy world. And sometimes you got what you deserved despite the odds.
He cleared his throat and they turned to him, blinking. “Well, nice as this was an’ all, it’s late and I’m buggered.” He held up a hand before Gene could make the obvious come-back. “Yeah, don’t bother matey, all been said and done. Any chance you could give a bloke a lift to the bus stop?”
He said his good-byes and smiled at their final thanks, and left the house, and didn’t look back. Gene dropped him at a bus stop near to his flat. “I could drive you home,” he’d said but Max had shook his head as he wrapped his coat tighter against the cold. “No, mate, best not. Bus’ll be along shortly. Take care of yourself. And him. And drive more careful, I might not be around to save you next time.”
Gene smiled, eyes bright in the reflected light. “Oh, I think you did that right the firs time Max. And Maxi, it might be time for you to get a new career. You’re getting too old for it.”
Max made a rude gesture and waved as the car drove off into the night. He sighed, tucked his hands into his pockets, and waited for the last bus of the night to take him home.