Fighting Dirty: A Jack Lisbon Crime Thriller (The Fighting Detective) by Blair Denholm

Author:Blair Denholm [Denholm, Blair]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blair Denholm
Published: 2020-08-10T11:00:00+00:00

Chapter Three

All the exhausting rehab was over. Now he could get back to work, get amongst it. Catch villains. Protect the innocent. All that shit. It was a dirty job, as they say, but some idiot had to do it.

Jack pulled aside wrinkled shirts on hangers, found a space at the back of the wardrobe, stashed the crutches away for a rainy day. Two months of hobbling about on them may have helped the healing process, but they annoyed the shit out of him. Absolute murder on the armpits. But, with the help of those wonders of ancient technology and some gruelling rehab, the broken leg came good. The abrupt woman from the hospital said on the phone he could keep the “ergonomic grip forearm walking stick” until he got better, but he should bring the crutches back, they’re not cheap you know! Jack reasoned in his line of work a spare set could come in handy. He told her they snapped in half and it’d be pointless returning broken ones, wouldn’t it? Her tone said the lie wasn’t believed, but bugger it. Let the crutches be his last perk of the job before he turned into a saint. He’d earned them.

The morning routine had been modified by rehab. Unsteady walk (was a run) down the stairs. Cold three-minute shower (was hot and up to ten minutes). Wholemeal toast and egg-whites (was a fry up). Strong black coffee (was milky tea with three sugars). Into his beat-up Volvo 850, drive to the station (unchanged).

The thought of morning talkback radio made his brain hurt. Jack usually got a buzz out of listening to the opinions of the opinionated, he was that way himself. Loved to tell everyone within earshot how he felt about things. He knew it went a bit far sometimes, but he didn’t care. What good was a timid copper with no ego? None at all.

This morning there’d be no talkback radio.

Just music.

Classical, his own collection on a USB drive. Today he selected the soothing yet uplifting strains of Vivaldi’s Spring from the Four Seasons collection, because today he had to confront the tetchy governor, Superintendent David Keogh. For that he’d rather be in a clear, relaxed frame of mind. The first day back on the job wasn’t going to be easy. Keogh would have a ton of awkward questions about the attack on Jack, his colleagues too. There’d be follow up on the investigation, of course. Nothing concrete was found to implicate Gallagher. Mainly because Jack kept schtum. Didn’t matter. Jack would take care of it.

Nudging onto the motorway through rushing traffic, Jack failed to notice and give way to a red Porsche convertible. Maybe it got lost in the sun or the road, he blinked at the wrong moment, or maybe he was inattentive. In any case, the speeding driver leaned on the horn and flipped the bird, screamed obscenities. Jack jumped in his seat, quickly looked up and clocked a young man snarling like a guard dog.

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