Problems with prophylactics It started a couple of weeks before I thought it started. I was in the men's room of this bar, my after work bar, washing my hands when this guy burst in. Sort of emaciated looking, really short haircut. He bounded over to the condom machine, it was only about a meter away but he bounded anyway. I moved over to the hand dryer and thought "Huh at least someone in this town's getting laid." Then I kicked the button and turned the thing on.

I never press the button on hand dryers with my hand, it seems to me that that's counter productive.

The room was filled with the echoing kind of racket that a hand dryer makes in a small tiled room, but I could still see the guy in the mirrors above the sinks. He was trying to stuff a five pound note into he machine. It only took coins, so he was having some trouble. I was about to walk out but he stepped in front of me and brandished the note whilst saying something. I couldn't hear him, the hand dryer was the kind that kept going regardless of whether your hands are under it and the timer hadn't run out. The guy looked expectantly at me though, so I shrugged and pointed at the machine. He glanced over and repeated himself. I still couldn't hear so we stood there, waiting for the machine to turn off. It did eventually and in the settling silence he murmured that he needed change for the machine.

"I've only got two seventy." I said. His eyes lit up.

"Yeah, sure, sure sure sure I'll trade you for two seventy."

He spoke fast and bit his lips when he should have been taking a breath.

"You could just go to the bar and get change from there,"

"Fucking goddammit," He exploded at me with bitter intensity. "Fucking goddammit just swap the fiver."

I was feeling generous and at peace with my fellow man, so I did. He rammed the change into the machine, pounded one of the buttons and ran into one of the cubicles. I was slightly puzzled but in all franktuality I didn't want to stick around for whatever was happening next.

If I was on duty I'd have probably noticed what button he pressed on the machine. But I was off duty, and it didn't seem like it was any of my business what flavour of condom this guy was jerking one into.

As disgusting as it sounds, a week later it kind of was.

#

A week later I was in a good mood as I walked into my office. I'm always in a good mood when I walk into my office on account of how easy my job is. I'm a police detective and it's easy because of my partner: a piece of bark that can tell when people are lying. She was in my left hand desk draw, on top of a piece of dry tissue paper. She didn't say anything on account of being bark.

There was a note wedged into my keyboard. It said:

"The Chief would like to see you."

In the Chief's own scrawl. I picked up my partner and took three toffees from my right hand desk draw, put one of them into my mouth and pocketed the other two.

The Chief's door was open and one of their arms was doodling something onto a blotter. It withdrew as I entered.

"Sit down." The Chief said, swaying slightly, the chief of our department is two twelve year old boys standing on each others shoulders and wearing an over sized trench coat. The one whose voice hadn't broken was addressing me now.

"There's been an increase in crime Gregory." My name is Gregory by the way. Gregory Laplace. Pleased to meet you.

"Shit, really." I chewed hard on my toffee. "I thought we'd sorted that one out by now."

I heard a giggle from the midsection of the coat. The upper part of The Chief remained sombre.

"We haven't, but you're going to." He pointed at a dossier on his desk, I opened it up and flipped through. "This place was quiet as felt maracas till a month ago, now it's a gangbang, and it's the public's sense of safety that's getting fucked. Two murders and five suspected arsons all in the past month. It's either a gang or a psychopath or both, you're on the case,"

"Sure, sure, you got any leads?"

"Managed to scrape some DNA off this youngster." He tapped an open page in the dossier showing a scrawny looking guy with a bad haircut. "Lightspeed Hubbard, corpse was found in a burnt down garden shed, blunt trauma to the head."

"Great, sure. You guys want a toffee?" I threw the two I had in my pocket onto the desk as I got up. The top of The Chief unsteadily bent down to pick one up and after that a hand swiped out of the coat to grab the remainder. I left the room with the thick dossier in my hands.

Back in my office I spread the reports across my desk and began sorting through them. When I get a case like this I like to let the prime ingredients settle in my mind before I go following any leads or getting out of my chair. I like to stick them all to my wall and attach them to each other with thread and generally act like I'm doing some serious analysis or whatever.

The murders did seem connected, both male, both bludgeoned, both the bodies set on fire. And all in the same location, a small suburb of the city with a dull postcode that I forgot even whilst reading it. I had to write it down to catch a cab there, figured maybe it'd help to get acquainted with ground zero.

The primary point of interest in the area was the bar I mentioned earlier, The Purple Crab. A bar that started hip in the 80s and hadn't aged with its clientele. I resisted the urge to base my investigations from it. It seemed like a good idea at the time but it turned out it wasn't, not least of all because the rest of this side of town was boring. A couple of convenience stores stocking the haberdashery of everyday life, a church full of old ladies and nothing else but suburban houses built from cheap, red bricks.

The other two bars in the area had burnt down, as well as the pharmacy and the shed that Hubbard had been found in. I visited their boarded up charcoal frames in order. I guess I was hoping to see some shifty kid with a baseball bat in one hand and a lighter in the other but there was nothing but a slightly artificial barbeque smell. I bought a newspaper from one of the shops still standing and took a walk.

There wasn't anything to see, the houses were uniform, the streets all had gentle curves in one direction or another and none of them had grass verges. I did notice the pavements were covered in dog shit, but I wasn't here to clean that up.

The only thing I saw of any vague interest was two people fucking in a trashed looking Vauxhall Vectra. I should have stopped them techinically but I was feeling generous and at peace with my fellow man. Besides, it sounded like they'd be finished pretty soon anyway. I figured I'd note down their number though, just for the sake of it. I'm very thorough when I'm on duty.

By the time I'd finished my walk I was back at the cluster of shops, and most importantly, back at at the Purple Crab. I figured I'd take my lunch break, it was nearly noon and I had to take a leak. It wasn't like I could use the bathroom without buying something, so I got myself a Cherry Comfort (Cherry Coke and Southern Comfort) and sat down in a corner behind some dust motes. I'd finished my drink before I remembered that I'd come into the bar to use the toilet and when I finally kicked the hand dryer on I noticed someone had written on it in permanent marker:

Call 100 100 50 20 For a good time

I was still on duty so I noticed the numbers had been written with a different pen than the words. And that there was no way 1001005020 was a real phone number. I walked out of the toilets and rang it anyway just in case. It didn't connect because I mean. Duh.

#

I spent a while in the Crab but I didn't get drunk or anything. I was still pretty buzzed when I got back and saw The Chief in the hallway, they looked excited. The one whos voice hadn't broken adressed me:

"Amazing news Laplace, bloody amazing news, I think we've cracked it."

"Cracked what?"

"Crime Laplace, there hasn't been a damn crime reported for nearly the entire day," His voice swooped and dived with excitement. "Six bloody hours, I think we've stopped it."

"You think we've stopped crime?"

"It's over Gregory, we must have imprisoned them all and terrified the rest, it's over."

"Yeah. Thinking about it, it did feel kind of safer out there."

The Chief was practically crying.

"All these years, I thought I'd never see the day, I really didn't."

I figured it was hormones and rolled into my office. I was feeling pretty good on account of my Cherry Comfort buzz. I put my partner back into my left drawer and pulled a toffee out of my right. I chewed it and stared at my wall. If The Chief was right this would probably be my last case ever, but I wasn't too worried. I have a lot of marketable skills. Or I could become a private eye. I wasn't worried.

I got the number from the hand dryer at the Crab and typed it into the search box on my computer. It definitely wasn't anyones phone number and it didn't match a credit card number or a national insurance number or a number plate

Who the hell writes random numbers on goddamn hand dryers in dive bars anyway?

#

The next day I was back on the streets. My friend Jones was a beat cop in the area, so I figured he might have some data that could help me. Something about the ebb and flow of criminal activity. He fucking didn't, of course, and now he was quizzing me about my home life.

"How's your home life Gregory?"

We were picking our way through one of those dogshit infested pavements. I noticed he didn't seem to really look where he was going, but still managed to avoid a foot full.

"Same as ever, microwaved dinner for one, fall asleep watching TV."

"Ready meals are very bad for you Gregory, some of them have nearly all of your RDA of sodium."

"Well I compensate for that by not giving a shit."

"You should really consider getting some excercise, maybe meeting some new people."

"I'm too busy having a good time to want to do either of those."

"I'm only trying to help."

I checked with my partner, she said he was lying and I believed it. Jones is so scared of dying he can't have a good time. So he spends his half of conversations trying to stop anyone else having one.

"You're an asshole, Jones."

"What?"

"Look, do you think we'll cover more ground if we split up?"

I did a sort of half skip to avoid a particularly malevolent dog shit placement.

"We may well cover more ground but-"

"So let's split up."

"Well alright, you're the boss."

Damn right I was, I left him to act like a prick near the shops whilst I wandered through the rows of houses. I ended up on a canal path that was still covered in morning frost thanks to the shade of some houses which backed onto it. I figured this is exactly the kind of place I would have known about if I'd bought a damn map.

There wasn't any boats around, it wasn't that kind of canal, but in the distance I could make out a black figure, standing still and facing away from me. As I got closer I could see that the stance of the figure was tense, and that it was probably a woman or a man wearing a skirt. In front of her was a swan, which was blocking her path. I drew up behind her, but she didn't even glance at me, she was staring directly into one of the swan's eyes. It's hard to stare into both of them at once. I asked her if she needed any help.

"Swans can break your bones you know." She blurted at me.

"So can bowling balls."

"I read it online."

I edged next to her, there was enough space for us to comfortably stand shoulder to shoulder, but passing the swan would involve going between it and the water. I glanced over, her hair had the blue tint of heavy dye and she had more than a little eyeliner on. She was about my age, I guess. Maybe a bit older. Her overcoat was ornate but well tailored, with about fifty buckles, sort of a middle aged goth look. I looked back at the swan. Then back at her.

"Alright, I'll count to three and we'll both run at it."

I'm forty six, in case you were wondering.

"What?"

The swan raised its wings at us but I wasn't scared. I was a human being, a dominant species, what chance did a swan think it had against me, an apex predator? Did it have any idea how evolved I was? How many years I'd lived?

"We'll run at it and yell, it'll move, easy."

"I don't know,"

I turned back around and tried to look her in the eye. I couldn't, because she wouldn't stop looking at the swan but I tried anyway.

"Listen, I'm a police detective." It often puts people at ease when I say this. "This swan is probably terrified, we're much bigger than it and if it thinks its in danger it'll run. Definitely, no doubt about it. Animals are very primitive, that's why they're alway running away."

She didn't seem convinced, I was really hoping that after that speech she'd stop looking at the thing.

"Do you want me to call for back up?"

She seemed to actually think this through before answering.

"No, I think, we should both just, leave it alone and take some other route."

This kind of pissed me off. I wasn't taking another route just because a swan was in my way. I didn't want to hurt it or anything, I just wasn't going to take another route on its account.

"Forget it, no deal." I said as I turned back around to eye the swan, it hissed slightly, knowing it was beaten. "I'll move it out of the way, then you can go past."

I started unbuttoning my jacket, I read once that when you're attacked by a wild animal you should always open your jacket in an effort to make yourself appear larger.

"I don't know."

"It's just a bloody swan." I said, before spreading my coat open like a flasher.

"Boo." I yelled, "Boo you stupid motherfucker, get off the fucking path."

It made a sort of guttural noise, flapped its wings and didn't back away, just stood there on those ridiculous legs.

I took two steps forward, we were nearly close enough to touch, and the swan was about groin height. I tried not to think about that and flapped my coat around.

"Boo, boo boo boo boo. Grah."

I admit I was sort of getting into it when it made its first lunge at me, which I avoided, and countered with my own lunge which made the bastard finally give some ground, pitching sideways and stumbling slightly. I pushed my advantage, getting behind it and shouting more whilst flapping my coat, it ran to the canal and jumped clumsily in, the spray of the impact got my trousers a bit wet, but I was still going to count it as a win. I buttoned my coat up again as I turned back around to look at the woman. Her hand was over her mouth. I thought I'd give it a shot.

"So where were you headed anyway?"

"I was just going home," she said, through her hand.

"Do you want to get a drink instead?"

"It's three pm."

"So? The Purple Crab opened at ten."

Until now a look of rigid fear had been her only expression, but this stopped and she stared at me for the first time in a quizical and not totally unaggressive way.

"What are you trying to say?"

"Well its been open for five hours already."

"I'm not that kind of girl."

In all franktuality she was too old to be any kind of girl, but I pressed on, through my ebbing confidence.

"Come on. I'll buy you a Cherry Coke."

"I'm definitely not the kind of girl who goes to the Purple Crab with random men I've just met."

She had gotten hostile since I mentioned the Purple Crab.

"Look," I said, "There's no need to worry, I'm not a hipster."

"No, I'm sure you aren't." There was palpable menace in her voice. "But I'm not going to the Purple Crab to do whatever it is you people do there."

And with that she shoved past me and walked off.

I was on duty, so I yelled at her.

"WHAT DO PEOPLE LIKE ME DO IN THE PURPLE CRAB?"

She gave me the finger and called me a pervert. Then she carried on walking.

#

I spent the next morning in my office. The Chief was haunting around the precinct. It turned out all crime hadn't stopped yesterday, the phonelines had just been out. Since they'd come back online there'd been a massive influx of reports and it had depressed them. I told them to look on the brightside, at least they weren't out of a job and then ducked into my office to look through my dossier and highlight things at random.

If I'm being totally honest with you I kind of zoned out for a while until I realised I was highlighting the words "Purple Vauxhall Vectra." which made me put down my marker and try actually reading the report. It was part of some indecent exposure paperwork, apparently screwing in public was more than a passing fetish for the car's owners. They'd been cautioned by Jones and then taken in a week later, again by Jones, the asshole.

Both times, they'd been outside the Purple Crab, at three AM. So I pulled their address out of our database, booked an unmarked car and got myself a litre of Cherry Coke.

I figured at the very least I'd figure out what exactly it was that made people who go to the Purple Crab perverts. And maybe I'd see a tit.

#

Stake outs are boring, of course, but mine are particularly dull on account of my partner not exactly being a super talkative kind of girl. I sat marooned in my car across the street from the adress and residence of the infamous Vauxhall Vectra. Apparently owned by some guy called Alan, who had been caught doing it with his wife, Sally. They were both middle aged and not particularly attractive. Sort of poor too. Why can't it ever be someone glamorous who likes being naked in public?

So I fell asleep, obviously, but I managed to pull myself together when I heard car doors slamming and the battered engine of the Vauxhall choke to life. They pulled out of the driveway and I gave chase through the empty pre dawn streets with a chill in my bones and bleary eyes. The clock on my dashboard said it was nearly one thirty am. Whoever was driving was clearly in a hurry, and yeah, they parked outside the Purple Crab. Alan got out and went in.

At night the Crab is infested with hip kids who had the same taste in music that I'd had as a teenager, only I was never cool and for some reason they were, sitting around the room in exhausted pockets of cigarette smoke and youth.

I didn't see either Alan anywhere so I got a Cherry Comfort and sat down in a corner of the room which I hoped would give me full coverage of all the exits. They teach you this kind of thing at detective school. I took about two sips before first he appeared from the men's toilets and pretty much ran for the door. I tried to gulp down my drink on my way out but I choked a little and had to leave nearly half behind, which was fine anyway because I mean, it wasn't like I wanted to be over the drink drive limit or something. Either way I was still coughing as I got outside, I guess I looked in pretty poor shape. Across the street Alan and Sally where in the middle of a fight. The bouncer of the Purple Crab grimaced at them in distaste. I couldn't hear what they were saying too well because I was still coughing. It was pretty bad in all franktuality, my eyes were watering up and everything, by the time it cleared I just heard Alan screaming "Fine, fine," and car doors slamming. I managed to get to my car in time to give chase, the empty bottle of Cherry Coke rolled around under my seat as we headed out of town, towards the green belt.

I figured maybe getting caught had spurred the couple to find a more discreet mating ground until they pulled into a church. I parked the car two hundred meters away and walked the rest of the distance, sticking to the shadows. Another trick I learnt in detective school, I really paid attention back then. By the time I peeked round the church fence there was definitely no one screwing in the Vectra. In fact there was no one in the Vectra full stop. It was fucking empty. I stood up, put my hands on my hips and exhaled. This was probably why you're meant to tail people in pairs. Yet another thing they taught me in detective school. I looked at the church. Medieval, kind of generic, cheap new hall added in the seventies. I was on duty though so I noticed the lights were on, and there was people inside. And it was nearly three am. I rubbed my eyes and walked in.

In front of me was a circle of brown plastic chairs. Alan and Sally sat next to each other and three chairs apart sat another man. Younger than me, with wildly overgrown facial hair and thick black glasses. I stood there for a second before he spoke to me.

"Oh, hello," He stood up. "Are you interested in enrolling in the program?"

I was on duty, so I said yes.

"That's great." This was obviously some kind of AA meeting, I could tell purely from the guy's tone of voice, he started looking in a laptop bag full of paper. "Well I'm going to have to ask you to fill out this questionaire just quickly. But take your time." Everyone was looking at me, so I took the pen and flattened the paper against my knee, he interrupted me before I'd finished writing my first name.

"Uhm, would it be ok if you filled it in outside? It's just that at the moment we're sort of in the middle of a meeting and as you aren't yet, technically a member. It's just, for privacy?"

All three of them were still looking at me so I walked into the lobby and started filling the form in against a wall.


Do you keep secrets about your sexual or romantic activities from those important to you? Do you lead a double life?

Yes.

Have your needs driven you to have sex in places or situations or with people you would not normally choose?

No.

Do you find yourself looking for sexually arousing articles or scenes in newspapers, magazines, or other media?

Yes.

Do you find that romantic or sexual fantasies interfere with your relationships or are preventing you from facing problems?

No.

Do you frequently want to get away from a sex partner after having sex? Do you frequently feel remorse, shame, or guilt after a sexual encounter?

Yes.

Do you feel shame about your body or your sexuality, such that you avoid touching your body or engaging in sexual relationships? Do you fear that you have no sexual feelings, that you are asexual?

I wish.

Does each new relationship continue to have the same destructive patterns which prompted you to leave the last relationship?

Of course.

Is it taking more variety and frequency of sexual and romantic activities than previously to bring the same levels of excitement and relief?

No.

Have you ever been arrested or are you in danger of being arrested because of your practices of voyeurism, exhibitionism, prostitution, sex with minors, indecent phone calls, etc.?

No.

Does your pursuit of sex or romantic relationships interfere with your spiritual beliefs or development?

Yes.

Do your sexual activities include the risk, threat, or reality of disease, pregnancy, coercion, or violence?

If I'm lucky.

Has your sexual or romantic behavior ever left you feeling hopeless, alienated from others, or suicidal?

Always.

Do you feel your sexual activities are incomplete or unfulfilling unless you use a specific brand of condom? If so, which brand?


What?

There was a bang from outside. I didn't think it was a gunshot but I ran out anyway. The Vectra was on fire, alone in the badly lit parking lot. I was on duty so I grabbed a fire extinguisher from inside the building and ran back out. Another bang went off as another tyre catastrophically failed. An airbag flared up and immediately evaporated into flame. I aimed the spray near a shattered open window but it was pretty clear this wasn't a battle I was going to win with a hand held water based extinguisher. I kept spraying, imagining I could hear sirens approaching. I couldn't. And eventually when my extinguisher ran out and a pressurised strut in the boot exploded I backed off and called the professionals.

After they put the fire out they told me there had been two bodies inside, a man and a woman, bludgeoned to death. I knew who they were.

#

Of course, the next day when I tried to cross reference the support group meeting with the church they told me that noone had booked the hall at 3am. Because obviously. Like. Duh, who books a church hall for three am? And of course they didn't recognise my description of the guy with the beard. Or the photofit.

I was kind of pissed. The burned up couple were almost certainly related to my case. And I definitely needed to ask the guy with the beard a lot of fucking questions. I went to get a coffee. The Chief cornered me near the machine.

"Hey, Laplace, I heard about that fire. What the hell happened?"

I shrugged hard.

"Two more bodies? I thought you were going to solve this damn case?"

"I'm trying my best Chief."

"Well," The Chief's top half rubbed his right eye "Keep at it, I'm sure you'll get them in the end."

They wobbled off down the hall, touching walls for balance whilst I stared at my coffee. I was pretty fucking despondent frankly, the Chief was being nice about it but goddamn, last night had been a bust. I slunk back to my office, pulled a toffee out of my right hand desk drawer and sat there glumly sucking it.

About thirty minutes later Jones knocked twice and then poked his head around my door.

"Hey Gregory, fire investigators found this at the scene." He chucked me a ziplock back with a piece of grubby paper entombed within it. "You know, if you ever need to talk. I'm here for you."

I opened up my left draw to check with my partner, she said he was lying so I gave him the finger from behind the desk, then slowly slid it into his field of view.

He remained totally deadpan.

"My offer still stands Gregory, whenever your ready."

He left and I turned over the ziploc. The paper inside was pale blue with badly laid out Times New Roman text followed by squiggles of writing. It took me a second to recognise the writing as my own, and the paper as the questionnaire I'd been filling out last night. I smoothed it further and squinted at it. There was a poorly photocopied logo of the sun rising above some clouds at the top and some text I could barely make out underneath it, it said "From Shame To Grace." There was a number on there too: 200 20 20 10.

It wasn't a real number but I rang it anyway. It didn't work. Obviously.

I Googled the first question and found an online version of the quiz on the Sex Addicts Anonymous websit. I didn't see the link to embed it in my Facebook profile, but I did see that the real test only had twelve questions, my piece of paper had thirteen, it was the last one that had been added:

Do you feel your sexual activities are incomplete or unfulfilling unless you use a specific brand of condom? If so, which brand?

I couldn't work out what the fuck. And Jones was probably telling the entire department to be extra nice to me because I was a sex addict who got off by trapping his balls in doors or whatever. I got another toffee, crunched it, picked up my coat and decided to get a newspaper and go off duty in the Purple Crab.

#

I bought three Cherry Comforts at once and sat at the bar. The bartender was still too young for me but I thought maybe after the third drink this might not bother me so much. The front page of the paper had four photos next to each other. All close cropped, all with horrible flash photography which obviously meant all four of the poor bastards were dead. I looked closer at the first photo, sort of emaciated looking guy, really short haircut, he was the guy who I'd lent money to buy condoms. The article said his name was Lightspeed Hubbard and yeah, he'd been murdered. The article also said that the team heading up the investigation was Gregory Laplace ond his partner, a piece of bark that can tell when people are lying. This was news to me, on account of being off duty.

I rang myself at work, Jones answered.

"Hey, can you take a message for Gregory Laplace?"

"Of course sir, let me just get a pen."

I told him about seeing the guy in the toilets, about the condom machine and his sketchy behavior. Then I hung up and ordered another Cherry Comfort. I figured maybe it'd help with the investigation.

Behind me some guy was talking to his friend.

"No, they're a test, placed here by God, to test us."

"Why do you have to think of the stupidest explanation possible?"

"Alright, alright, you're a scientific man, consider this, the first recorded use of the name Tyrannosaurus Rex was in 1905 in the Bulletin of the American Museum of Natural History."

His friend sighed.

"And now answer me this, what language was spoken in 1905 in America?"

The friend remained silent until the first guy resumed talking.

"English, it was English, so if English was the language they spoke, why would they give the dinosaur a Latin name?"

"That's so fucking stupid."

"Exactly, exactly. It is stupid to name something in Latin when you speak English, it's the most obvious thing in the world but you never notice it do you? You never thought to question it."

"I'm leaving."

I saw the guy walk past me and out of the door. The room seemed wierdly quiet. The radio broke the silence.

"Tomorrow is still spring." It said. And it was right. I took another sip of my drink and waited for it to arrive.

#

The next day I was in a pretty good mood, I'd got a tip off from some guy. Apparently this guy said he'd seen Lightspeed Hubbard in the bathroom at the Purple Crab, that he'd seemed agitated, borrowed two pounds seventy, bought a pack of condoms and locked himself in a cubicle. This seemed like the kind of behaviour that could lead someone to go to a Sex Addicts Anonymous meeting, not that there was anything wrong with that.

I had devised a theory which went like this: The guy with the beard from the support grop was some kind of crazy motherfucker who hated people boning. Probably a lapsed Catholic, given his use of the church, probably had some horrible history of child abuse or whatever, so he was taking it out on these people. He killed Hubbard, and he killed that couple in the Vauxhal Vectra and he burned all the bodies because he was crazy and thought that would erase all the evidence.

I had this shit locked down tight, not knowing who the guy was, or where he was, or how to find him didn't bother me. The thing that did was the prophylactic angle, which was clearly tied to the Purple Crab in some way. I asked Jones to accompany me there. I figured since I'd been to one of the meetings there was every chance this guy would jump out of a bush and try and brain me with a shovel even though not even a single molecule of my dick had touched another human for years.

I regretted bringing Jones as soon as we got there and he started hitting on the bartender.

"Wait," he said, looking straight into her eyes. "I'm going to tell you something about yourself now, you create very, very vivid imagery, in your mind. Right?"

She looked confused but said yes. My partner said she was lying. Jones is a member of the seduction community because he's a corny asshole, and that's exactly the kind of thing corny assholes do. He persevered whilst I poked around the tables, I had just seen someone go into the toilets and I didn't want to follow him in and then just stand around examining stuff. That would have looked wierd.

"You can be looking straight at someone, straight into their eyes, but in your mind you are off in your own fantasy holiday place, I'm right aren't I? You're smiling because I'm right aren't you?"

Mentioning fantasy holiday places is part of Jones' bullshit technique. Apparently getting women to daydream is the best way to get them to sleep with you, or something. Whatever. I was pretty glad when that guy came out of the toilets so I could go in.

I checked the hand dryer first, the nonsense number which had been written on it was still there. I tried calling it again but it was still not a real phone number. I walked over to the condom machine and studied it. Strictly speaking it didn't just sell condoms. It also sold chewing gum and sachets of lube. Fucking sachets. I peered at it. One of the buttons seemed particularly worn, its surface was fading and it wobbled slightly when I touched it with the tip of my finger. Next to the button was a picture of a speedometer and blurred text which read: Performa, 3 condoms for longer lasting pleasure. I dropped my money in and pretty soon I had a sample. When I got back into the bar Jones was running the back of his finger up the bartender's arm.

"You know this feeling right? Better, better...Even better, right?"

She was actually smiling, it was total bullshit, she was way too young for him.

"Hey Johnson, I got what I need, lets get out off here."

"What?"

"Let's go."

"Why are you calling me Johnson?"

I had already walked out the door. Jones followed me.

"I got her number anyway you know, despite your neg-ing."

I checked with my partner, he was telling the truth, the son of a bitch.

"Shut up Jones,"

"NLP isn't some insane fringe movement Gregory, its just a way for men to even the playing field."

"Uh huh."

NLP is short for Neuro Linguistic Programming, which is code talk for: "My fear of death has grown so large, so overwhelming, that it shadows my every interaction, my every waking moment."

Jones put his hands in his pockets and looked at the sky. It was grey but he looked anyway.

"I used to think like you-" He began. I interrupted him.

"Look, shut up," I tucked the condoms into his top pocket "Get these analysed at the lab, I'm going home."

I did.

#

When I got to my house I took off my shoes, made a Cherry Comfort and sat down in one of my bigger chairs. That was when the guy with the beard from the support group bust out of my wardrobe with a spade.

"Look," I said, "I was lying on that questionnaire, I'm actually not addicted to sex."

He emitted a scream and charged at me so I silently cursed Jones for not being here and hurled my glass at his face, the glass hit him in the right eye, giving him a pretty big gash and cracking the plastic frames of his glasses. It looked awful but he also looked determined enough that it wouldn't stop him. I weighed up my options, on the one hand I had wounded him. On the other, he was insane and had a spade. I honestly tried to run, skidding along the floor in my socks, but the son of a bitch had locked my front door. I turned to face him and immediately started spluttering.

"Look, I know you must have had to deal with a lot of fucked up stuff, as a kid." He was glaring at me. "But listen man sex is OK you know? It's natural, its not a sin."

Even I could barely believe what I was saying, he squinted at me, the eye I'd hit with the glass was definitely out of operation, at least temporarily. I grabbed a golf umbrella I had propped up near the door and held it like a fencers foil.

"Just stay back man, I'm a fucking cop, you think I can't fuck you up?"

I'm an apex predator, I'm a genetic masterpiece, I'm a million years of God's own tweaking, I'm fending off a psychopath and I am armed with an umbrella.

He swung at me, I dodged somewhat, but it cliped my arm, cutting my wrist. Hot blood dripped down my hand. It was a goddamn joke. I couldn't believe someone would actually try and kill me. I waited for him to swing at me again, a broad horizontal swipe, it missed and hit the wall with a rusty clang, scraping my wallpaper. I took my opening, lunging forward past the spade and jabbing my umbrella into his remaining eye. He dropped his weapon and reeled backwards, tripped, fell to the floor, scrabbled to his feet and started running for my back door, which I guess was his exit vector. I chased him, umbrella in hand.

I don't think he couldn't see too great though, because as soon as he got up to speed he ran straight into a door frame and knocked himself out cold.

#

It actually took me about ten minutes to find my handcuffs. I don't normally carry them around on account of them making me look like an asshole. Fortunately the blind retard bleeding onto my floor didn't wake up before I found them. I called the station, the part of The Chief whose voice had broken picked up.

"Afraid we can't spare anyone right now Gregory."

"What?"

"Could you not bring him in yourself?"

"He's fucking unconscious, how am I going to move him?"

"Perhaps wait until he gets up, but we definitely can't spare anyone right now."

"He might need a doctor too."

"That's fine, just bring him in and we'll see to it."

I promise you that I did try and move him, I actually dragged him out to my car, but I couldn't get him inside without risking some serious damage, either to him or to me or to the car or whatever. So I called Jones and got him to help me heave the guy into my back seat.

"You'll be alright from here right?" he said as I stared at the comatose lump.

"What?"

"Well I have to take my car back home," He thumbed towards his car awkwardly, "I can't come with you to the station."

"So what? I'll drive you back here, you can take your car back then."

He was kind of half turned towards me, half to his car.

"Eh, no, I think I should get back."

"This motherfucker just tried to kill me, and I think he's killed at least four other people. And you're going to leave me alone to drive him back to the station?"

"Look I tell you what. I'll follow your car until I get to my turn off, then you can drive the rest of the way. You'll be fine Gregory." He walked awkwardly towards his car. "I know you can take care of yourself."

I checked with my partner, he was lying so I called him a cunt after he slammed his door. In hindsight I probably should have chosen something that was easier to lipread.

The drive from my house to the station is around twenty five minutes and Jones accompanied me for around ten of them. As he waited at a set of traffic lights he pulled up besides me and gave me a thumbs up which must have felt ominous even to him. About a minute after he stopped following me the asshole in my back seat started moaning.

"Oh my God." He said, he rolled over and tried to sit up, but he hadn't realised his arms were cuffed behind his back so he sort of fell into the footwell and said "Oh my God," again.

"Hey, asshole, get back in your seat." I tried to look at him through the rear view but I could only see his foot. I was already kind of freaked out.

"I can't see, I'm blind, I'm blinded."

"Tell it to the judge."

He lurched backwards and tried to open the door with his hands behind his back.

"I thought you were blind?"

My doors have childlocks, not because I have or have ever had children, but because I got the car second hand and couldn't work out how to turn the feature off. Once he realised this he started moaning, a low, long lament that didn't seem to be from pain.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I'm so sorry, please just let me go. I'll finish the job. Just let me go."

I was trying to keep my eyes on the road and him at the same time but I wasn't doing too good a job. I saw him blearily open a single eyelid.

"You? You're working for him? He said he had contacts in the police but I thought he was bluffing."

"What? Who's contacts?"

He shut up real fast. I was genuinely scared at this point, so when he fumbled around to look out the back window and said "How long has that navy blue SUV been behind us?" I really didn't know what to think.

"I don't know. Why don't you just sit down? Who has contacts in the police?" I began to wonder how long that Land Rover had been behind us. Was it the same one that was there when Jones took his turn? Were the windows actually tinted or was it some wierd attribute of the late evening light? I wanted to call the station but my phone didn't have a hands free and I really didn't want to slow down.

"Look, everything's going to be fine." I said. "I'm a police detective, why don't you just tell me what's going on."

I don't think that line actually calms anyone down anymore, the Land Rover began speeding up to overtake me and the guy in the back seat tried to cover his head with his arms and ducked back into the footwell. I seriously began to lose it when I saw the passenger window roll down.

The road in front of me was empty and slick with rain, I floored it, but the huge jeep effortlessly kept pace. When I bought my car I did not ever forsee having to outpace a supercharged sports utility vehicle.

"They're going to fucking shoot me, oh God." The guy was babbling to himself.

"Listen, people in England don't have guns, they just don't. No one is going to shoot you."

And sure enough the window wound up. The Land Rover slowed down, as if it didn't want to overtake me after all, it slowed down until it was nearly completely behind me and then it gently drifted sideways until the tip of its bumper touched the back of my car, behind the rear wheel.

A second drifted lazily past. I thought of swans. Then the Land Rover swerved viciously into me.

I'd like to say that I gripped the wheel hard and fought to keep control of the car but the truth of the matter is that I screamed like a girl and practically let go as the car span out and the world drifted gently past the windscreen. There didn't seem to be much I could do. The rear wheel caught on the curb eventually, and the entire vehicle flipped.

When I woke up I realised two things. First: The car was covered in blood. And second: Very little of it was mine.

#

It turned out the guy was called Porter, and yeah, his DNA matched up with the evidence we'd found near Hubbard's corpse. We couldn't get any kind of motive out of him though on account of how shot to death he was.

The next day I was on my way back from the automobile theft department, they'd said that the plates on the Land Rover that ran be off the road were from a stolen Nissan Micra or something. I'd memorised the plates on account of being on duty at the time.

The Chief cornered me on the way back to my office.

"What the hell Laplace."

"I know, I know, but-"

"Another bloody corpse? What do you think this is? You're meant to be a detective not a bloody undertaker."

"They had guns Chief, what was I meant to do?"

"Didn't they teach you evasive driving in detective school?"

"They did, but it was a one day course and it was a long time ago."

The Chief didn't seem to know what to say about that.

"Well, maybe we should consider revising that."

I said fine and gave them some toffees.

Turner from the lab was sitting on my desk when I got back into my room. She was holding a clipboard with an empty condom wrapper stapled to it. Turner is another woman who's too young for me, she's too smart for me too.

"Where'd you get these?" She asked, tapping the wrapper.

I told her.

"Well, you probably shouldn't use them, I don't know how they're synthesising the Benzocaine, but assuming this isn't just a freak batch, they should reconsider it."

"Oh yeah?"

"Pretty much none of the stuff in these things should be there, and a percentage of it's illegal without a prescription."

"Like, stuff that could make you crazy?"

"A lot of it is psychoactive, true, but the bigger problem would be dependence."

"What, like you'd... cash your cheque too early if you stopped using them?"

"No," She stared at me in a fashion that made me regret what I'd just said, "I mean that people could get addicted to a lot of the stuff inside these condoms."

I grabbed Porter's file. His last known place of employment was as a manufacturing engineer in a company called Tengfei Chemical Croup Co. Ltd. I tried to get a taxi out there, but it was about three hundred miles or something. I had to catch a train.

#

The factory was a pile of dull bricks near London, no burning rubber smell or anything. Which was kind of disappointing. There wasn't any grime in the lobby either. The receptionist there put me in touch with a faint looking man in human resources who put me in touch with Porter's manager. A jovial looking bald guy with rimless glasses. His name was Stevens.

"Afraid I don't think I can be too much help to you Detective, I can't say he ever spoke much to anybody."

"He kept to himself?"

"Yes. Very solitary, very quiet. I suppose its always the quiet ones isn't it?"

"Sometimes."

I checked with my partner, he was telling the truth about Porter being quiet, but he was also lying about not being any help.

"Reliable kind of guy?"

"Very reliable."

My partner said no.

"That's not what I've heard."

"Well he was prone to error occasionally, reliable in the sense of punctuality was what I meant."

He delivered the line with grace and aplomb.

"What kind of errors? Anything serious?"

He didn't say anything.

"I saw on your website that you produce Benzocaine, was Porter ever on that production line?"

He was smiling at me, but he still wasn't talking. It was kind of unnerving. Eventually he spoke up.

"I think I would like to talk to a lawyer." He said.

I left the room smirking at his PA, who was wearing a neck brace.

"How'd you do that?" I asked her.

"Car accident."

Then she glared at me, but I didn't care. I went into the car park and started looking around. There was rows and rows of cars but eventually I found a hulking blue Land Rover, the plates had been switched again and the front left bumper was brand new. However, the grill hadn't been changed. There was three tiny flecks of turqouise. My car was turqouise.

#

It ended a couple of weeks after I thought it had ended. I was in the Purple Crab, but I was on duty. Jones was there, hitting on someone too young for him. The bartender who was too young for him was glaring at him whilst she polished a glass.

"So you see," he was saying, "The guy had been responsible for contaminating all these condoms, and he knew what the result was. He'd been told to cover it up."

Jones loved telling this story, he said it was excellent for picking up women, it had it all, he said. It had violence and danger and sex. He must have thought I was off duty, because he'd told the story as if he'd been investigating it, not me. I was feeling generous and at peace with my fellow man though. So I didn't say anything.

I was still on my first Cherry Comfort when he came over to me.

"I think I'm going to leave."

"Are you joking? We only just got here."

"Yeah I know, but me and Kenner are going to go back to hers." He gestured at the girl who was too young for him.

"But we only just got here,"

"I know, but listen, can I get some change for the condom machine? i think I'm going to be able to close on her within the hour."

"You're incredible, you know that? I don't mean it as a compliment."

"I need two seventy."

I counted out my money. But I was still on duty so I saw the connection,

100 100 50 20

Two one pound coins, a fifty pence and a twenty. Not a phone number at all. Because like, duh.  ¶ 4:50 PM 0 Comments