Dirty Larry - Part I

    “Tell me again Detective O’Callaghan, indulge my curiosity please,” rasped a voice on the end of a dodgy mobile phone connection.

    “We’ve been through this; I don’t believe it is necessary Inspector. We shouldn’t be wasting time like this,” was the response of Detective Lawrence O’Callaghan.

    “Indulge me,” the rasp insisted.

    O’Callaghan cast another glance around the dank and decrepit living room. A patch of sunlight glimmered through the venetian blinds while an irrepressible odour made no attempt to hide the fact the room hadn’t been cleaned for weeks. Beer cans strewn across the floor, burns on the carpet, ash and dust settled an inch thick on any available surface. “Could do with a woman’s touch, or win the Turner prize hands down,” O’Callaghan chuckled to himself. Then he heard the sound of restlessness on the other end of the line. 

     “All right, for the record; we have three bags of regretamine, beer in the fridge, and half a ten glass of vodka that appears to have been sitting for a while. Intent to supply is out of the question, appears to be for personal use only,” he recited. “Satisfied?” he added.

    There was a pause on the line, static spluttered as the signal held on for dear life, O’Callaghan growing evermore impatient himself. A moment passed. No more than a moment and the silence was broken once more.

    “Entirely satisfied Detective, it sounds like we’re in for a good night. ‘Toner set you up with all that gear or did you head down to Belfast?” the rasping voice chuckled.

    “Aye Shorty, ‘Toner’s going away for a while so he gave me a fair whack of his stash. Can we go to your place? Mine’s a tip.”

    Detective Inspector James Short contemplated the request. Would he rather spend his night in a cesspit of debauchery or turn his lovely home into a den of inequity? The decision was difficult but inevitable.

    “Sure we’ll start off at yours. We’ll hardly know where we are come half nine, who gives a shit what your gaff is like!”

    “All right but I’m warning ya, it’s been a state since Lyndsey left ma. Cant be arsed to do anything round here anymore.”

    “Not to worry, you can tidy it up before I get round. I’m leaving the office in 30 minutes so I’ll be with you before eight!”

    “Nice one.”

    Terminating the call, Larry walked through his kitchen, grabbed some bin bags and began collecting the assortment of rubbish spread around the dwelling. It would be a cosmetic and entirely superficial clean, but it would have to do. There was less than an hour before Shorty was due round and he hadn’t been fed or showered yet. With the majority of clutter bagged and a few surfaces polished, the room was closer to scratch than not, but the stench, growing thick, was unlikely to dissipate any time soon.

    Throwing the last of the bags in a royal blue council bin in an alley adjacent to his home, O’Callaghan sensed a presence close by. Turning around he spotted a wino staggering by. “Fucking nerves are shot, that aul hoor Thompson giving me the jitters, sort yourself out Larry!”

    “Gee-us a pound mate. Locka loo?”