Complicity Part 2 (4/4) By Nick Quantrill

(1/4), (2/4), (3/4), (4/4). Part 1.

'You look like one of those twats collecting for charity,' laughed Holloway. He suspected Holloway also thought that this evening was a waste of time, but it wasn't an opinion he was going to give voice too. Coleman and his partner for the evening, WPC Painter, were to tackle the area from where Whitefriargate and Silver Street intersected with Posterngate; a stretch that held at least six pubs and one nightclub. WPC Painter was a veteran of policing the city centre on an evening, but it didn't make him feel any less uneasy about the situation. If dealing with the general public was often unpleasant, dealing with pissed-up members of the public promised to be worse.

The one redeeming factor about the evening was that at least he hadn't drawn the short straw of being accompanied by David Peel as he wrote his article. He didn't want to be the poor sod wandering around with a camcorder pointlessly filming the action. The camcorders were another initiative from up on high. Presumably they were supposed to gather evidence and reassure the public that troublemakers would be brought swiftly to justice. Quite how sticking such things in people's faces was going to help bring such situations under control, was anybody's guess.

Coleman looked at his watch; 9.30pm. The pubs were at their busiest and revellers were starting to think about moving across the city centre to hit the nightclubs. 'Takes you back this, doesn't it?' he said as they walked past The William Wilberforce pub. The bottleneck at this part of Whitefriargate always led to people spilling onto the pedestrianised street; the smell of too much alcohol mixing with perfume and aftershave to create a heady cocktail that often turned to violence later in the evenings.

'Speak for yourself,' Painter retorted. 'I'm not even 30 yet, I'd rather be in the pubs myself.' He peered into the packed pub. It didn't look much like fun. From outside of the pub, he could hear and feel the thudding bass of the music. The doormen were operating a one-in, one-out policy in an attempt to relieve the congestion, but it looked like they were losing the battle. He had spoken to the head doorman earlier in the evening, but like most people they'd encountered, he wasn't interested in listening. He noted that a significant number of the revellers were people in their late twenties and early thirties, who really should know better. Did Hull offer them so little that they're still out binge drinking at that age, thought Coleman? Low expectations, broken dreams? Coleman didn't know, but he was glad that he didn't need whatever it was that sustained these people.

Painter attracted his attention as she listened to a message on her radio. 'CCTV has picked up what they think is Ryan Stutt dealing on Dagger Lane.' Coleman and Painter set off running down Posterngate, much to the delight of the revellers, who loudly cheered them on every step of the way. He careered around the corner of Dagger Lane behind Painter, thinking he was too old for this kind of policing. They were far too late. There was no sign of anyone other than a youth urinating in a doorway. Painter turned away and relayed the information into her radio.

'For fuck's sake' he said recovering his breath. 'I don't miss being in uniform.' Painter smiled back at him. 'You get use to it.' He thought that maybe issuing the youth with a fixed penalty notice would make him feel a little better, but as he was weighing up the paperwork involved his radio crackled into life. 'That was DI Holloway. He wants us to meet him at the CCTV room to confirm that it was Stutt.'

© 2006 Nick Quantrill

Continued on www.thisisUll.com...... Part 3.

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