Taylor slumped into the middle of their tatty sofa, throwing both arms across the back. “What do I care? He’s not our sergeant anymore. Why do you even go running with him? He’s so fucking miserable.”
Johnny sighed, grabbing the towel he’d left by the door and running it around his neck. “He’s actually a pretty nice guy, if you ever bothered to get to know him. Worships the ground Pember walks on, that’s for sure.” His eyes flitted across Taylor’s chest. “Is that my shirt?”
“Yep. Looks good, right? Had to roll the sleeves up though. You and your fucking sloth arms.”
Johnny threw the towel, hitting him in the face with a damp slap. “Shut up. At least I don’t look like I’m about to do a set onMagic Mike. You’re going to give the old people heart failure.”
Taylor shrugged. “Maybe I’ll attract a cougar. Oh, andfuck you very muchfor the wake-up, by the way.”
Johnny laughed and ran a hand through his curly hair. “You are very welcome. Have you eaten?”
Taylor scoffed. “Obviously.”
“Good. I’m going for a shower, then let’s hit the road.”
Grey. Grey, grey, grey, grey. That was Falkington. Fucking grey.
The drive took twice as long as their commute to West Newton, and crossing the border between the two divisions was like going from one country to another. As soon as the Falkington County Council sign came into view, the countryside fell away and a concrete jungle with a canopy of high-rise flats sprang up.
Everything was a wash of colourless, soulless shit, from the streets to the shopfronts to the people themselves. He andJohnny had been to the city for firearms training, but the few times they’d dared to check out the nightlife it had been fucking dire. The clubs were rough as hell, the beer was watered down and a man could find himself without a kidney if he so much as looked at a bouncer the wrong way.
Plus, one of Samantha’s murderers came from there, an omega called Ru, so it must be fucking bad. Taylor shuddered.
“Grim, isn’t it?” Johnny said, rolling up the window as the smell of piss wafted through the car.
Taylor swallowed, braking as the traffic lights ahead turned red. “That’s one word for it. I mean, look at this guy coming up.” He pointed to a man crossing the road. He had a plant pot on his head and bin bags around his legs.
Johnny hummed. “What? The pot is clearly meant to deter the aliens, and the bin bags keep all his internal organs in.”
“Uh-huh. And her?” Taylor said, tapping the steering wheel and pointing to a woman who was pulling cat food cans out of an industrial sized bin and… licking them.
Johnny shuddered. “Good source of protein, so I hear. Dingly Heath can’t be any worse, right?”
Sniffing, Taylor turned his gaze back to the road. It wasn’t until they’d traversed the ring roads and navigated several more roundabouts that the high-rises began to fall away. It was still a sea of endless shit, but at least there was some clean air between them and the road ahead.
Johnny tapped his boot against the dashboard. “I’m sure it has its charms.”
Taylor tilted his head to work out a crick in his neck. “If you say so.”
As they rounded a sweeping corner multiple speed signs appeared, followed by ‘SLOW. SLOW. KILL YOUR SPEED, ELDERLY AHEAD.’
Taylor laughed and shook his head, “I think we’ve found it.”
Another massive sign seemed to come out of nowhere with palm trees and a bright orange sunset framing the words ‘Welcome to Dingly Heath, Britain’s Most Motivated Town.’
As they slowly crossed the line from Falkington City to Dingly Heath, they came face-to-face with a sea of Victorian-style bungalows, complete with slate roofs, lead drainpipes and white facias all lined up in neat little rows. The utterly perfect spacing from kerb to path to front door made Taylor’s neck tingle.
“Justlookat those hanging baskets,” Johnny said, inclining his head towards a particularly complicated contraption with metal bees and frogs. “Dad would have a fucking field day.” He stuck his phone out of the window and took a picture.
Taylor’s skin itched at the sheer tidiness of it all. He preferred organised chaos, not whatever this shit was meant to be. Not a blade of grass out of place or piece of litter in sight.
He let the car coast along the cobbled road between the houses, suddenly very,veryself-conscious of the orange stripe and Tasmanian devil bobbing from the roof.
“Look out,” Johnny said, gesturing towards a group of brightly coloured anoraks. “Horde approaching at twelve o’clock.”
Taylor slammed on the brakes with unnecessary force as a group of old ladies tottered around on their canes, some of them stepping into the road ahead. He revved the engine, making their heads pop up like a group of meerkats with silver perms.
Smirking, he did it again, louder that time, causing a couple from the group to throw their arms up.
