Chapter 6

They got out of the Hall of Justice an hour or so later. Arran stepped out onto the stoop with a freshly cauterised wound, still warm, healing slowly beneath a tightly-wrapped bandage wound around his right wrist. He sniffed the amputated stump. It smelled like meat.  ‘Of course you would,’ Lees said, sat on the bench there. He was smoking.  ‘Got any papers?’  Lees pat his front pocket, slid a thumb in and drew out the little folio. He extended the folio without looking at Arran, his eyes focused on the middle distance across the Hollow instead. Arran took the papers and fidgeted one out of the pack.  Arran found his pouch next, with his remaining hand, and lay the pouch down on his stumpy forearm. He took some stringy brown tobacco out of the pouch and lay it on the thin piece of paper.  Arran took the unrolled cigarette between two fingers, squeezed it gently, and let it form a cylinder. He licked it shut and stuck the thin end in his mouth.  Lees’ gaze flicked at him. He didn’t ask for it back.  Arran put the pouch away and put the cigarette up to the lightbulb. After a moment on the hot bulb it was aglow and smoking enough for him to take a draw off it.  Arran said, ‘Long day.’  Lees said nothing.  They both looked up at a disturbance. Searcy was ducking out of the roof. He saw the two officers below and gave a brief tilt of his head. He adjusted the box with Arran’s right hand in it under his shoulder, shifted his belt, and went out over towards the civic centre. Another day at the office.  They watched him go.  Lees extended his legs and ashed his cigarette. ‘He’s off to see Marlebone.’  Arran started. He looked over his shoulder at Lees. ‘Marlebone? Who sees Marlebone?’  Lees looked straight ahead. ‘Mayor does.’  ‘With my hand?’ Arran pulled the knot on the bandage. ‘Alright.’  ‘Alright,’ Lees said.