City of Spades - By Colin MacInnes Page 0,19

and must be back at my residential hostel by closing time, ten-thirty.’

‘And who are you?’

‘My name,’ Montgomery tell them, ‘is Jerusalem, Lew Jerusalem, I’m here on professional duty as editor of the Bebop Guardian.’

Silly.

‘Stand on one side, the Inspector will talk to you,’ they say to him.

‘But me, mister,’ I said. ‘Look, here is my passport, proving I’ve just landed in this country, and here also are my student’s papers concerning my meteorological studies.’

I spoke so humble and eager, and papers are often of much assistance with the Law. But this time they didn’t make their magic.

‘Stand on one side as well.’

The Law was now filtering all over the big hall, picking up here a boy, there a tough or frightened chick. I could see no sign of Hamilton, and hoped he’d melted.

Our three Law were busy now questioning others, so I decided on a dash. But at the top of the stairs two more sprang out and grabbed me, and led me to their car. And that worried me, because in my coat pocket I still had some sticks of weed that I’d not wished to lose like others did by dropping them on that floor …

9

Introduction to the Law

When Johnny ran up the stairs I felt he’d deserted me: it was clear he didn’t yet regard me as a friend; and this regret first showed me I already thought of him as one. There I was, left among a herd of suspect colonials, too dispirited to mind much when we were shepherded up the steps, and surrounded by a posse of constables who escorted us down the street with careful eyes, like a crocodile of wicked juveniles. The cool air smacked my brain, and I walked with dignity, slightly apart, in the manner of a distinguished stranger, until we reached a squat, square, windowless building, and were elbowed in.

In the hall we were kept waiting quite a while, next separated into bands and taken into smaller rooms. There, to my delight, I saw Johnny, and also, among others, Mr Peter Pay Paul.

A plain-clothes officer came up to me. ‘May I have your name?’ This time I gave it. ‘And your address? Your age? Your occupation?’ All in a little notebook. The occupation particularly interested him.

Then, fixing me with that double look that sits in coppers’ eyes (‘I say this, but I don’t mean it, and you know I don’t, and I know you know …’ Or, ‘Yes, I’m evil too, but, you see, my evil’s licensed to discover yours’), he said, ‘You won’t mind if we ask you to submit to a search?’

‘Of course not. But why?’

‘You were found in the company of persons who are suspected of smoking hemp.’

‘Is this search voluntary?’

‘Oh of course.’ (A tight-skinned smile.)

Johnny, from his bench across the room, said in a loud voice, ‘Mr Pew, if you are searched voluntary, I suggest you ask for a non-police witness to be present also.’

‘Shut your trap, you,’ said the Law.

‘Why, Johnny?’

‘The Law, when it searches, sometimes finds things on a person that the person didn’t have before the search began.’

‘Keep quiet.’

‘Mister. Am I arrested? If so, tell me, and for what. Then you can make your search, of course, but also you must make a charge and see it sticks. But if I am not arrested, please let me speak out my mind as a free man.’

I was in admiration at such audacity. ‘You know this man?’ the officer said to me.

‘Certainly. He’s a friend of mine.’

‘So much a friend, Montgomery, that will you please give me some matches for my cigarette?’

I handed Johnny the box I’d bought to replace my lighter. As he took it, the officer grabbed it from him and opened it eagerly, scrabbling among the matches. While he did this, I saw Johnny quickly put his hand up to his mouth and swallow.

‘Perhaps now you give me my friend’s match-box?’ he said to the vexed cops.

‘We’ll begin this search,’ the officer replied. ‘Unless anyone thinks they’ve any further objections.’

A uniformed man came in, dashed at me first, turned my pockets vigorously out, then poked and patted around my clothing. Curious how even innocent objects, like handkerchiefs and rings of keys, look suspect on a station table.

Johnny meanwhile had emptied his own pockets on to it. ‘Would you like me to undress to naked?’ he enquired.

In silence, they dashed at him as well. Evidently this bull-rush, this mock assault, was part of their technique.

Nothing.

Then Mr Peter Pay Paul. They found on