Chapter 22
Taffy threw his bag beneath the desk. “Anyone come in via Kensington? Bloody three in the afternoon and it was chaos. Little shitheads, on scooters and motorbikes, all over the place doing wheelies, all sorts of crap.”
The Strolling Bone looked up from his screen. “Yeah, and I’d like to know what Area are doing about it?”
“I can tell you that, Bob! Two bobbies and four PCSOs writing down what number plates there were and filming the antics.” He dropped his keys in the drawer and slammed it shut before continuing. “I mean, it’s bloody ridiculous. I saw that Area Commander on the telly the other day explaining it was to do with health and safety and a duty of care. They’re bucks, for fucks sake! Little shits who make other people’s lives a misery, frighten the crap out of mothers and their children with their riding all over the pavement, and they’re going to cause a serious accident someday. Personally, I don’t care if they fall off the bloody things and hurt themselves after they’ve been stop-sticked. Where’s the duty of care to the public?” He paused for breath. “Anyway, I never did like him. He was a twat to me when he was an Inspector.”
The Bone smiled. “It‘ll make an interesting ID parade. ‘Which one of these people in helmets or masks is the one you saw?’”
Chewy stirred the contents of his mug as he read the sports page. “It seems, it’s an intel led operation,” he said absently.
Taffy was exasperated. “Well, that’s no good. Not one of them is going to be registered to the current owner and what about the false plates and those with none? It’s just management bullshit to make it sound as if they’re doing something.”
Chewy sipped his tea without looking up. “As I said, it’s an intel led operation.”