Page 57 of Safe Enough

Cameron nodded. He left Mason Mason at the desk and pulled me away into the corner. We competed for a minute or two with all the one-sandwich-short-of-a-picnic metaphors we knew. One brick shy of a load, not the sharpest knife in the drawer, that kind of thing. I felt bad about it later. I should have seen what was coming.

But Cameron was already into another long and complicated calculation. It was almost metaphysical in its complexity. If we logged another case today, our productivity number would rise. Obviously. If we broke it, our clearance rate would rise. Obviously. Question was, would our clearance rate rise faster than our productivity number? Basically, was it worth it? The equation seemed to me to require some arcane calculus, which was beyond me, and I was a fast-track–training college wanker. But Cameron seemed to have a handy rule of thumb. He seemed to suggest that it’s always worth logging a case if you know you’re going to break it. At the time I suspected that was a non-mathematical superstition, but I couldn’t prove it. Still can’t, actually, without going to night school. But back then I didn’t argue the arithmetic. I argued the facts instead.

“Do we even have a case?” I asked.

“Let’s find out,” he said.

I imagined he would send me out for an Evening Standard, so we could check the greyhound results from Haringey. Or he would send me to wade through incident reports, looking for a stolen snake earring from last Thursday night. But he did neither thing. He walked me back to Kelly Key instead.

“You work hard for your money, right?” he said to her.

I could see that Kelly didn’t know where that question was going. Was she being sympathized with, or propositioned? She didn’t know. She was in the dark. But like all good whores everywhere, she came up with a neutral answer.

“It can be fun,” she said. “With some men.”

She didn’t add, Men like you. That would have been too blatant. Cameron might have been setting a trap. But the way she smiled and touched his forearm with her fingertips left the words, It can be fun with men like you hanging right there in the air. Certainly Cameron heard them, loud and clear. But he just shook his head, impatiently.

“I’m not asking for a date,” he said.

“Oh,” she said.

“I’m just saying, you work hard for your money.”

She nodded. The smile disappeared and I saw reality flood her face. She worked very hard for her money. That message was unmistakable.

“Doing all kinds of distasteful things,” Cameron said.

“Sometimes,” she said.

“How much do you charge?”

“Two hundred for the hour.”

“Liar,” Cameron said. “The twenty-two-year-olds up west charge two hundred for the hour.”

Kelly nodded.

“Fifty for a quickie,” she said.

“How about thirty?”

“I could do that.”

“How would you feel if a punter ripped you off?”

“Like he didn’t pay?”

“Like he stole ninety quid from you. That’s like not paying four times. You end up doing him for nothing, and you end up doing the previous three guys for nothing too, because now that money’s gone.”

“I wouldn’t like it,” she said.

“Suppose he stole your earring, as well?”

“My what?”

“Your earring.”

“Who?”

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