26th December. 8:50pm

I flick the handset on. Just my luck, I was just about to skive off for the night.

"Boulton."

"You couldn't do us a favour could you, Sarge?" Reg sounds slightly hysterical, as usual. He'd call out the army for a lost cat.

"Yeah, alright, Reg. What is it?"

"DC Skase' s car's broken down. He's at those shops on Toronto Road. Could you pick him up in fifteen minutes?"

I could pick him up now; I'm just round the corner. "Why fifteen minutes? I'm right at the end of my shift, you know."

"Says he's with an informant."

On Boxing Day? At nine o'clock at night! The ambitious little sod just doesn't know when to give up, does he!

"OK." I cut Reg off before he can bore me to death with some trivial fact about the number of car breakdowns suffered by police officers on Boxing Day in Sun Hill.

******

Five minutes, that's all I've given him. Where the hell is he anyway? I cruise once more round the block then get out of the car. It'd be just my luck to find he's trodden in a puddle and is so shocked at the damage to his suit he's had a heart attack.

Jesus it's quiet round here; even the Indian takeaway's shut.Two more minutes then I'm off home, Rod Skase or no Rod Skase.

Hang on, perhaps I'll get something useful out of this trip after all. They're doing up the 'offie' at the end of the arcade. Wonder if they've got a few spare bricks. I need a couple to finish off that wall in the yard.

I'm just about to slip through the gap in their fence when I hear Rod on the other side, deep in discussion with his snout it sounds like. Well I don't want to scare him off. The Boss's very keen we 'extend our contacts in the community'. Still I'm curious about who Skase's talking to, so I peer through the gap.

Just as I look through Rod's contact turns into the light Ah, I know this one. Ricky - bugger it what's his other name? - Can't remember, it's not important. One of the local rent boys, pretty, blonde, no more than twenty. Must be working, he's wearing half Boots' cosmetic counter on his face. Yeah I know it's fashionable for blokes at the moment but Ricky has eyeliner as thick as tramlines, plum stained lips and nails to match.

"So, what have you got for me, Ricky?"

"Nothin'. You know it's like the grave at Christmas."

"You sure?" I start, suddenly. There's a tone to Rod's voice I haven't heard before. Lower, if that's possible, with almost a teasing edge to it. He's in the shadow so I can't see the expression on his face.

"Well, maybe I could think of something. A late Christmas pressie?" Odd, I can hear laughter in the boy's voice. I take a second peak through the gap in the fence, look away. I didn't see that did I? I look back, blush already starting. Christ, there are times I hate being a redhead!

The boy's on his knees in front of Rod, his hands tracing lightly on those strong wool covered thighs. He looks up, his eyes bright with laughter, made-up face alien in the sodium glare of the street light. "You sure you didn't bring me a present?" he asks. "

I don't need to be a Detective to see what he's getting at.

His fingers go to Rod's fly cupping the obvious bulge there. I want to leave now, want to look away. But somehow I can't. Skase's taking a hell of a risk, and on duty too.

I always wondered how he got his kicks. The office rumour mill's always in full flow when it comes to him. Never mentions girlfriends or anyone come to that. Polly Page's got a theory he spends his spare time slumming it in biker bars. And, while her fantasies might take in Rod Skase in jeans, leather and motorcycle boots I'm sure they wouldn't include this sort of sordid transaction.

Sordid? Disgusting? Power trip? So why don't I look away, go back to the car?

Jesus! Where's he been hiding that!

I feel like I'm blushing all over now. I shut my eyes, just for a moment but the image is already burnt on the inside of my eyelids. I can't help but look, who wouldn't? Should have guessed really looking at the size of his hands and feet.

It's then I realise I'm standing in public street with my hand on my fly - 'just making myself more comfortable officer.' I put my hands in my pockets thinking I might nonchalantly wander back to the car. But it's not as fucking easy as that, is it?

Rod's standing in the light now, arms stretched between two scaffolding poles, hands gripping so tight his knuckles are white. Does he know just how sexy that looks? I can see him now; wearing nothing but an open white shirt, handcuffed there - December's Man of the Month. Where the hell did that thought come from? OK so I'm not that particular, but Rod? Well that's a revelation.

The boy works him slowly at first, with both hands. It's all I can do not to… well you know, ease the tension a little myself. Especially as Ricky leans forward and starts using those pouty plum coloured lips

A sharp gasp slices through the cold night air. Me? No, I'm sure it wasn't. Rod's head falls back almost in slow motion exposing his throat like some willing sacrifice. He bites his lower lip, hard, like he's trying not to cry out again. But eventually he gives in. "Harder! Faster!" How can a command sound so much like a plea?

I can almost see the boy smile even with his mouth full. His cheeks bowed in as he sucks.

Rod's breathing hard now, like he's chased a suspect over a mile of rough ground. I can hear the blood hammering in his veins, in my veins.

He moves, suddenly, head bowed forward, hair lank in his eyes. Grips the boy's head, so hard his fingers leave tiny white circles. Thrusts hard, once, twice, then stills, tiny movements of his hips, punctuated by screaming exhaled breaths.

He's still panting as he comes down, letting the boy's expert hands tidy him up, smiling at the attention; especially when the boy gently smoothes his hair. It's a slow lazy smile, utterly devastating.

I lean heavily on the fence; one hand scrubbing at the sweat on my face…and the rotten wood gives way...