The Sweeney: Lipstick And Loot

A Quick Introduction

My father used to watch The Sweeney avidly. He even had a Ford Granada at one time, the sister car to the Consul used by the fictional Thames TV Flying Squad officers. It was originally shown on ITV before I was born, but I remember snippets from later repeats, and I watched the movies on DVD.

I recently watched the episodes for myself on Prime and couldn't resist trying my hand at adding one more adventure.

As a homage to an age and a fondly remembered show, it's a little short on graphic sex, although there are passages that would never have made it to a TV screen even in the more liberal seventies. But I'm sure some who remember the show, or like me, have a fascination with the nineteen-seventies will find it interesting.

For my American friends, although steeped in seventies language and West London culture, Google informs me the show also had a solid following on your side of the pond.

A word of warning. The language is of the time. I don't pander to modern sensibilities where it is out of place. In my view, pretending something is other than it was is a betrayal of history. Not everything was lovely. However, I also don't intend to offend anyone. If it isn't for you, that's fine. Just move on.

Paula

The Sweeney

Lipstick And Loot.

ONE

It was dark and raining in Hampstead. An early spring night that still carried the last vestiges of winter on its northerly wind. Clear skies chilled the temperature further and the world appeared as a dull black and white movie in a silvery moonlight.

Aside from a distant bark and the sound of tyres from a lone passing car on a wet road nothing disturbed the silence of the early hours.

None of that bothered the two dark shapes that emerged from a Bedford van and made their way across the lawns of a Georgian property. Clad in black and wearing balaclavas they moved purposefully to position themselves with military precision around the front door. A pry-bar snapped the door catch and it swung open. There was no hesitation. No deviation from their intent. Seconds later the hall phone receiver was lifted to stop the alarm sounding in the local police station and the wire was ripped from the wall. At the same moment, the second figure neutralised the alarm panel with spray foam pressed against the casing vent.

They moved on, up the stairs where a light went on in a bedroom. The shapes kept moving in silence. Voices came from the bedroom and the door opened.

Vincent Briers had heard the creak of old floorboards as he readied for bed. It could have been anything. The movement of wooden joists as the house adjusted to the night temperatures. It could have been Patricia coming back from the bathroom. On the back of having already heard what sounded like cracking wood, he instinctively knew it was something else. There was no doubt in his mind now. They had an intruder.

Briers was a fit, middle-aged man and confident with his army training to confront whoever was in his house. He had no idea what he was heading into.

He saw movement as soon as he looked out onto the landing.

"Hey."

He saw the second black shape at his side too late, just as the butt of a shotgun impacted his chin.

Patricia Briers opened the bathroom door and looked out.

"What is it, Vince?"

She screamed as she saw her husband falling backwards clutching his bloodied face. Moments later a canister rolled along the floor and a choking gas brought her to her knees. She toppled forward as the gas filled her lungs. She coughed and spluttered before blackness overwhelmed her and she lay still.

The gas wasn't lingering and dispersed in a minute or two. The figures stayed clear and waited. Then they had the run of the house taking easily sellable valuables and cash found in a desk drawer.

One hesitation. A necklace held up to the light. It was old. Victorian, with a locket. Inside was a sepia-toned picture of a woman. The second intruder gave a shake of the head and it was dropped back in the jewellery box.

It was all over inside fifteen minutes and the van disappeared into the night.

It was raining again as the bronze Ford Consul pulled up in front of the old Victorian block. Years of pollution stained the brickwork and paint peeled from the sash windows but hints of its past grand life still prevailed.

Inside the car, the big engine was almost inaudible. Only the swish of the wipers forever trapped in the same sweeping back and forth arc made any noticeable sound.

Detective Sergeant George Carter leaned forward, resting his arms on the back of the front seats.

"You want me to go up guv?"

Jack Regan considered it for a minute. He didn't fancy getting wet but then again Lucy was more likely to speak to him than George. Assuming she knew anything. She knew Carter, but she knew him better. Much better he remembered with a smile.

"No. I'll go.

Probably a bleeding' waste of time anyway."

He pushed the door open and got out, pulling the collar up on his dull green anorak before running up the short flight of steps to the house.

Lucy's flat was listed third on the door entry panel. He pressed the bell and waited, cursing the cold rain that trickled from his face. He heard the satisfying buzz of the door releasing.

"Thank gawd for that."

He pushed the door open and went inside. Hard decorative tiles worn by a century of footsteps covered the hallway to the stairs. Regan had been here before, on and off duty. He knew his way instinctively and went up to the third floor. He knocked.

Lucy opened the door in nothing more than her underwear and an open dressing gown to display her earning potential. Approaching her late thirties, she had a few years on her for a classy stripper who offered after-hours extras, but she could still draw the punters in. Hard nipples stood unmistakably proud against the flimsy silk of her bra.

"Jack.

You're all wet."

"Looking at Pinky and Perky there, so are you."

Lucy smirked.

"You like 'em don't you?"

She gave her chest a deliberate shake sending her ample tits into a swaying wobble her lacy bra had no hopes of restraining.

"You should put them away luv, before you catch your death.

Mind if I come in?"

He didn't wait to be asked, instead pushing past. He glanced around the flat. Nothing flash but it was tidy. Not much different since the last time he'd visited.

"What do you want Jack?"

"Information.

What do you know about a series of wage snatches?"

"What makes you think I know anything?"

"Because every would-be criminal mastermind watches your show at The Hatters, then likes to come here and play with your maracas. They also like to talk."

Lucy picked up a pack of Players and found her chrome Ronson tabletop lighter.

"Time was, you liked to play with them. You haven't been around lately."

She lit a cigarette and drew deeply.

"I've been busy."

Now what have you heard?"

She pursed her lips and exhaled upwards. A cloud of smoke drifted and dissipated as she answered.

"Depends."

"On what?"

"How much?"

"You didn't use to be so stingy with information."

"You didn't use to be so stingy with your visits, Jack. And a girl's gotta live. You know how much the sodding rent has gone up on this place? And then there's inflation. And what with the strikes, punters are tighter with the readies."

"Who am I? Sunny bleedin' Jim?"

Lucy drew on her cigarette again.

"If you were, I'd charge more. Thieving gits the government."

Regan sighed and pulled a small bundle of notes from his pocket.

"A tenner says you can tell me the date, time and place of the next blag."

"Three things? A tenner says you can have one."

She smiled demurely as he huffed before pulling two more notes from the bundle.

"Thirty bleeding quid? That's daylight robbery. And you complain about the government."

"Times are hard."

She put her hand to his groin and squeezed.

"So are you."

Regan flinched and stepped back.

"Thirty.

And it'd better be good."

Lucy snatched the money before it disappeared.

"You know the Riverside Industrial Estate?"

Of course he did. He knew every inch of his patch.

"There's an electronics firm down there. Don't know the name but they make circuit boards for tranny radios or something. Wages come in every Thursday at ten am sharp.

Word is this Thursday. Four guys in a transit and a lookout in a car. Maurice Tanner's firm. They're hard nuts. They'll be carrying."

"Aren't they all these days.

Anything else?"

Lucy stepped closer again.

"I always have something else for you, Jack."

He looked down at her tits. They were an inviting pair. Even in her late thirties they didn't truly need support to sit high on her chest. Two very nice milky pale mounds of smooth flesh he'd more than happily get to grips with any other time. Lucy was quite a looker.

She actually enjoyed her profession and hadn't sunk into the world of drugs like a lot of her compatriots. She still looked fresh. Different choices in life and she could have been a good girl. Someone's wife with a nice home and a kid. A fleeting thought of his ex-wife Kate and their daughter Susie flashed into his head. A reminder of how both their lives were damaged by the grubbiness of the streets. Just from different angles. He buried the image and toughened up again.

"You clean?"

"Of course. You know I always insist on johnnies."

He considered it for a moment before coming to his senses.

"Another time perhaps."

He straightened his coat and turned to go. Lucy wasn't done though.

"There is something else you might want to know."

She threw herself onto the sofa and lay back with her long legs enticingly on show.

"Something big."

"What, bigger than me?"

She smirked.

"It's a nice tool Jack, but don't flatter yourself."

She waved her knee back and forth and he caught a teasing glimpse of bush where her knickers had moved to the side. But his head was back on work.

"Fifty quid for information on the house robberies they're reporting in the news."

"Fifty nicker?"

"Take it or leave it."

It wasn't even his case and he was of a mind to leave it. But a collar would be a collar. Regan pulled out the cash again.

"It'd be cheaper to be one of your punters."

"I might slip some pillow talk if you want to try that route."

Again that smile. Lucy was intent on getting under his skin. Either now, or later.

"What you got?"

"Oh, Jack. All work and no play."

She sighed before spilling the beans.

"They're an all-female team."

"Birds? Robbing houses? Are you sure?"

He laughed. Girls were just as capable of crime as any man. What they didn't do though was rob houses with guns. But he trusted Lucy.

"Straight up.

Posh ones at that."

"You got a name?"

"No name.

But you're looking for a dark-haired beauty that hangs around the Tavern Club. She likes girls."

"A lez?"

Lucy shrugged.

"What's wrong with that?

She's from up north. Your neck of the woods. But well spoken. You wouldn't know."

"Manchester?"

"Around there. Yeah. The posh bit. Cheesy Home or something."

"Cheadle Hulme."

"That's it. Yeah."

"And you don't have a name?"

"She never gave one. Didn't talk much."

Regan looked at her for a moment as he processed that.

"You mean you and her..."

"I told you. Times are 'ard."

"Well, that's the only thing that's hard if you're messing around with girls now."

She smirked.

"Girls have their attractions."

He let his eyes linger on those tits again. They certainly did.

"So what did she say? Must have said something. Wouldn't exactly have had her mouth full, would she."

"She had a loose tongue. Just not verbally. Quite nice though."

Regan rolled his eyes.

"Spare me the details, luv. Just tell me what she said."

"Nothing much. Just that she worked with a girl mate fumigating big houses."

"That it?

She could be a bleedin' wasp exterminator if that's all you got. Fifty quid for that? You're ripping me off."

"It was the way she said it. All smirking. Said it paid well. I read the papers. I put two and two together didn't I."

He counted out five notes and dropped them on the side.

"Fifty nicker.

You can buy yourself a cucumber to share next time she comes round."

"You'd be surprised what a girl can use that's hard." Lucy grinned.

"They come with straps now."

Regan stared in disbelief for a moment.

"Call me old-fashioned but I think I preferred it when girls liked boys. What is the world coming to?

I blame the Kinks and Cherry Cola."

"You what?"

"It's a song."

He rolled his eyes.

"Never mind, luv."

Lucy lifted her legs onto the sofa and lay along its length. Another enticing move to keep his attention on her.

"Come back and see me one night. I'll do you a discount."

"Eighty quid for scraps. It'll need to be a bleedin' big one."

She rolled on the sofa, still maintaining her sultry act by waving her feet in the air. Regan stared at her tits hanging in that hardly-there support. It was hard to say no.

"Maybe later. I've got villains to catch first."

"I'll hold you to that, Jack. You were always a good'un. Buy me a drink first and I'll do it for free."

"Jez."

He turned away while he still could.

TWO

"Wages job. Thursday, ten am."

Regan said slamming the door.

"Blimey guv. I thought you'd shacked up with 'er. Did you give her one while you were in there or what?"

"Leave it out, George.

She's into birds now."

Carter looked stunned. Even Bill turned his head, but said nothing.

"You serious?" Carter asked glancing back up to the house.

"Never mind that.

Bill. Riverside Industrial Estate. We're going to take a look around before Thursday."

With smooth efficiency, Bill covered the distance to the estate in a quicker time than he should have. Then, they cruised at an observation pace while the two Met officers checked the layout.

"There it is," Carter said.

"Pull up here," Regan instructed.

Howard Electronics was a sixties-built factory unit in the centre of open land. No fences or gates. Just an open road with a glass frontage entrance and a single row of parked employee cars. The road outside was wide for lorries and the other buildings were fairly spread out with open yards separating them.

"Nowhere to hide backup easily," Carter said twisting around to get a full view of the scene.

"The nearest corner is three or four hundred yards away."

"And no way to be certain which way the blaggers will come from," Regan added.

"Cars parked up and down the road. We could get a squad car in amongst them."

Regan looked through the raindrops thinking it through.

"Two motors. You and me. And a van with the rest of the team in that timber yard over there."

He pointed to a building supplies merchant a little further up the road where a Commer flatbed was being loaded up.

"A van won't look out of place and it's closer than the corner.

Personal radios and shooters."

"It's still vital seconds." Carter mused.

"That's just us up against four until the team can get over here. I'd like higher numbers."

"So would I George. But the more people in the cars the more likely we'll be spotted."

He shuffled in his seat having made a decision.

Right, that's that sorted. Two days till Thursday."

He glanced at his wristwatch.

"Pub?"

Regan stayed with his driver in the Consul, among the row of cars on the opposite side of the road. The parked between a rusty 'ban-the-bomb Cortina and a Morris Oxford.

Carter was in line of sight further along in an old white Triumph. He would be the first on the scene to block off the escape route forward. Regan would get the rear and the firepower.

DS Tom Daniels had a van load of heavies in a Transit as arranged in the timber yard. Now it was just a matter of waiting and hoping Lucy's information was worth it.

Regan lifted the walkie-talkie.

"Radio check."

The others called back in turn and he was satisfied. The radio clicked again. It was Carter.

"Eyes up. Old white Jaguar approaching slowly. Dark green Commer behind."

"Ere we go," Regan said to himself as adrenaline coursed through his veins.

He could see the Jaguar now. A Mark Two with the big three point eight litre engine. It was moving slowly, hovering. Then right on schedule, another van, a dark coloured Ford Transit appeared from the opposite direction. It turned into Howard Electronics, pulling up at the main entrance.

He clicked the radio.

"Wait for my word."

The Jaguar was still prowling as the two guards dismounted from the van and headed to the back doors. A third person came from the building with a sack barrow. That's when the Jaguar leapt, hurtling toward its prey.

"Right, now," Regan shouted.

He was thrown into the seat with the sudden acceleration as Bill executed a perfect blocking tactic. From the other side, the white Triumph hurtled forward. The two cars closing the Jaguar into an inescapable trap.

The Bedford had closed the wages vans exit off, but now found its own escape blocked. Its rear doors flung open to expel three big men in balaclavas who had still to realise things weren't to plan. Each of them wielded baseball bats and crowbars and shouted aggressively. In their adrenaline-charged determination, they hadn't registered Regan and Carter. That wouldn't last long.

Regan saw one of the guards beaten to the ground by a blagger using a crowbar. They'd have his keys and the doors open in a moment.

Regan was on his feet, running for the first of the three men when eyes fell on him.

"Rozzers."

They'd been noticed.

He barrelled into the big oaf of a man, sending him sprawling just as another swung a bat at him. Regan ducked. He saw Carter rushing to join the affray. He had the man by the collar, pulling him to the ground as two more piled onto him.

"Police," Carter shouted just as he was pulled backwards by his coat tails.

The Sergeant turned into the fight, his boxing history instantly being put to good use with a sharp right that bloodied a nose under the balaclava.

Regan charged into the fight, punching out indiscriminately

Someone was taking another swing at him with a baseball bat. He ducked, punching the downed man to be sure he stayed that way as Carter dealt with a second man, sending him sprawling across the bonnet of the Jaguar.

"Armed police" Carter was shouting.

Reagan saw the flash of a sawn-off swinging toward him from behind the Jaguar.

"Sweeney. Drop it."

His gun was already in his hand. He wasn't sure who fired first, but it was his shot that was more successful. He hit the blagger in the shoulder just as Tom arrived with reinforcements. Six heavily built men barrelling into the struggle, throwing punches with equal violence as those coming at them.

Regan went for his next target. A particularly agile man running from the Jaguar for the road with no hope of escape.

"Stop."

He chased him as far as the edge of the premises. His lungs burned in protest and he pulled up, raising the gun instead. A shot bucked his shoulders and hit the ground at the man's feet.

"Stop."

The fleeing man slowed and stopped, raising his hands in submission before turning.

Regan was out of breath when he reached him.

"You should give the cigarettes up, Regan. Not doing much for your lungs."

Regan glared at him.

"Caught you, didn't I.

Who are you? Dick Turpin?"

He ripped the handkerchief from the man's face. He knew him of old.

"Maurice Tanner.

You're nicked, son."

He kicked him in the shin to bring him down. Cuffs went on before there were any more shenanigans.

He looked back toward the factory to see his team successfully cuffing the rest of Tanner's team.

"That's the lot of them guv.