“Bad news?” asked Pigshit.
“Aye,” said Steve. “Jim’s handed in his badge.”
“He quit. While you were off for a slash, some happy-clappy tambourine shakers came in. God-botherers. Anyway, they got talking to Jim and they converted him. He’s now a believer.”
“You’re having me on,” scoffed Pigshit.
“Wish I was, boss,” said Steve, handing Pigshit a flyer and Jim’s Police Scotland ID badge.
“They left some leaflets, look.”
Pigshit gave the religious pamphlet the once-over.
“But he’s from Falkirk! He’s probably got 666 tattooed on his head!”
“Well, they promised him salvation and eternal life so he decided there and then to leave the force and become a follower of the Lord.”
“FFS,” huffed Pigshit. “Did he pay for his baguette before he left?”
“He did, yeah.”
“Thank the Lord for that.”
Pigshit shoved the leaflet in pocket and looked out across the street. He still had a brutal murder case to solve and it was still pissing it down with rain. Eternal life. Yeah, fucking right.