In Bed With Lord Byron

God.
    ‘For fuck’s sake,’ Capone moaned. ‘What the hell does he want?’ He wound down the window. The officer informed him that he wanted us both to step out of the
vehicle.
    It is the stuff of legend that Capone, despite killing and torturing dozens of people, was only ever prosecuted for the utterly mundane crime of tax evasion. I wondered, with a vindictive
thrill, if I was temporarily about to warp history and give Capone a little taste of life behind bars.
    ‘You, ma’am.’ The police officer addressed me. ‘What’s your name?’
    ‘I’m Lucy Brown,’ I said, close to kissing him for being my knight in shining armour.
    ‘I’m afraid you’re under arrest. I can see who you are – you’re a charity girl, aren’t you?’
    ‘
What!
’
    ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to put your hands up.’
    ‘Well, Officer,’ said Capone in a cool, charming voice, quickly slithering back into his car, ‘I do apologise for this misunderstanding. I think I’d better leave you to
it. I’m sure you’ll understand that I’m a busy man.’
    The officer glanced over at him. Then I saw it: the flicker of fear dancing across his face like lightning. That, I realised, was it. That was why it took so long for Capone to be arrested.
People were simply terrified of him.
    ‘You have to stop him!’ I jabbered. ‘Tomorrow there’s this wedding, and he’s planning a big job, and I’m actually
meant
to be seducing
him—’
    I broke off in despair as Capone revved up his car and then drove off in a spit of gravel.
    ‘Yes, ma’am, we’ll discuss this at the station. Now, please step into the car.’
    ‘I just don’t get what this is all about,’ I cried, as we drove off. ‘I mean – like you say, I’m a charity girl.’ Surely that meant I did good things to
help other people, right? Perhaps it was code for my work in helping the police.
    ‘You were reported by your brother Anthony.’
    ‘Oh, right,’ I said in relief. ‘I get it! Oh, thank God for Anthony.’ He would have told the police everything, I realised, and they would have known I had failed and stepped in to rescue me.
    The police officer gave me a steely glance in the mirror.
    ‘I hope this is a signal to you to change the error of your ways,’ he said, in a rather Bible-bashing tone.
    ‘Oh, very funny,’ I laughed, playing along with the joke. ‘Sure, I’m going to give up my wicked charity work and stop helping you guys.’
    v) Charity girl
    When we got to the police station, however, I was more than a little alarmed when the officer didn’t remove my handcuffs. Even more worrying, there was no sign of Anthony.
When I questioned the officer, he told me that Anthony could bail me out in the morning.
    ‘But – but I thought you said I was a charity girl,’ I cried as I was walked down a grey corridor.
    ‘Exactly, ma’am,’ said the police officer in a tone of disgust. ‘And I’m afraid that prostitution is against the law.’
    ‘What? You think I’m a . . . oh, oh shit. I think we’ve had a misunderstanding.’
Charity girl.
It was 1920s slang, no doubt. ‘Look, Capone was about to rape
me, and so Anthony made it up about me being a . . . a prostitute! I’m actually meant to be helping you – you see, I’m working undercover.’
    ‘I’m sure you are, ma’am,’ the policeman said drily, looking my rumpled dress up and down. He unlocked a door in a large cage.
    Hang on, I thought in panic, I can’t share a cell with – what? – six other women! They were all slouching about like wild cats, and now that I had entered, they sized me up
with brutal eyes.
    ‘Er – can’t I have my own cell?’ I asked the officer.
    ‘What d’you think this is, a hotel?’ one of the women sneered, and the officer laughed.
    ‘Step in, ma’am, and we’ll bring you some fresh towels and a pot of tea,’ he said sarcastically.
    I stood in the cell, hands dangling by my sides, squirming with self-consciousness. I listened to the steps of the officer slowly fade away. Still, I thought, he’ll be back soon,
won’t he? Won’t he?
    ‘So, what are you in here for?’ The woman who had sneered at me addressed me again.
    ‘They think I’m a prostitute,’ I said sullenly. ‘And I’m not, of course. I mean, it’s just crazy, and completely unfair.’
    ‘Yeah – I guess a girl like you is way too good to be a prostitute,’ the woman spat out. The other women sniggered and jeered in support.
    I quivered