Directive RIP

by Stuart Parker

  2

  The crime scene was inundated. The Criminal Investigations Bureau, the Office for Police Integrity, the Special Operations Group, the Bomb Disposal Squad, the County Coroner. They hadn’t been half as interested in Breeze’s welfare as they were in the mess he had created.

  Breeze was leaning back against the metal pedestrian barricades that were leftovers from the brick factory demolition siteHe was rehydrating himself with soft drink in preparation for the urine sample that would accompany the blood sample. The crooks had done him a big favour in that department. Using noxious gases against him would help him beat the rap for any substances that were to turn up in his system.

  ‘May I join you?’

  No one in the various police departments would be so polite, especially with a rogue cop who had just blown away two members of the community without so much as a search warrant. Breeze was expecting journalists and defense lawyers to be in thick supply, so the realisation it was the A-Z demolition man Jock McClean was relatively pleasant. The big man’s cheeks were puffed and his eyes were bloodshot. Owning a Porsche that required excavating would do that to anybody. He gripped the barrier the way Rottweilers held a bone.

  ‘I’ve just finished writing out my statement and the gist of what I put down was that only someone completely insane would risk eating a demolition site to extract live explosives and the fact the building didn’t fall straight was proof enough they had the wherewithal to pull it off. The authorities won’t tell me yet how much explosive they’ve recovered from the warehouse but I’d suspect it was a few kilograms of persuasion for whatever project it was intended. Robbery, assassination, terrorism, do you know which?’

  Breeze finished off his Coke and put the bottle on the ground. He doubted this man was involved in the scheme but anything was possible.

  ‘If I was aware of the target there would arguably be less justification for storming a private premise and taking out perps.’

  The hard edge in his voice was not lost on McClean.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m on your side. A-Z Demolitions is my life and there is no doubt you saved it today. Thanks to your efforts, instead of a public relations disaster, our company will be linked to a pretty neat piece of justice.’

  ‘It’s nice you feel that way. There won’t be anyone else around here putting my work in a positive light.’

  ‘Well, I owe you.’

  The tone of voice compelled Breeze to harden his gaze at the big man. ‘Take it easy,’ he warned. ‘The last guy that offered me money found himself with quite a case of indigestion.’

  McClean shrugged unconcerned. ‘Money isn’t my business. If you’re needing firecrackers for your nephew’s birthday or something with a bit more pop then be sure to come and see me.’

  ‘You serious?’

  McClean had a business card ready to hand over. ‘A-Z Demolitions Inc. Operations Director. In case you’ve got any more questions.’

  Breeze felt the card go into his hand but kept his eyes on the man. McClean stepped away, turning his attention to his mobile phone.

  Taking his opportunity to slip in unnoticed from the side was a man who had made a career of doing just that. Senior Detective Greenstreet of the CIB. Ten years of homicide investigation had left him with a severe case of facial subsidence. There were pits under his eyes and his cheeks were hollow. Thanks, however, to his well-stocked local twenty four hour supermarket, his hair had never been blonder. His grey eyes, keen seekers of betrayed truths, were pouring over Breeze quite independently of his slow, rasping voice.

  ‘Killing, in my experience, is like anything else: the better the reason the better the job. You’ve left a splatter-house in there.’

  ‘Were you expecting a mural?’ Breeze scoffed.

  Greenstreet double blinked. ‘We would have got Babar quietly. Some fathers are best not embarrassed by their sons.’

  ‘The son had a bomb.’

  ‘And that would have earned a whole lot of gratitude. But I suppose the Rogue Intercept Police is a unit for cops who don’t understand discretion. The Foreign Affairs Department will no doubt have one of its satellites trained on you right now. Do you think there’s a future in it?’

  ‘Looks like I’ve arrived just in time,’ came a loud voice from the side. ‘The only back up you’ll ever need, Breeze, is in dealing with the creeps snooping around a crime scene.’

  Detective Sergeant Jeff Maroon, also known as Furnace - or Furn for short - effortlessly swung over the barricade.Tall, muscular, light green eyes, dark black hair and a dimpled chin, Furn had modeled in two police calendars and was almost unique in the Victorian Police Force for having both law enforcement and criminal profiles down at HQ. He had broken too many laws in what had become one of the state’s most productive anti-narcotics operations and the only way to keep him on the force was to reassign him to a unit that was so close to dismissal that his critics could hardly notice the difference. But that was the early days of the Rogue Intercept Police, and now it had grown stronger, and he was relatively protected within it. Senior Detective Greenstreet, for one, found it unbearable.

  ‘You should show some gratitude for your fellow cops who didn’t arrest you when they had the chance,’ Greenstreet snapped.

  ‘Get in my face and I’ll give you another opportunity.’

  The seasoned homicide detective scarcely had another emotion left to play: ‘You aren’t interested in promotions but what about living?’ was all Greenstreet could muster as he left with a disapproving shake of the head.

  Furn watched him go and joined Breeze further along the barricade. ‘I’m sure he was happy back in the day.’

  ‘The day being when he was cuddling up to a teddy bear rather than a two-timing wife,’ murmured Breeze. ‘Still, he doesn’t seem to think anyone else should pay a price for being on the force. He’s a good man, in a way.’

  ‘Interesting observation. I’m sure deep down they’re all pretty thrilled you took out some fat cat diplomat’s son and friends.’

  Breeze turned hotly. ‘And talking of that, you left me hanging with a whole gang to take out. They tried to gas me.’

  ‘Sorry about that. May was spooked. She was convinced someone followed her home. She’s had her problems with stalkers before.’

  ‘You?’

  Furn chuckled. ‘You’d need to give me your definition first and we don’t have time for that. Our boss is already on a flight back from Canberra and he wants us to meet him as soon as possible. Seems like his lunch with the Prime Minister wasn’t purely social.’

  ‘You’re kidding me? I just drank a litre of coke to water down the positive results I’m bound to give in my piss test. And they’ll want a litre of blood to confirm them.’

  Furn drew his pistol halfway out its holster. ‘Give the dogs a bone?’

  ‘Very funny.’ The tone in Breeze’s voice was as defensive as it was ever going to get and Furn read into it.

  ‘We can hold them off for a day or so with our official business,’ he said, ‘but are you going to pass even then?’

  Breeze shrugged non-committedly. ‘I smoke up from time to time. Just to let them know they can kick me off the force whenever they feel like it. Unfortunately, the results always come back clean.’

  ‘You must be doing something right.’

  ‘Are we meeting Riley at the airport?’

  Furn smirked. He didn’t mind changing the subject so long as it was for a better one. ‘They’re flying Prime Ministerial Airways. He’ll be back in Melbourne before we even reach the car.’

  ‘The office then?’

  ‘The Alfred Hospital,’ said Furn dourly. ‘It seems cops like us do die, after all.’