by JD Nixon
The Super leaned over the counter and shouted loudly enough for the entire station to hear. “What the fuck are you still doing here? I distinctly remember telling you and Sergeant So-not-getting-a-promotion-in-my-lifetime to fuck off back to Catpiss Town.”
I jumped to my feet, knocking my chair over in my haste, frantically pressing the print button for the report I’d called up. “Ma’am, we’re just running a report from the missing persons database. The internet here is –”
Her teeth were clenched so tightly that I could barely discern her words. “If I hear one more word of donkeyshit back from you, I’m going to start becoming really fucking angry. So I suggest that you get the fuck out of my sight right now, Senior Constable.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I knew she meant it when she stopped calling me by my first name. Hurry up, printer! “I just have to grab the Sarge and then we’re gone, I promise.”
I ran into the kitchen, seized the Sarge by his arm and my wild-eyed face was enough to make him abandon the coffee-making and follow me without question. On the way out, I still needed to stall so the printer could finish its job. I stopped in front of the computer.
“Teresa Fuller!” the Super shouted, the veins on her forehead popping out unattractively.
“Ma’am, I have to shut the computer down. You were only telling us last week how important it is to be sustainable,” I bullshitted desperately.
She described then in graphic detail the permanent and probably fatal injuries she’d sustain on me if I didn’t get my arse out of her station in less than one yoctosecond. I didn’t even know what a yoctosecond was, but it sounded like a real tiny amount of time to me.
She continued to rage as we lingered and I pretended to spend a few more tense moments shutting down the computer, the Sarge snatching the printout as soon as the last page finished spewing from the printer. We flew to the counter door, every cop in sight watching anxiously as we took flight from the danger. We’d almost made it to the entrance door, when her loud voice echoed through the foyer.
“Teresa Fuller! Get back here!” I stopped and turned. Under their breath, everybody was secretly urging for us to go, go, go, but I couldn’t disobey her. Fiona had been my mentor and my support for years and she was now my boss. I had joined a career that was built on hierarchy and I owed her obedience and self-discipline. At least in public.
I fronted up to her and stiffened my spine. “Yes, ma’am?” I said with parade-ground impersonality, gazing at her steadily.
She stood in front of me, steam pouring out of every pore. Obviously her lunch with the Mayor hadn’t gone well and she was going to take it out on me. She stared at me intently. I stared back, not blinking, wearing my poker-face. Then she frowned, cooling down. She’d never been able to stay angry with me for long, something that made all the other cops in Big Town rightfully envious. But to be honest, I couldn’t really explain why, except that she’d known me for a very long time.
“What were you doing that was so important you disobeyed me?” she asked in an evenhanded tone, low enough for only us to hear.
“You’ll be angry,” I warned, not wanting to tell her.
“I’m angry already,” she pointed out reasonably.
I blinked a few times before sighing. “I was still investigating the bikie case.”
She exhaled heavily. “What did I tell you about investigating?”
“But, ma’am –”
“You’re not a fucking detective, Tess. You’re a general duties uniformed cop. It’s not your job to investigate.” She counted on her fingers as she spoke. “It’s your job to prevent crime, respond to the public, enforce the law, and to maintain order. You and Maguire have a town to look after, full of lawbreaking Bycrafts, and that’s your fucking job. Not investigating. I can’t tell you how much it shits me to tears to see you two here in Wattling Bay every fucking day, fart-arsing around on fantasy crimes like two sheep-fiddling Nancy Drews, while nobody’s looking after your town.”
I thought that was unfair, considering she was the one who forced us to come to Big Town half the time, but I sensibly held my tongue.
“You think I’d stink as a detective,” I said sulkily instead.
She regarded me coolly. “Don’t go all teenage angst on me, Tess. It bores me to death. Anyway, I didn’t say that.” She paused a beat, clocking my disconsolate features. “What’s the fucking problem?”
Our eyes locked together, light blue and dark grey, with so much shared history and pain. But she shouldn’t have asked me that particular question because everything came tumbling out at once.
“I trusted my instincts with the bikies, but you think my evidence is less than nothing. That’s a big blow to me, ma’am. Maybe I’ll never make detective? And I just called the Sarge ‘honey-boy’ because I spend so much time with him and I never see Jakey anymore. I’m all topsy-turvy at the moment. I’m thinking I should go back to the city so I can earn more. I don’t have enough money to pay for looking after Dad and fixing my house.”
She stared at me for a full minute, assessing. “Tess, you’re twenty-seven. You need to start thinking seriously about your future. About making a permanent break from that town. And everybody in it.” Hmm, was that a pointed barb at both Jake and the Sarge?
“You know I can’t do that yet. Dad wants –”
She cut in impatiently. “Sometimes I think Trev ought to consider more what’s best for you, rather than what he wants. He’s spent his whole life doing what he wants.” Her unexpected censure of Dad startled me. I didn’t think she had any business to be criticising him like that and my face grew mutinous. Dad had every right in the world to demand what he wanted before he died, even if that meant I had to stay in Little Town because that’s where he wanted to be.
I opened my mouth to protest, but she continued, not paying me any heed. “But for now, you and Maguire have to get back to your town.” She checked her watch. “Your instincts are usually sound. Spend some time tonight looking over those printouts. See if you can find anything to convince me that there’s more going on at that place than just the Bycraft sluts banging some fugly bikies.”
I managed to smile at her gratefully for her latitude. “Thanks, ma’am.”
“When are you coming for dinner again? Ronnie misses you. Only last night he was complaining how long it’s been since you’ve stayed with us.”
“I’ll stay when I get an invitation,” I replied tartly.
“This Saturday?”
“Can’t do. It’s Jakey’s birthday on Saturday.”
“How about Friday then? Jake can pick you up from my place on Saturday morning.”
“Okay, that would be nice.”
“Good. Ronnie’s working down your way on Friday. He’ll pick you up after work.” Ronnie worked for the Main Roads Department, maintaining the Coastal Range Highway and other state-owned roads in the area.
“Great.”
“It will be good for you to get away from that town for a while.”
“It will.”
“And from Maguire.”
I didn’t respond, not sure what to say. She was probably right, but when I looked over to him waiting patiently for me, watching with unguarded concern shadowing his dark blue eyes, I didn’t feel as though I wanted to get away from him at all. I wasn’t sure how I felt and I wasn’t sure that I much wanted to think about it either.
I made my farewell to her and joined him. He hustled me from the building before the Super started ranting again, his hand on my shoulder blade.
Chapter 19
“I’ve completely had it with this rain,” he complained, slowing down to negotiate a fast-flooding dip in the road. “We’re going to be stranded in Little Town if this keeps up.”
“We can check the weather bureau when we get back to the station. The satellite image might give us a clue when the clouds are going to break up. Don’t worry about being stranded though. We’re up higher than Big Town, being closer to the mountains. T
hey’re the ones who have to worry about being stranded, not us.”
He brightened momentarily. “The Super stuck in Big Town, surrounded by flood waters? That would be a dream come true. I could have a break from her accusing me of crimes against nature.”
“There’s always the phone,” I smiled at him. “Or email. There’s plenty of ways she could contact you still.”
“Oh, great,” he said dryly.
He reduced speed to turn left on to the highway from Wattling Bay Road, on the home stretch to Little Town. We travelled in companionable silence for a while, the only sound the monotonous swish of the wipers. They struggled to keep up with the relentless downpour, even at their highest speed.
The bad weather made people naturally cautious as they drove, and the traffic was light and well-behaved. I slouched in my seat, absently singing that same catchy pop song I’d sung for the Sarge only days ago when we’d confronted Red Bycraft. It felt like years since that eventful morning. It had been quite a week and it was still only Tuesday.
“You have such a lovely singing voice, Tess. I could listen to you sing all day.”
“Thanks, Sarge.” How sweet was that?
“Maybe you could earn some extra money singing somewhere?”
I laughed. “Abe wanted me to sing in the bistro bar on Saturday nights now and then. But my job is too unreliable to commit to gigs, so I had to turn him down. He was offering me good money too.”
“I could cover for you if you want to explore that opportunity with him again.”
“Nah, thanks anyway. It would be too embarrassing. I’m not that good. And I hate the idea of everyone looking at me.”
“At least promise me that you’ll talk to Abe about it again?”
“Dunno. Maybe.”
A bright flash of green flew past us into the distance. It took some moments for us both to realise that it was a car.
“Holy shit!” exclaimed the Sarge. “How fast were they going?”
“It’s Martin,” I said, sitting up in alarm. “He’s going to kill himself driving that fast in this weather.”
“Or someone else.” The Sarge flicked on the lights and sirens and sped up after him.
Martin Cline was an inmate of the mental health clinic situated to the south of the town. He was mostly harmless, but had an annoying habit of stealing cars and joyriding around town, despite not having a licence. His favourite car was the little frog-green hatchback owned by one of the clinic’s psychiatrists, a ditzy woman who kept forgetting to lock her vehicle. Normally, Martin puttered around town for a while and then returned back to the clinic peacefully. But every so often he became worked up, turning quite dangerous to himself in particular, and to the public in general.
Martin, usually so obedient, didn’t pull over when he noticed the patrol car behind him.
“Aw geez, he’s in a mood,” I sighed.
“Have you ignored him lately?”
“Yeah, but it was a couple of weeks ago. Remember when the Super forced all of the constables and senior constables to go to that refresher course on the proper handling of evidence?” He nodded and I laughed guiltily, thinking about the Super’s rebuke of us over the bikies’ ashes. I obviously hadn’t paid enough attention to the presenter. “I spotted Martin driving around then, but I was running late, so I ignored him even though he kept overtaking me and braking in front of me.”
The Sarge whistled. “Then he’s mighty peeved with you.”
“Apparently.” I trusted the Sarge’s driving, but it was a fast pursuit in terrible weather, and I was clutching the side-rest of my door tightly. I hoped the airbags felt like working today. I wasn’t ready to meet my maker yet.
Other users of the highway pulled over courteously or slowed down to make it easier for us to manoeuvre around them. Well, all of them did except one old rust-bucket, filled to the brim with junior Bycrafts. There must have been eight teenagers jammed into the car, none of them wearing seatbelts, the stereo cranked to maximum so that they probably didn’t even hear us. Jake’s sister, Larissa, was at the wheel, driving way over the speed limit and as we pulled alongside them, I noticed a bottle being passed around.
“Bloody hell,” muttered the Sarge.
“Which of them do we take on, Sarge?”
“The teenagers,” he decided. I caught Larissa’s attention and gestured for her to pull over to the side of the road. She flipped me the finger in response and sped up.
The Sarge jerked the patrol car in behind them and spat out, “God, I hate the Bycrafts! Call it in, Tess. See if anyone’s around to help. Those kids aren’t going to stop for us.”
I grabbed the radio and called it in to Big Town. By a stroke of bad luck I was picked up by that same bored female dispatcher I’d spoken to when we lost Red Bycraft.
“Where are you calling from?” she asked, yawning.
My shoulders slumped in despair. “Mount Big Town,” I repeated patiently. “It’s urgent! We have two dangerous situations to deal with simultaneously. Is anyone close to us?”
“I’ll get back to you.”
“I said it’s urgent! I told you – we have a car full of teenagers driving dangerously, possibly drinking and refusing to pull over, and a mental health patient on the loose, driving without a licence. We need help now! You don’t need to talk to anyone about it. Just tell me if there are any patrols close by and –”
With no warning, I found myself on hold. I muttered some things about that woman that caused the Sarge raise his eyebrows and would have had Nana Fuller shaking her head in disappointment at me.
The radio crackled again. “Cease all pursuits,” commanded the bored voice.
“What the –?” I didn’t get to finish because she hung up on me. I turned to the Sarge. “We’ve been told to cease all pursuits.”
“What the fuck? Those kids are going to kill someone.” He slowed right down and turned off the lights and siren. The Bycrafts sped off ahead of us, five of them hanging their arms out of the windows to flip us the finger. One of them mooned us, pressing his buttocks up against the rear window. They overtook a car that was forced to drive half off the road to give them enough room to pass as Larissa swerved erratically.
“Don’t ever ask me to call anything in again,” I fumed at the Sarge. “They are a bunch of over-cautious wimps in Big Town, with absolutely no understanding of what happens here. Now we can’t even go after Martin, which only means that he’s going to be even more dangerous the next time he ventures out. And they don’t have to deal with that – we do!”
“I’m just used to getting some support in my job,” he snapped, slamming his fist down on the steering wheel in frustrated anger. “I hate this fucking town.”
For some reason, that felt like a personal attack. “Go back to the city then where everything’s perfect,” I bit back at him.
“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t be like that.”
“Be like what?”
“I think you need some Tim Tams.”
“Oh, that’s right! Just dismiss anything I say as some pathetic woman who needs chocolate to function. Don’t bother taking me seriously.”
“I never said that.”
“You meant it.”
“You’re psychic now, are you? Along with all your other superpowers?” he retorted.
I paused for a moment, regarding his angry profile. “No,” I replied carefully, aware that we were quickly escalating into a full-blown fight, taking our frustration out on each other. “But I do know a psychic.”
He turned towards me doubtfully for a second, before half-smiling. “So do I, but she scares the shit out of me.”
“Me too.”
“I wonder if she knows what we’re saying about her.”
I laughed and the tension dissipated. We drove for a while in silence approaching Little Town when my eye was captured by a flash of colour off to my left. Frog-green.
“Martin’s back,” I groaned.
This time he pulled o
ut right in front of us in a dawdling manner that cut us off closely and forced the Sarge to slam on the brakes, sending the patrol car skidding sharply on to the other side of the road.
“Now I’m really pissed off,” he said, lips and eyebrows scrunched in anger. He spun the car around.
“Don’t give him the lights and siren,” I cautioned as we trailed him through town. “He doesn’t deserve them.”
Martin complied lawfully with the sixty kilometre speed limit, the Sarge flashing the high beam at him. Eventually, he decided to pull over.
Martin sat patiently in the car, very familiar with the routine.
“Off you go, Tess. He’ll only take off if I approach him,” said the Sarge, shoving me gently on the shoulder.
I shook him off and grumbled about going out in the rain while I searched for the umbrella, finding it wedged under my seat.
“Say hello to him for me,” smiled the Sarge, cranking up the heater and leaning back in his seat.
“I really don’t like you sometimes. You know that, don’t you?” I told him, slamming the door behind me and struggling with one arm to pop open the umbrella. In the time it took, a flood of freezing rain trickled down the back of my jacket, chilling my neck and my spine.
I drew up next to the car, rapping crossly on the window. Martin wound it down and looked up at me with excitement.
“Hello, Officer Tess. I’ve been very naughty today. You might have to arrest me this time.”
I held my index finger and thumb out a centimetre from each other. “I’m this close to locking you up forever, Martin. Out of the car and into to the patrol car. Now.”
“No. You ignored me last time. I know you saw me, but you kept driving. You didn’t even wave to me.”
“I was late for a course. I wasn’t on duty.” He flung his head in the opposite direction, an unsubtle childish snub. “Okay, Martin, be like that if you want to. I’ll call Sergeant Maguire over to sort you out.”
