I don’t think he needed an invitation. Young Cop tosses the room. I have to lie face down on the carpet in my jocks while my duffel gets upended. All my wound care stuff goes flying.
‘Medical supplies, hey?’ Young Cop says.
‘That’s for me leg.’ My voice sounds muffled, because of the carpet.
Young Cop moves around behind me, steps over me. ‘That’s it? Nothing else?’
D’you think I’d tell you if there was?I don’t say that.
Maybe my lack of solemnity is in my posture, splayed out here on the floor. Young Cop crunches through my sterile wipes and stuff until I catch his shadow looming near my head.
‘C’mon. You’ve gotta have something.’ He steps on my fingers. It hurts.
I tense my arms. ‘Ow.’
He shifts position. The toe of his boot nudges my wounded thigh. ‘You guys think you’re so fucking smart, dontcha? So fucking smart.’
I’ve met cops like this before: young, dumb, and full of attitude. They like to let you know who’s boss. Change the uniform into a Jim Beam T-shirt and jeans and this guy would be indistinguishable from Ando.
And he likes to play with his food.
‘You’re a stupid shit, aren’t ya?’ Young Cop hunkers down so he can hiss above my ear. He raps the back of my head with the butt of his gun. ‘Aren’t ya?’
If he really expects me to reply to that, he’s dreaming. My teeth clacked together when he whacked my head, and that’s how they’re gonna stay. I keep my nose pressed to the carpet.
Boots clomp towards us from down the hall. Young Cop stands up fast, but before he moves he kicks the side of my prone leg. His toes are steel-capped, and it takes a lot of effort not to cry out as a localised white explosion shoots through my thigh.Fuck, that fuckinghurt.
‘Sorted,’ Old Cop says as he returns. ‘You find anything?’
‘No, sir,’ Young Cop says meekly.
My shoulders relax even though I knew there was nothing to find. Now the other cop’s here, I think it’s safe to speak. ‘Can I get up now? This carpet is bloody rank.’
‘What’re you doing here, son?’ Old Cop lets me up so I can sit on the milk crate.
‘I live here.’ I’d thought that was pretty obvious. I stretch my leg out, rubbing my thigh and throwing glares at Dickhead Junior. ‘I come up from Ouyen, looking for work.’
‘You picked a dodgy place to move into,’ Old Cop says flatly.
‘It’s cheap, that’s all I know. And I didn’t know where else to go. Like I said, I’ve only been here three weeks.’
Old Cop raises an eyebrow.
‘I used to work at Ridgeback Falls quarry,’ I insist. ‘Stuffed me leg, so now I’m looking for a new job. That envelope on the floor there, that’s my references. Check it out yourself.’
Old Cop goes through my wallet. ‘Driver’s license says your name is Harrison Lucas Derwent, is that correct?’
My face warms as I nod. ‘Yeah. But it’s just Harris, hey.’
‘Well, just-Harris, why don’t you put a shirt on and we’ll sort it out.’
His name badge readsMurphy. This is the guy Sarge Blunt told me about: the Mildura CIU guy. I check him for funny looks, but he doesn’t so much as twitch at me. The sarge was true to his word then – the cops here don’t know me. Inconvenient in the long term, but definitely a plus in a situation like this. Let me be arrested with the others. Let Snowie think I’m part of it all.
‘Sorting it out’, like the Murphy guy said, takes the better part of the morning. I slap on some clothes, get cuffed – ‘Nah, go ahead and cuff me if it makes you feel better’ – and am handed off to the cop shop. They take my fingerprints and process all my gear before I’m put in a holding cell with Kevin and Steph, plus the girl who usually brings the baby. She’s on her own this time, crying and obviously strung out.
‘I didn’t do nothin’, I didn’t do nothin’!’ she wails.
‘What the fuck’re ya here for then?’ Kevin snarls. Kevin’s been done for possession. He’s not such a happy-go-lucky guy when he’s stressed.
