by J. M. Peace
It was a 'quick shift' tonight. They'd done them in The Gap as well. A morning shift, then start work again at 10pm. An absolute killer. She'd be toast by 6am, when even the smelly bed would seem like paradise found.
"So," Krista queried, "what happens if we lock someone up tonight?"
"Well, we lodge them in the watch house and if they're just there for being a drunken idiot, we release them four hours later."
"Okay. But we're the only crew on tonight aren’t we? Someone's got to stay in with the prisoner, don't they?"
"Yep. So if a job comes up, you can be watch house keeper and I can go out one-up. Or vice versa of course, if you prefer. It's an equal opportunity shit-fest here. Or if it's something bigger, we call someone out for help."
Krista paused. "I've never been watch house keeper before."
"It's easy. You lodge them. Switch the monitors on in the station. Keep an eye on them. They've got a call button in the cell, it comes through to the station. It's basically just babysitting."
Krista nodded. "Sounds straightforward." She must have sounded unconvincing.
"It's only because you've never done it before," Mort said. "Once you've done it, you'll see how it all works. There's nothing to it." He was so confident and assured. She liked working with him because of that. It was as if he couldn't imagine anything being a problem. It was his length of service she decided. She just needed more experience.
She did a lap through town, from one end to the other of the main street. There were a few people around, considering it was mid-week.
"VKR to four-twenty." The radio crackled into life.
Mort grabbed it. "Four-twenty, go ahead."
"Thank you four-twenty. Please proceed to the Cool Mule. There's a fight in progress."
Krista got a queasy feeling in her stomach. She knew where the pub was, just off the main street. They were so close. It would only take a minute to get there. Probably not long enough for the brawlers to wear themselves out. She couldn't even pretend to get lost to extend the travel time before they reached the job.
"Okay, here we go," Mort said.
It might be over already. Depended on a lot of things. How long since the call came in? How long before Comms passed them along? How drunk were the participants?
"Ready for a fight?" Mort asked from the passenger's seat. He interlaced his fingers and stretched them in front of him so his knuckles cracked.
"Might be all over by the time we get there," Krista said, trying to make it sound indifferent, as if she didn't really care whether or not she wrestled a drunk.
She glanced over to see a half smile on Mort's face. She wasn't sure if it he was teasing her because of her inexperience.
"It'll be fine," he said. "I'll be recording". He flicked on the camera mounted on the front of his tactical vest. Krista glanced down, fumbling to switch hers on too.
As they turned off the main street, they could see the fight on the footpath in front of the Cool Mule. Although there were a number of blokes standing in the doorway of the pub, there seemed to be only two men actually fighting. That was a good sign. It was a fight, not a brawl.
"See," Mort said pointing at one of the men as they drew closer. "The older guy in black. That's Angus Hegarty. He’s not usually any trouble. You can handle him. I'll grab the younger bloke." The man Mort pointed to looked like he was in his fifties, surely too old for this sort of thing.
Krista jammed on the brakes as they came up next to the men. Mort was straight out of the door. The younger man was staggering to his feet.
As Krista pulled the keys out of the ignition and grabbed the door handle, she saw Mort fall down. She rounded the front of the police car just in time to see Angus, with his hands around Mort's leg, throw his head forward to spit with force at Mort. She saw the liquid strike Mort on the face and this head jerked backwards as if he'd been punched. Mort rolled onto his knees, and swayed backwards. Angus seized the opportunity to scramble into a crouch and swing a wide punch at Mort. Mort ducked underneath the flailing arm and grabbed Angus in a bear hug. They both toppled to the ground, one of them making a raspy gasp that sounded like the start of a vomit.
Mort had said to grab Angus but he was now mid-grapple with him. Krista froze. Should she help Mort or try to grab the younger man? The question was answered when the younger man cocked his leg back to kick Mort on the ground. Krista reacted without thinking, rushing him and knocking him backwards so his kick swished through empty space and he fell on his backside. As he climbed back onto his feet, Krista stepped backwards, fiddling at the pouch that held her capsicum spray. She got the button undone and drew it just as the man rounded on her.
"Stop or I'll spray," she shouted. The sound of her racing heart thundered in her ears.
The man took one look at the can of spray in her hand, turned on his heel and ran away up the street.
Run after him, a voice in Krista's head yelled. Or had it been from one of the spectators? But she didn't. She sucked in a deep breath, like she'd run a marathon rather than just drawn her spray from her vest. She watched the man turn left off the road and disappear behind a building. No, she would stay with Mort.
He was still on the ground with Angus, but clearly had the upper hand now. Angus was on his stomach. Mort had one of Angus's arms and was forcing it behind his back. He produced his set of handcuffs, cuffing the hand closest to him. He pressed down on the hinge of the cuff, the metal biting into the back of the other man's wrist, bringing his hand forward. Mort twisted Angus's arm back behind him. Krista knelt on the other side of Angus feeling like she should be doing something. But Mort had this all under control.
"Give me your other hand," he commanded.
Krista saw Angus grimace, his face contorted both by the pain of joints pushed to their limit and his face being squashed against the concrete. He grunted.
"Give me your hand," Mort insisted, louder this time, pushing harder on the cuff. Angus submitted with a string of expletives. With both cuffs on, Krista helped roll Angus over.
Mort pulled the front of his shirt out of his pants and used it to wipe his face.
"The dirty fuck-knuckle spat at me," he said, and Krista could see the shiny wet patch on his shirt where he'd dried his face.
He pushed on the middle of Angus's back.
"Why'd you spit on me, Angus," he hissed. "Off to the watch house for you now."
"Fucken dogs," Angus croaked back.
Mort looked around.
"Where's the other guy?" he asked.
"Did a runner," Krista said.
Mort lifted an eyebrow but said nothing.
They hauled Angus up, supporting his elbows and pushing him forwards onto his feet. They guided him to the back of the police van. Krista unlatched it quickly. Mort emptied the man’s pockets before pushing him into the pod at the back. Krista caught a whiff of sour rum. Angus huffed as he plonked onto one of the moulded seats in the pod. Even with his hands cuffed behind him, he managed to lean his head back against the wall.
16.
Mort slid into the passenger seat. He opened the glovebox with his right hand at the same time as closing the car door with his left.
He grabbed the bottle of sanitising gel out of the glovebox and squirted a generous amount into his hands. He rubbed them together, and across his face.
"Fucken..."
Mort stopped and gestured at his vest. Krista understood, turning off her recorder before starting the car.
"Fucken dirty bastard. I hate the spitters."
Krista glanced across at him as she started the car. He had colour in his cheeks. She wasn't sure if it was from the exertion of the fight or anger. It was the first time she had seen him anything but calm and friendly.
"Did it get in your eyes?" Krista asked.
"Yep. Got my eyes, my face, my shirt, my hair. Fuckwit. I didn't expect it from him. I was focussed on the other bloke. It was too late by the time he pulled me down."
He threw the bottle
of sanitiser back into the glovebox. "I'll need a disease test order. Fuck. He's probably got Hep C or something. Ugh. Dirty bastard." He pulled his shirt away from his body with two fingers.
"Fucking Angus Hegarty. Too old for pub brawls, you'd think, wouldn't you?" He shook his head. "Useless piece-of-shit drunk. Don't know why he turned on me. I've picked him up a few times, and he's never given me any trouble. He won't get a fucken second chance to spit on me."
Krista was unsure what to say to Mort, but he didn't seem to expect any response from her. He was just venting. Getting spat on was a hell of a thing. She'd heard it could take three months to get cleared of any diseases.
"This will be your arrest," Mort said. "Because I'm the complainant for serious assault."
She nodded. She turned into the driveway to the back of the station.
"Pull up on the drive," Mort said. "He'll be easier to get out."
There was a loading bay at the back of the station, with room for two cars to park undercover. A marked sedan was in one spot already. If they pulled into the spare spot, it was a bit of a squeeze past the other parked car to get to the watch house door.
"At least he's quiet," Mort said. "If they start yelling, it pisses the boss off." He gestured to the dark house next door to where they were parked. Krista wondered what the boss’ wife and kids made of it when the neighbours got noisy.
They got out and went to the back of the van. "We’re just getting your room ready for you, Angus," he growled.
"Fuuuck you, pig," the reply came hissed from inside. The words were slurred.
"Can you go get the watch house keys so we can walk him straight in? Do you know where they are?"
Krista shook her head.
"They're hanging from the shelf with the radio on it over the sergeants' desk." There was a new hard edge to his voice, like he was tired of having to tell her every single little thing. She'd find the keys. She hurried to the back door, swiped herself in. She quickly located the keys. They were brass and oversized. There was no mistaking they were for big locks on heavy doors. She glanced at her watch. 12:43am. Didn't they have to keep him for four hours as a drunk? Or was that changed now by the assault charges? Could they still release him into the care of a sober adult? Or did he have to be bailed because of the charges?
Mort was so cross. She didn’t want to annoy him with a hundred questions.
As she turned, keys in hand, to go back out to the car, she heard their call sign over the police radio base station. Comms was calling them.
She grabbed the radio receiver.
"Four-twenty, go ahead VKR."
"Yes four-twenty, job details for you when you're ready."
She realised Mort hadn't called the arrest through.
"We're off at the station with an arrest. We'll be tied up here for a while, then we'll be one-up. What's the job?"
"There's a noise complaint. Can you give us a call when you're free?"
"Received that." Nothing urgent. They’d worry about that once they lodged the spitter.
Krista clipped the receiver back into place on the station radio. She walked out to the back door, clutching the bunch of oversized watch house keys.
As she turned into the loading dock, she saw their offender on the ground just outside the door of the pod. He was on his knees. Mort had him by the arm and was attempting to haul him back onto his feet.
Krista ran across to help. "What happened?" she asked as she grabbed Angus by the other elbow.
"He's so drunk he can't even stand up by himself. When I got him out of the pod, he just buckled at the knees. I couldn't keep him on his feet."
They pulled the man upright, one on each side of him, a hand each on his shoulder. His hands were still cuffed to the back. His head lolled forward. Krista thought she could detect the tang of urine overpowering the liquor smell. He couldn't walk straight.
"Get going," Mort commanded, pushing their prisoner forward.
A guttural noise came from deep within Angus and a waterfall of liquid vomit cascaded from his mouth.
"Ew!" Both Mort and Krista jumped back as far as they could without actually letting go of the man, to try to stop the liquid splashing on their boots. But he had turned slightly towards Mort who now had a wet stain down one leg of his pants, as well as the spit on his shirt. Krista slapped her free hand over her mouth, squeezing her nose as the sour stench of rum with stomach acid as a mixer threatened to illicit a sympathetic vomit from her.
They dragged the man through the puddle, and to the watch house door. Krista fumbled with the huge keys. First there was the exterior door to the charge counter, then the heavy metal door to the cells. There were three cells. Mort guided them into the first cell. They lowered Angus to the floor in a kneeling position, so he was leaning over the bed and unlocked the handcuffs. He offered no resistance, and not even a comment. All the fight had gone out of him. He stayed there after they removed the cuffs, his head against the mattress, panting slightly. There was a simple metal toilet and a press-button tap that doubled as a water bubbler, so his most basic needs were catered for. If he threw up again, the mattress was covered in vinyl and the base was moulded concrete. Everything could just be hosed off. There was a call button on the wall so they could communicate with him from the station.
"There's a tap and a toilet there, Angus. Try to hit the toilet if you chuck up again."
Angus gave a low groan in reply as they walked out. Krista locked the cell door behind them.
Mort cursed all the way back out to the carpark.
"They don't pay us enough for this shit. Spat on then vomited on. Fucken old knob chomper. I even got spew in my boot. I'm going for a shower."
Krista realised that was a benefit about living so close to the station. On nights like these, there was always a shower and a clean uniform a matter of metres away.
Mort stormed across to the barracks without a further word.
17.
Simon Cornell cursed silently. The senior sergeant loathed living next door to the station. Sure, it was a great way of saving some dollars. They had two teenagers and hopefully both would go to university. They'd be a drain on their finances in the coming years.
He was such a light sleeper though, it only took a couple of raised voices or even the clunk of the watch house door to wake him up. Not like his wife. Karen slept like the dead. The only thing that would wake her up through the night was the kids. When they'd been babies, she'd rolled out of bed the moment one of them called out in the night. But drunks cursing on their back doorstep - nothing. It might take him a couple of hours to nod off again.
He wondered how the new girl was coping. An arrest on her first night. She would have had to go hands-on. He’d had negative reviews about her before she'd arrived. The training office had given him a heads-up. She had no confidence they said, she was easily frightened. He deliberately asked the roster clerk to put her on with Mort or John for the first couple of weeks. They were both field training officers, they could nurse her along and try to boost her skills and confidence. The station was too small to have an officer that couldn’t pull their own weight.
The bed squeaked slightly as he rolled onto his side, and pushed the blanket down. It was always so damn hot here.
They'd rented out their house in Auchenflower when they'd moved to Tannin Bay. He had every intention of getting back to Brisbane in the near future. He’d even settle for a lateral transfer if he couldn’t get the promotion he’d been aiming for. He was hoping that some service out in the boonies would get him extra brownie points, but after three years he’d had just about all he could take of this boring little town.
He knew his family liked it here. It had been easy for Karen to find work when they’d moved up. She was an accountant. Simon joked with her that all she needed was a calculator and a pencil.
His kids were easy going and had both made friends quickly. Brayden was a natural athlete and had turned his hand to watersports after seeing the bay. T
hey now had windsurfers, surf skis and half a dozen other things that floated jamming up the space under the house.
It was still a year and a half before Piper finished high school. Simon was doing his best to get back to Brisbane before then. He worked hard to make a name for himself, start projects that would show his initiative. He wasn't sure the staff appreciated it. It was the first time in his twenty-years of service that his colleagues had given him a nickname. He wasn't sure whether to be offended being called 'The Colonel'. He chose to pretend that it was just a pun on his surname rather than a comment on the way he ran the station.
18.
Krista hesitated, alone in the carpark. She had done a week in the City watch house in her training year. She knew they were meant to lodge any prisoner electronically, start as custody register for him, enter all his details, and ask him a standard health questions. Did Mort expect her to do that? She looked at the keys in her hands. Did that make her the watch house keeper?
She glanced across to the car. The door to the pod was open. She stuck her head inside. No vomit or other puddles. She closed up the door.
She looked around and spied a hose against the wall of the nearby barracks. She unwound it. It was clearly intended for exactly this purpose - it was long enough to reach the loading dock. She hosed away the man's vomit, making sure the chunky bits made it to the nearest garden bed where no one would step in them. The last things she hosed off was her boots.
She then coiled the hose away neatly where it belonged. She could see the lights on in the bathroom of the barracks, and heard the shower running. She hoped a hot shower may wash away some of Mort's anger. If she could keep being useful, that may help too.