1
Iwipe the droplet of sweat trickling down my cheek and turn the air con up. Not that it will make a difference. The thing has been busted for three months, and the men in charge keep promising to fix it, while the city keeps cutting costs around every corner. I let out a long, heavy breath letting my body and mind decompress as my lungs empty. The night is heavy with humidity, and I still have another five hours left on my shift.
Thankfully it hasn’t been a very busy night, which is both a blessing and a curse. The long nights drag out when all I do is cruise around my assigned area, watching for disturbances, speeding, illegal parking, and other traffic violations. These oftentimes are boring instances and usually result in nothing more than a few issued tickets, a barrage of belligerent insults to my person and my badge, and a shit tonne of paperwork to fill out. Other nights those situations mushroom suddenly and without warning from humdrum into a life-or-death situation.
Tonight, I have issued three tickets and given directions to a confused old lady who was too prideful to accept my offer to follow me to her home. I half wonder if I’ll see her on the news tomorrow. A part of me wants to go out and search for her, make sure she made it home alright. The other part of me wants to get a coffee and get some paperwork done. I decide on the selfish route.
I’m worn out and jaded, and the lights from the 24-hours petrol station call to me like a rockstar to the spotlight. I drive in slowly; it’s instinct as I scope the place out to make sure I’m not walking blindly into a robbery. The coast seems clear. I cut my engine and run a hand over my face before opening the door and stepping out into the muggy air. It hits me like a wet sponge, and I feel the instant pooling of sweat beneath my armpits. Maybe the air con was doing a better job than I thought.
The girl behind the counter is young and looks even more bored than I am, but she still greets me with a smile and gestures discreetly for me to come over.
Dammit.
I pull on my belt as I walk towards the counter.
“Evening, officer.” She doesn’t sound local.
“How can I help you?”
She gives me a lopsided smile, clearly entertained by our role reversal. I am not the one who’s meant to be helping her out. She points to the back of the shop where five teenagers stand huddled, talking too loudly about things boys their age know nothing about.
“They’ve been there for fifteen minutes,” the clerk says quietly. For the first time, I register the slight tension in her voice and strain behind her eyes.
“So?” I raise an eyebrow as my gaze sweeps over them. Worn-out jeans that hang below asses, fake gold chains and homemade tattoos crawling up skinny necks. This is the generation that will be the next world leaders. I shake my head thinking about Libby and Savannah, my two young daughters, and the kind of world I’ve brought them into. I didn’t want kids, not seeing what I did at work every single day, but Libby was a surprise. I did the right thing by Annie. Later, she insisted kids need siblings, and I just wanted to make her happy or shut her up. Maybe that’s the same thing.
“They’re loitering.” She shifts her weight around and chews on her bottom lip nervously. Her eyes fall to her hands that are entwined together.
I nod. I get it. The father in me bares his teeth and steps forward alongside the cop. I approach the youths; they look like a cartoon version of a gang, all pasted together by some dumb kid and his crayons.
“Can I help you?” I seem to be stuck on that line tonight. Five pairs of eyes rise all at once and greet me with contempt as they take a quick survey of the intruder.
“Fuck off, pork-chop,” the tallest one of the lot says, and the rest chuckle and high five as if they’d won some kind of Olympic event. It’s so fucking cliche I want to vomit.
I ignore his remark, just one of a thousand I’ve heard before. “Are you planning on buying anything?”
“That’s none of your business, pig.” The same kid answers; he must be their leader.
“If you’re not planning on buying anything, I suggest you move on.” I feel like a ‘rent a security guard.’
“And we suggest you mind your own fucking business. Free country an’ all, we can be anywhere we want.” The other four nod and agree with a few muted ‘yeahs’.
I don’t have time for shit. I walk back to the girl behind the counter while the boys cheer behind me telling me to ‘walk away’ and how ‘that’s right, I know when to fuck right off’. She looks even more nervous now that I’m coming back, and the boys are still at the back of the store leering at us.
“Are there any security cameras here?” I ask, and she nods showing me the feed behind the counter. Two cameras, one pointing at the clerk and till – obviously the owner has some trust issues. The other is a fisheye lens across the rest of the store.
“Can those get turned off?”
She eyes me for a second, then nods. “But only for five minutes or the owner will call and ask what’s going on.”
“I’ll only need two.”
She doesn’t question me, just flicks a switch somewhere and the TV monitors turn black.
I make my way to the back of the shop. The boys all look up at me, but they don’t see me as a threat, just a nuisance, and that’s their mistake. Thinking that just because I wear a uniform Ialwaysoperate within the law. Don’t get me wrong, 99% of the time I do, but tonight has been long and this week has been shit, and my patience has now run out.
I don’t flinch or falter or hesitate. I ball my hand into a tight fist, and it connects hard and fast with the kid’s jaw who kept mouthing off to me. He stumbles back and wails, at the same time, his eyes grow large and his lanky frame wobbles in an epileptic dance as he smashes against the fridge and sinks to his ass as if his bones have all melted and all he is, is flaccid empty skin.
The other boys all look on in disbelief. One covers his gaping mouth, the others openly staring with saucer-sized eyes. One of them tries to be brave. “What the fuck, man? You’re not meant to do that.”