 
# Corrupt

# By Russell Judd

# Copyright 2014 Russell Judd

# Smashwords Edition

# Smashwords Edition, License Notes

## This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy.

## Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedicated to my loving wife
Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

About the Author

Connect with the Author
Chapter One

A deep muffled voice explodes into the room, its power shaking my entire body, waking me up from my sleep. Panic wraps its bony fingers around my heart trying to force every last drop of adrenaline into my veins. My heart beats faster and faster as this foreign sound echoes in and around my skull.

I can feel an unnatural pressure on my chest, my eyes dart around but I can't see this illusive being that is trying to crush my every breath.

With every shallow exhalation I can see a cool mist rising up into the air and slowly disappearing. I think to myself how unusual for a warm summer's night. This slight distraction allows me to take a valuable moment and pause for a second. "Focus on your breathing Nate, slow it down," I say under my breath. I can still see the cool mist of air with each breath, "What is happening?"

Instantly I'm answered by the same deep muffled voice but this time its clearer. "Don't you fucken move," it says. Each word spoken with a degree of calmness and threatening confidence. As these words are unwillingly forced into my ear drum I can feel the cool menacing breath of this creature.

Of course I try and move but my body refuses to respond and my eyes strain around the room to find this alien presence. All I can see is the ominous red glow of my alarm clock and the outline of my door. I try to focus on the glow but the numbers blur together and become fuzzy the more I concentrate. My mind screams and commands my body to move but fear and frustration envelopes me as I realise that my body's insubordination is going to leave me at the mercy of this being.

Again the deep muffled voice reverberates through my head, the intense volume silences my thoughts. "I told you not to fucken move!"

With the lack of an ultimatum given I again send every muscle the message that it's time to move. But nothing happens. "Fuck this." The temperature plummets further, I can feel the coldness creeping closer and closer, and realise that I'm all alone. My only ally, the light, made its escape long before the darkness came. My heart is now trying to force its way out of my rib cage and with every heart beat adrenaline is being forced around my body. I can feel my muscles starting to come to life as I am overcome with a tingling sensation, finally my body responds, my fists clench and my chest tightens.

With one explosive movement my body erupts from its paralysis and I sit up to confront this presence. But see nothing and realise I am alone.

When I look around the room and everything is how I left it. The bedroom door is still shut, the wardrobe is still hiding my cluttered mess, my prized possession a Gibson Les Paul Gold top is proudly sitting in the corner and the French doors are closed. There is nothing to suggest that anyone else has been in the room.

I breathe a sigh of relief when a shiver crawls up my spine, my sweat has turned from warm comfort into a cold blanket. Suddenly this uneasy feeling is interrupted by a noise from the street piercing through the thin window. Shuffling across the bed, I place my feet on the carpet and hope that my legs have regained their strength. Randomly, memories come flooding back of the countless times my sister would warmly criticise my so called 'chicken legs'. I'd be the first to admit they are not the most spectacular legs but at least I could reciprocate the jibe as she also inherited a sturdy pair of tooth picks.

The soft carpet beneath my feet steadies me and I squeeze the wool fibres between my toes. My muscles fire in unison as I stand and I start to analyse what just took place.

"There's no way that voice came from outside". Curious, I open and slam the window shut to reassure myself before I turn around to get back into bed. I glance at the alarm clock and I can see its red glow glaring at me. I'm sure it's getting some kind of sadistic satisfaction in reminding me that it's only 2am. As I lie there looking at the ceiling I release a heavy sigh, another night of broken sleep I think to myself. A sudden feeling of disappoint takes over when it becomes apparent that I only have a couple of hours of solace before I have to face the world and her wretched inhabitants once again, and deal with their shit.

Being a cop does have its benefits but after ten years the negatives are finally starting to distort the positives.
Chapter Two

I swear I only just closed my eyes when I'm woken by a different sound. This time it's a softly strummed six string acoustic guitar followed by a soft voice, "Hello......I've waited here for you, ever long". I've thought on a few occasions that it is slightly creepy waking up to these lyrics, but I know there's nothing creepy or voyeuristic about Dave Grohl. Well I hope not, apparently he's the nicest guy in rock and roll.

As I drag myself out of bed I find that the sun is still not up yet. The cowardly light that left me this morning is still afraid to return. I quickly put on a hoody, track pants and a beanie and make my way out the front door. This morning I leave my headphones on the dresser as I don't feel like listening to any music as I walk to work. I'm still on edge after this morning's experience and still can't figure out if it was real or not. It sure felt real enough.

As I walk down my street I stop for a moment to soak in how peaceful Wellington looks at this time in the morning. The amber glow of the street lights interrupt the darkness draped over the nation's capital as she stretches out from the rolling hills and into the sea. Wellington is advertised with a somewhat romantic innuendo but unfortunately she has a sinister side, which I've become all too familiar with. The streets are always scarce of people at this time in the morning. The only ones usually out and about are rubbish trucks and the undesirables who lurk in the shadows.

I sometimes wish that I would fall victim to one of these, an undesirable that is, not a rubbish truck. Mind you those rubbish truck drivers can be just as dangerous. Especially as most of them seem to be colour blind or don't understand the concept of a red light.

I rehearse the scenario over in my mind, thinking about how I would react as a figure emerges from the shadows and stands in my path.

A figure stands in front of me and a mumbled slur of words pour out. "Oi, Give me your wallet!" We both pause for a moment, of course I have a witty comment prepared in rebuttal but I know it will be lost on this dim-witted muppet, so a stern "get fucked" is all they are afforded. Most would shy away from this, cross the road, yell out and make noise or simply ring the police. But I keep walking towards the figure, my eyes locked with his.

With an outstretched right arm the figure lunges at me in an effort to grab my back pack. If the figure came at me with their left arm I'd be screwed, but it's always with their right. Anticipating this my right hand comes up and meets their wrist. I rotate my hand and grip their forearm tightly. At the same time I pull him towards me which makes him lose his balance. Then with a crushing strike I push through their elbow joint with my left hand. The chilling crack of the joint echoes across the street and a scream escapes from the vagrant's mouth. I now lower my centre of gravity, twist his forearm further and pull his shoulder down. Effortlessly the figure falls to the ground where it remains a broken demoralised pile of worn clothing and failure.

Panting heavily I scan the street to see who has witnessed this assault but I can't see anyone. An old saying that has always stuck with me and has remained true on more than one occasion rings through my thoughts, "remember, there's always someone watching".

Pulling my hood over my head the scene melts into darkness as I walk away.

As I get to the Wellington Central Police Station I casually stroll through the main doors and up to the elevator. I always get confused stares from staff as I walk into the station, I suppose it doesn't help that I'm wearing my 'I can't be bothered attire'. I'm pretty sure the night shift crew on the front counter think I am a member of the public and expect me to make some lame complaint or entertain them with the dramas of my life. It's not till they recognise my face do I feel their sense of relief when they realise that I'm not going to be contributing to their stack of paper work.

It takes several swipes for my piece of shit swipe card to register. Finally when I get the green light I swing the door open, off for a hot shower and a shave, the shit can wait.
Chapter Three

Sitting in a dull lit room I wait for the other members of our section to arrive for our morning briefing. Slowly the rest of the crew sombrely sift in. One by one they take a seat. Everyone makes a reasonable effort to be there before the supervisors. Being late guarantees the limelight and the promise of some shit file from the previous shift.

Today isn't looking too bad for numbers, two sergeants, a senior sergeant in charge of the cells and eight constables on the street. I try not to think about what the day might entail as I wouldn't want to jinx the shift by saying the 'q' word or even mention anything about a two week old dead body.

After the top order waltzes in and the usual pleasantries are exchanged, each one takes their respective seat at the front of the room. Not too far behind them is the grouchy Intel troll who sits down and begins her spiel. Right on cue I can sense the team beginning to switch off. My eyes glaze over and I wonder if anyone else has noticed that while she is sitting there you can see up her skirt. This isn't just a one off either, without fail every morning she will sit in front of everyone wearing a short skirt with her legs open just that fraction too far. You can't see much, well nothing at all really, but unfortunately it's enough to get the imagination stirring. A cheeky smirk comes across my face as I begin to recall the scene from 'Old School' when Will Ferrall's character is in marriage counselling and he reveals his curiosity about what kind of panties a particular waitress may or may not be wearing. I don't really want to be thinking about what colour or type of underpants the intel analyst might be wearing. It does seem inappropriate that I'm focusing on the undergarments of the analyst rather than the operational matters she is briefing us on, but as I have no self-control and my mind is a twisted labyrinth of heathenism, I'd like to think she was wearing something that I don't even know about.

Eventually the last Intel slide appears and it's usually the picture of some ugly losers' mug, which prompts everyone to switch back on.

Sergeant Bryce Clinton starts by reading out the units for the shift.

"KLI5 James and Sam", no surprises there. These two are like an old married couple, they always seem to be bickering about something. I'm sure the tension between the two results from bedroom arguments about who is going to be the big spoon.

"JVI5, Shaun and Amanda", I'm certain that these two are only working together so that Amanda can report back to 'The Senior' every little detail about how Shaun is performing. My suspicions have been confirmed on more than one occasion when I've seen Shaun being summonsed to 'The Seniors' office and grilled about trivial matters that only Amanda would have been witness too. It also doesn't help that Amanda and Sergeant Clinton have been in a relationship for some time and because of this, he's wrapped around 'The Seniors' little finger. It's a crock of shit if you ask me, but I get the feeling that as long as these two do as 'The Senior' wants then no doubt they will remain on section together.

"WNI5 Chris and Jayden" both these guys are good value but they may as well be the section informants. We went to Police College together, so I was a bit more than let down when I heard that these two were the devoted minions of 'The Senior'.

"And finally WNI52, Mike and Nate" I think by now it's become quite obvious that there is a definite divide in this section, which can only make for a very uncomfortable working environment.

Mike and I have been working together for a couple of years now. We are pretty good mates and I don't trust anyone more than I trust him. We've saved each other's skin on more than one occasion be that from offenders or from other police officers.

He's a genuine smart arse / prankster, and I'm sure he only gets away with it because he's a cheeky darky, but a lovable one. However on occasion this incomparable talent of his is responsible for his fall out with the bosses on a regularly basis. This of course means I fall out with them as well. Which is also how I found myself doing a stint on traffic for six months.

The next Sergeant to address us is the one and only Trent Anderson. He is undoubtedly a very intelligent police officer and knows the job thoroughly. However, he can come across as an asshole and seems to strut around like a peacock with a 'my dick is bigger than your dick attitude'. He quickly passes on any administrative issues, no big dramas here, just the usual reminders about keeping annual leave down, submitting timesheets, doing bail checks, giving out tickets, stopping vehicles, making sure we log in with communications when we are doing directed patrols, and crime prevention. After pausing to take a breath, he continues, make sure you get in any prosecution files due before days off, If you are maintaining a victim intervention plan keep on top of that and record the contact you do have with any other victims in the appropriate manner, and make sure you use your mobility devices when you can. Basically he goes on to say that if it can be measured as a statistic then it is important. The sarcasm in his voice is unmistakable. I know what he's getting at and it's not a good look when the senior members are just as disillusioned as the junior staff. But the constant flow of shit that projects from Police National Headquarters to the front line will crush the ideals that any recruit had when they first joined. Part of the problem is we have self-absorbed crusty old farts at the top who are so far disconnected from modern day policing, procreating with pencil pushing civilians who are only concerned about statistics and have no idea about policing, resulting in the birth of some fucked up policy and procedure. I can feel my temperature rise as I begin to think about the commissioner's new prevention first policy roll out. There is nothing new about prevention first, it's always been around, it was just known previously as common sense. But if they want us to wrap people in cotton wool and tuck them in at the end of every shift, so be it. This type of nurturing will only create a society that becomes reliant on the state to sort out their problems. Forget about letting people learn from their mistakes and being independent.

Fuck, it's so typical that everything gets left for general duties staff. It's surprising that we even have time to attend to what our actual core business is, emergency response, which none of the above seems to be.

Now to 'The Senior', Senior Sergeant Karen Michaels takes the podium. What can I say about Karen Michaels, apart from the fact that the whole section gravitates around her. Karen can either be a very powerful ally or a very powerful enemy, people seem to either love her or hate her. I've seen too many of my friends have their aspirations thwarted because she did not feel that they were ready to move on or to be more accurate, she wasn't ready for them to progress.

Karen begins to address the section and she passes on irrelevant gripes from the brass higher up. This is when my eyes glaze over and I start to think about that dream and not knowing what to make of it.

As she is finishing up I'm reminded that I better pay homage to 'The Senior' with a bag of lollies or a fresh cup of coffee before I leave the station. At least this might guarantee my position within the circle of trust or at least somewhere near it for this rotation.

As I slumped forward in my chair, the sound of a familiar voice pulls me back into reality. I turn to where the sound is coming from and see Mike's mouth moving, "You awake bro?"

I shake it off and stand up, "yep, you got a Taser?" I ask in the hope that he is a bit more organised than I am.

"Already got it brother" he replies while swinging the keys around his index finger, "let's go electrify someone's day" he says with a laugh.

As if on cue the radio comes to life with the dispatcher's piercing nasally voice.

" _WNI52 from Comms"_ Mike answers in his stern radio voice stating that we are available "10-3 central, go ahead".

The dispatcher replies _"Go to 11 Savage Crescent, we've had a No Speech Emergency Call come from the address, a Location of Interest search on the address shows it's linked to Tamara Milson, she is flagged for previous Family Violence, drug user and assaults police, the last family violence incident involved her partner Dion Hohepa, he is on current active charges for assaulting her and is bailed to another address, he's got bail conditions to reside at 32 Linton Street and not to offer violence to Tamara Milson"._

"Roger that comms, we're 10-2" Mike acknowledges her transmission and lets her know that we are on our way.

Mikes lead foot ensures that the trip there doesn't take long. On arrival we cautiously approach the address and listen for anything out of the ordinary. I have the taser drawn and concealed behind my leg, well as much as I can conceal a giant yellow brick.

As we are walking up the drive way Mike lets the dispatcher know we have arrived by giving code for arrival which is 10-7.

She acknowledges this and asks for an early situation report.

I flank the door and knock loudly while Mike is stacked up behind me watching our rear.

No one comes to the door. My heart is racing, we can only assume the worst has happened, I pause for a moment, again I knock loudly accompanied with "It's the police!"

I can hear shuffling come from behind the door, again I knock and yell.

"It's the police, if you don't come and open the door we will force entry"

I can see a small silhouette through the glass panel reaching up to undo the lock, slowly the door opens and a small boy peers out through the gap.

"Hey buddy, is your mum home?" I gently ask. He doesn't say anything but I can see that his eyes are welled up, I wonder what he has seen this morning. "You alright mate, who's at home with you?" the young boy just looks at me and I can see the uncertainty in his eyes. His mouth opens and words begin to form "Mom" he yells, there's a pause for a moment, "Mom" he yells out again "the Pig Shits are here!!"

I look back at Mike, "You got to be fucken kidding me, and did he just say what I thought he said?"

Mike laughs "the little bastard, he looked no more than 10 years of age"

He runs off, as who I can only assume is his mother, opens the door, "don't use those fucken words you little shit" she hurls at him.

"That wasn't exactly called for was it?" I question the female.

"I fucken dealt with it alright" she hisses back at me. No wonder the little shit has a foul mouth with her as a role mother.

I take a moment to assess this female who is standing in front of me in her pyjamas while Mike gives a sit rep to the dispatcher stating that we are speaking to Tamara and there are now issues.

Her appearance suggests that she has lived a hard life, long black raggedy hair, crappy homemade tattoos, and gaunt features. She looks as if she has just climbed her way out of a crypt. It's quite sad really, as she is only a few years older than me.

"Tamara?" I query this harsh looking stranger standing in front of me.

"What do you want" she replies as if she's surprised and almost disgusted to see us.

"Just here for a casual visit and a cup of tea" I tease. She looks at me unimpressed.

"We're here because someone from this address has called the police, asked for help and then hung up".

"Nah, just fuck off" Tamara replies.

"Did you call" I ask knowing that the question is rhetorical but I'm interested in what she might say.

"Just fuck off, you're not needed now" she snares.

"What do you mean we are not needed now, tell me what happened" I reply, trying to sound as if I genuinely care.

"Nothing happened, you guys are fucken useless, go away"

"Well, what has happened that caused you to ring police? Was Dion here?" I ask.

She looks at me defiantly, she knows that we are assuming the worst so she decides to give us some information about why we were called "It was just an argument with my daughter, everything is fine, nothing happened".

"Okay, because you said that you have had an argument with your daughter we have to complete a family violence report about what has happened and who was involved" I reply.

Tamara stares at me with a look of discontent, she knows all too well exactly what we need to do. There has been over 50 recorded family violence incidents involving her. In all reality I could just give her the report to fill out herself and get her to drop it off at the station before the end of the shift.

"Can you get your daughter so that we can make sure she is okay?"

"Nah she left" Tamara says in an almost saddened voice.

"Do we need to come into the house and check if she's in there"' I threaten.

"No, you're not coming in here" she exclaims.

"Do I really need to remind you that we have a power of entry to make sure everyone is okay Tamara?"

"For fuck sake" she says "If you fucken have too, come in".

The house is exactly what I've come to expect from one of our repeat customers an untidy, smelly house that is shown no respect. Each room reveals a new stench that assaults the senses and surprisingly reveals that Tamara is telling the truth.

"Okay, Tamara thanks for your time, we'll get out of your hair now and leave you to your day" I sarcastically say.

Begrudgingly she thanks us, and we walk back to the patrol car.

Mike pipes up "I can't be arsed driving" and throws the keys in my direction.

Once out of ear shot and inside the car the usual bagging of our customer begins.

"Fuck, I don't know how many times I've dealt with this woman, I get so sick of people ringing us because they can't control their fucken children or maintain a normal adult relationship" Mike exclaims.

"I just wanted to tell her not to ring us next time if she is just going to tell us to fuck off as soon we arrive" I reply.

"The maggot has caused us at least 30 minutes of paper work and now we are going to need to speak with her daughter" Mike says with disgust.

I'm focusing on reversing down the drive way while Mike continues to vents his frustration.

"Don't you mean it's caused you another 30mins of paper work" I say with a grin, in an effort to wind him up further.

"Piss off" he retorts while tapping the number on his shoulder, inferring that he is more senior to me, therefore it's my job to complete the report.

"Sweet as, but you got the next one" I secretly hope is some shitty enquire file something that just hangs around and doesn't quite go away.

Mike picks up the radio letting the dispatcher know how to result the job and that we are available "Comms from WNI52, K-6 that thanks and we're 10-3"

Back at the station I sit down to complete the report.

As I start reading the past family violence occurrences, I wonder why a person would allow themselves to be abused constantly by another. She comes across as a hard person, but the occurrences say otherwise. The first recorded incidents tell the tale of an innocent young girl who has consistently witnessed her father physically and psychologically abuse her mother. I suppose she's just carrying on the good example that her parents set down for her. The sad thing is that she acts the exact same way that her parents acted in front of her. Unfortunately this cycle will just continue and her children will see this dysfunctional behaviour as normal and thus I will be kept in a job, which I'm not sure is a good thing.

I hate stats, but the fact that Police attend nearly 200 family violence incidents in a day, that's one every seven minutes can't be ignored. Fifty percent of all murders each year result from a family violence incident. No matter what new policy the police hierarchy put in place, it will never change the culture that is engrained in our society. It's at these moments that I remember that we will always be the ambulance at the bottom of the cliff and we will never be able to prevent it.

Randomly, I remember a question that I was asked by one of the local cops when I was along for work experience before joining the police. He just simply asked "Why don't you get into I.T"

Why didn't I quiz that cop further about his question? He obviously asked it for a reason. My answer to him was simply I didn't know. Well I did know, but I was never big on computers. Still, at that moment in my life it would have been the perfect time to start some form of study. I just didn't know what to pursue. I definitely had ideas and had put plenty of thought into the matter, but I just couldn't find anything that really got me excited. Maybe I should have just picked something to see where that took me. I was enjoying my unemployment too much to not really care. I rationalised this with the mind-set that I'm going to spend the rest of my life working so I may as well savour this while I can.

As I am putting the last touches on the family violence report, the dispatchers piercing nasally voice slices through my ear.
Chapter Four

A cool breeze blows through his long messy black hair sending a chill down his neck, his hands are covered in a web of dark green tattoos that are now almost undefinable. His fingers are decorated with various chrome rings of skulls that are dressed with fake gems. Just like a territorial animal the scars that are scattered across his forearms and face are testament to his lifestyle. His diet of beer and all things deep fried have somehow preserved his body giving him a somewhat immortal quality. At the very least he is an example of how the human body can adapt and overcome adversity. His mouth twitches as his unkempt facial hair tickles the edge of his lips. Dressed in black he looks a little out of place in this neighbourhood, but these days people are too caught up in their own world to worry about others.

He's been walking around this neighbourhood for a good hour knocking on people's doors, going through his routine telling the occupants that he is an arborist looking for work.

Unknowingly to the occupants he has something more sinister in mind.

He walks up a drive way rehearsing his speech ensuring he is ready with an explanation for when he is confronted by someone. This particular property is surrounded by a six foot high fence and is well hidden from the street. Making it an attractive target.

He walks up to the front door and with his large heavy fist he knocks. Even though this isn't the first time he's put on this charade he can feel his adrenaline levels rise. He peers through the window into the front room which appears to be empty.

He scans the room and spots his opportunity to get inside, a half open window at the rear of the house has been unwittingly left open there for him.

While walking around the back of the house he slips a dark glove onto each hand, he steps up onto the deck at the rear of the house and surveys the point of entry. On further inspection he can see that the latches can be easily removed allowing the window to be opened up, enough for him to fit through.

He silently takes hold of the latches and carefully undoes each one. With both hands he pulls the window out as far as it can go, he pauses for a moment, listening to his surroundings, and did anyone see him walk up the drive way he wonders. Sweat begins to form on his upper lip and his palms are beginning to fill his gloves with moisture. He crouches down under the window and reassures himself that no one has seen him. Carefully he places a hand on either side of the frame and lifts himself up onto the window sill.

Perched on the window sill his heart skips a beat when the sound of running water echoes through the room. Shit someone is in the shower he mumbles to himself.

Frozen in the window, his mind tells him he needs to make a decision. Unconsciously he leans forward slightly and gravity makes the decision for him. He manages to clumsily regain his balance and he lowers himself from the window sill.

A female's voice can be heard singing from where he assumes the shower would be, but he can't quite make out the lyrics. He begins to wonder what she looks like standing in the shower naked, relaxing under the hot water, running over every curve of her body.

A large metallic thud slams through the kitchen as the pipes shudder as the water is turned off. He quickly scans the room looking for the usual items of interest, cash, tablets, cell phones, handbags, and medication, anything that can be disposed of with ease. Sitting on the kitchen bench top are a set of keys along with a wallet and a cell phone. His feet move quickly and he quietly shuffles over to the bench, his hands fumble with the cell phone and wallet as he stuffs them into his pants. A door opens behind him and standing before him is a lady wrapped in a white towel and her hair dripping wet. They both stare each other in the eyes momentarily frozen in each other's disbelief. Unexpectedly a shrill scream breaks their standoff. The wooden floor boards flex under his weight as he runs for the open window his only escape. Peculiarly she runs in the same direction, thinking she is trying to thwart his way out. He thrusts his arms out and his palms slam into her petite torso propelling her into the nearby china cabinet. The sound of the air being forced out of her body makes him cringe for a moment. The loud thump is followed by the smashing of glass. He pauses and looks at her for the shortest of moments only to see her body slump lifeless on the ground.

He leaps out of the window and onto the deck, there's no point trying to be cautious now, he needs to put as much distance in between himself and this house as he can. Frantically he tears at his glow vest trying to pull it off, but his fingers are fumbling with the zipper. The thick gloves coupled with the adrenaline have now swollen each one of his fingers to feel at least twice their normal size.

His feet stumble around each other, nearly contributing to him collapsing onto the drive way from the deck. Finally his vest is off and is being violently stuffed it into one of his pockets. Now that he doesn't have that to worry about that his feet begin to concentrate and start to follow one another. As he exits the drive way he sees a woman on her phone looking straight at him, no doubt she's talking to the police. In the distance he can hear the unmistakeable sound of a Holden V6 hitting red line. That damn women must have seen him walk into the property because they sound close, he thinks to himself. He runs down the street and makes a sharp left cutting through a property, a patrol car flies past him and comes to a screeching halt. It looks like a station wagon, no doubt a dog handler. His legs are screaming at him for a moment of rest, but he knows he will need to keep moving. He jumps the rear fence, trying to make the track for the dog as difficult as he can. He's not sure where he's going but he's not lingering around here.
Chapter Five

The excitement rushes through my body as we are dispatched to a suspicious male seen walking onto a property. Slowly more detail comes through as the dispatcher probes the informant for more information.

Typically, this job comes in not long after Mike decides that it's time for his daily crap. Seconds later he rushes out of the toilet, his vest half done up and radio bouncing along the ground, "Did it pinch off clean?" I ask half expecting to see toilet paper trailing behind him.

"What'd I miss?" he asks as we run out of the door to the car. "At this stage all we know is that a male has been seen walking up the drive way of the informants neighbour's property and has now disappeared out of view", I reply.

The description flows effortlessly over the radio, " _the informant describes the suspect as a male Maori, 6 foot, black jeans and wearing a yellow high visibility vest"_.

The dispatcher directs us to a cordon and right on cue the duty dog handler begins to dominate the radio. Fortunately he is not far from the go to address. Sometimes it's hard to tell if it's the dog or the handler barking over the radio, but I manage to decipher that he's going straight in.

We're coming from the central station so we'll have to negotiate the afternoon traffic. Unfortunately this always seems to bring the worst out in me. If I'm working with someone new I tend to apologise in advance for the multitude of expletives that they about to bear witness to. It just really pisses me off when drivers fail to understand what is expected of them when red and blue flashing lights accompanied with the varying tones of a siren appear behind them.

Thankfully Mike is driving so I can focus on the radio along with trying to figure out the best way to our cordon. Strangely enough the department has embraced technology and forked out for a smart phone and Ipad each. Obviously there is a catch...no more money for a pay rise! However I do find punching the street into google maps a shit load easier than trying to read a map book while the car is being thrown in and out of the traffic. On more than one occasion I've had to take a moment to let my stomach reposition itself and or re swallow my lunch.

The radio comes to life again and the dispatcher gives an update.

" _All units we have received a phone call from the go to address. The victim has stated that the male previously described has entered through an open window at the back of the house. The victim disturbed the male who was in the kitchen, as he was trying to leave he has assaulted her. She has possibly been knocked unconscious from the assault and does not know his direction of travel. Ambulance has been called and is on their way to the safe forward point."_

I let the dispatcher know that we are 10-7 at our cordon point and cheekily ask if she can repeat the description of the offender. It's not unusual for a dispatcher to be asked several times by attending units to repeat the description or the go to address.

I can sense the irritation from the tone in her voice when she begins to repeat the description.

As we begin to assess our cordon point, delta gives us an update. He's got a track and is heading in a southerly direction, I look at the map on the Ipad and looks like we are in the right spot to intercept the offender, that's if we haven't already missed him. By the sounds of it the offender has gone into the property and has started jumping fences.

We both jump out of the car. I turn the radio down and Mike kills the engine.

I again bring up our location on the Ipad "Shit, it looks like he could pop out between here and the other end of the street."

I look at Mike and I know he is thinking the same.

"Sweet, I'll head down to the end of the street in case he comes out there" Mike exclaims as he jumps back into the driver's seat and takes off down the street.

I let the dispatcher know that we have split up and that she may need to reshuffle the cordons in an effort to try and pin this guy down.

I decide to conceal my painfully obvious blue uniform and look for a good position where I can still see the length of the street but remain somewhat hidden. I find a small amount of concealment behind some trees and keep an eye out for this guy.

It's at times like these that the radio always seems to go eerily quiet. I reach up to the transmitter and quickly depress the button. A moment later I hear the transmission come through on my ear piece, but it isn't the sound that I wanted to hear, it's a long muted deafening tone. Either I'm in a dead spot or the fucken battery is dead.

As I'm scanning the area a male sheepishly emerges from behind a fence about twenty metres in front of me. He walks out onto the foot path and pauses, he looks left, then looks right. I can tell the exact moment when he sees Mike's patrol car at the intersection. His entire body freezes for a second. I can see the muscles in his face contort into a look of fear and uncertainty as he contemplates his next move.

The male matches the description given earlier however he is not wearing the glow vest. As he turns right to walk away from the patrol car I can see what looks to be a small amount yellow material hanging out of his pocket. I can feel the adrenaline being emptied into my system as I realise that this is our boy. I again depress the button on my handset to alert the dispatcher and Mike, but again all I get is that long muted tone. For fuck sake I mutter to myself.

The male crosses the street and walks into the property adjacent to where I'm hiding,

I give him a second then walk out from my concealment and try my radio again, as soon as I depress the button I can hear my transmission through my ear piece, thank fuck it's working I think to myself.

Trying to hide the excitement and nervousness in my voice I give a quick sit rep "Comms from WNI52, the male has walked onto the street and disappeared up a driveway. I'm going to need some more units here now!"

Suddenly the male walks out of the property and is standing about three metres in front of me. Frozen we stare at each other as I don't think he was expecting to see me there.

With a dominating tone I assertively order the male "Stay where you are, you're under arrest!"

He just looks at me with a somewhat confused look on his face, but quickly turns to defiance. He's taller than me, quite solid build and by that I mean he has a well groomed beer gut. I'd imagine the extent of his physical prowess would be no more than getting up off the couch to get a beer or beat a family member.

We both anticipate the oncoming physical altercation, if it comes to share fitness I'll win and he knows it.

I can hear tyres losing traction on gravel as Mike and the patrol car winds up with Mike launching it towards us.

He knows it won't take long before he is outnumbered and I can see the fear and uncertainty in his eyes. Suddenly he erupts from our standoff, with each footstep I can feel the concrete shudder under his weight as he runs towards me.

He's almost right on top of me in a couple of steps, my left hand goes straight for my pepper spray but I fumble with the clip. Even if I could get it out in time the training manual says he's too close, but this is real life.

With his arms outstretched he attempts to push me out of his way. I manage to grab one of his arms and slightly pull him off balance. He stumbles and we both fall to the ground.

I quickly get back to my feet. "I told you, you are under arrest, do not move and stay on the ground!"

By this time I've got my pepper spray, as his right hand dives into his pocket.

"I told you not to fucken move!" he removes his hand from his pocket and places his right hand in his left. It's obvious he's trying to hide something. A quick movement of his hands reveals that he has opened a pocket knife and I find a cold steel blade pointing at me.

Not needing any more encouragement, I depress the button on the spray, the stream shoots out and hits him in the side of the face. It's not the best of aimed shots but it's a start.

He tries to block the spray by bringing his hands up to cover his face and in the process almost embeds the knife into his cheek. Luckily he didn't stab himself, this would have made my job a little easier but the blade misses his face. He rolls to his right and pushes himself up off the ground. I take the opportunity to keep him off balance and with a stiff kick I thrust my boot into his left rib cage. This sends him over on to his side and the momentum carries him onto his arse. He looks up at me in protest, what did he really expect? He's got a knife.

He sits forward again and attempts to get up, he's still holding the knife in his hand and for his incompliance he gets the rest of the canister of pepper spray emptied in his face. But this doesn't have the desired effect, it's very likely he's built up a resistance to the spray. It's not uncommon as it sounds, all it really confirms is the type of pedigree this piece of shit is.

Again, with the knife in hand, he leans forward, gets onto his knees and awkwardly stands up. I move to the right and get out of his line of sight. Quickly I run through my tactical options, no spray left, got a shitty asp and a set of cuffs. Shit a taser would be good right about now, but Mike has it. A single 9mm glock round would end this quick enough but that's neatly secured in the patrol car.

With an explosion of energy he thrusts his arm out and lunges towards me. I can feel the anger and hate he is channelling through his menacing knife. This all feels as if it's happening in slow motion. I try to avoid his attack but it slices through the left hand side of my vest. A little lower and it would have found its soft fleshy target and become embedded deep in my hip.

He looks up at me, sweat is beading on his forehead, as our eyes meet I wonder if he really knows what he's just done?

Knowing that I need to end this quickly, I grab his wrist with my left hand and grip as tight as I can. I twist my torso round to the right while raising my right arm back and with a closed fist come crashing down on the left side of his jaw. As my fist impacts with his jaw, a nauseating cracking sound fills the air. His eyes widen under the pressure and his body goes limp and he drops to the ground.

Pain shoots through my right wrist and into my elbow. The words of an old Senior Sergeant once told to me, come to mind "always use an open palm, that way you can just say you fell and you won't risk breaking your wrist on the offenders face."

Shit, I wonder if my wrist is broken I think to myself.

The male is slumped on the ground, his unconscious body is still griping the knife intently. I place my boot on his hand and twist as if I'm putting out a cigarette. The knife finally comes free from his steely grip and I kick it away.

In a moment of rage I give him another kick to the ribs, air exits his body as his lungs are compressed by my boot.

I look up to see Mike running towards me, he drops down onto the back of the offender and begins grinding his knee into him. He grabs an arm and places a cuff on one wrist and then grabs the other arm and does the same.

The male is still out cold, he doesn't even flinch as the cuffs go on or when he had Mike's knee cap buried in his back. Mike rolls him onto his side in an attempt to put him in the recovery position, to clear his airway and ensure he still has a pulse. We can both hear shallow breathes and we give each other a look of relief. The silence is broken by Mike's voice on the radio asking for an ambulance. I didn't do that much damage did I? I look at the guys face and he is still out to it.

I decide to sit on the ground, the adrenaline begins to wear off and is soon replaced with a feeling of nausea. I look down at my hand and its shaking like a leaf. I feel an unusual coldness as the breeze picks up. My hand is guided by this feeling, when my fingers reach for the area of coldness, this feeling is quickly replaced by a sharp stinging sensation as I discover an open wound. I look down to wear the knife defiantly penetrated my vest and find my blood soaked fingers. I can feel the shock beginning to overcome the nausea. It's not often that I get to see my blood, it's normally someone else who inconsiderately bleeds on me.

I can feel my face turning white, my mouth begins to fill with saliva, and my body temperature has just increased. Shit, I know what's coming next. I lie down on the soft cool grass. I should be helping Mike but I figure I'm helping by not vomiting all over him and the offender.

I try and focus on something else when my heart sinks a little as it dawns on me, shit this ass hole has caused me quite a bit of paper work and he's ruined my fucken vest.

I shut my eyes momentarily enjoying this somewhat calmness after the storm.

I can hear Mike's muffled voice yelling out my name when suddenly I'm violently shaken back into reality. All I can see are bright lights glaring down on me. It takes a moment for me to realise that I'm in the back of an ambulance with a couple of paramedics feverishly cutting off my vest and top. My brain is telling me someone is putting a shit load of pressure on the wound and it's hurting like hell. My whole body tenses which only intensifies the pain. An unfamiliar voice keeps telling me to relax. "You fucken relax" I spurt out, I know this doesn't help the situation, but have they just been stabbed!

Suddenly I can feel a cool tingling sensation enter my arm as one of the paramedics administers something. It's not long before the pain starts to dull and my body relaxes. It's now that I know it must be quite serious, I haven't even dared to look at the damage the knife has inflicted. I couldn't watch my tattoo being done and that was consensual, I think I'll wait for the scar.
Chapter Six

Suddenly my ears are filled with a hazy feedback, my eyes react and open to find a dark figure looming over me. This figure doesn't look human, far too square, a silhouette almost reminiscent of the old batman cartoons. I can't see its eyes but I can feel it looking deep into me. It effortlessly glides closer towards me, my brain is now rattling with that feedback. I try and move my hands to shield my ears from this sound, but they don't respond Shit not again. What is this that plagues my dreams? Hesitantly I visually scan what I think is this being's face and look for some eyes to make contact with, but there aren't any. I shut my eyes hoping that I can ignore this, but I can't. Unexpectedly a light shines from where this figure's mouth should be. The feedback is sliced by a shrill scream, a limb begins to materialise and reach out for me, and its long fingers pointing at me just inches away from my face. Light expands into the room filling every void and in a second the figure is gone and the room is flooded with a fluorescent hum.

Out of nowhere a nurse is standing in front of me. Her blonde hair reflects the light giving her a somewhat angelic quality. Beads of sweat have formed on my forehead. I sit forward and suddenly I remember why I am here as a sharp pain shoots through my torso. "Careful" she exclaims, "You've just come out of surgery, you know you're a lucky man". Is that because you're my nurse I think to myself, I smile at her, "Maybe I should get someone to buy me a lotto ticket" I sarcastically reply. She goes through her hourly routine, "How is the pain?" she asks, "Would you like something for it?"

"Sure" I say making sure I move causing some self-inflicted pain which is reflected in the expression of discomfort on my face. I wonder if she actually cares how the pain is. The last time I said no they almost seemed disappointed, they are pretty much legitimised drug dealers. It's not uncommon for medical professionals to get caught up in what they give out. After making sure everything appears normal she hands me a couple pills. I start to think about the theatre nurse we discovered who accidentally over dosed on morphine. Turns out she had been stealing from it work unnoticed for years. I wonder how common the temptation is for the nurses to keep some of the medication for themselves.

"You know a woman came in before to see you" the nurse says while making note of what she had given me. "A woman, who?" I curiously reply, "She was tall, blonde, I think she said her name was Maree" the nurse quietly answers. "Well that's comforting to know that I have someone out there who cares" I say with a smirk. "Now who wouldn't care about you" the nurse says with a cheeky grin.

She finishes making her notes then leaves me to the darkness again. I get drawn back into the room. I don't know how I'm supposed to get any rest lying here surrounded by machines beeping, old men farting and nurses attempting to be quiet. Whatever those pills are, the effects aren't slow to take hold. My body finally starts to relax and my pain begins to dissipate. Interesting that Maree came into see me, I probably shouldn't think about it too much.

One of the orderlies walks into the room and quietly begins talking to me "If you're feeling up to it, would you like some dinner?"

"Sure I'd love some dinner, what have you got?" I reply.

"Just the usual roast mash up" the orderly answers. "Sounds good to me" I answer.

"Why don't you hop into the seat here and I will get your dinner for you" she asks.

As I cautiously swing my legs off the bed the orderly helps move the trolley thing that I'm attached to so that I don't become entangled. "Has anyone ever become stuck and strangled themselves in one of these?" I ask.

She gives a bewildered look, "Umm not that I'm aware of" she answers.

I don't have to wait long before my meal is presented in front of me, which isn't a good indication to the potential quality of the meal, but it actually looks quite inviting. The tray is occupied by a couple of bits of roast beef, vegetables, mash potato, and there is even a small apple crumble with custard for dessert.

I start with the roast beef, but it only takes a few bites to realise that all is not well. A horrible feeling in my stomach replaces the dull feeling of pain. Suddenly an uncontrollable burp erupts from my gut, I didn't anticipate that, thinking I'll try it again, I swallow another mouthful followed by a sip of water. Again the same uncontrollable gas escapes from my mouth.

Knowing that the main course is definitely out of the question I set my sights on the dessert. Apple crumble and custard, how could my body reject that? I pour the thick yellow custard over the crumble. By now my mouth is salivating, the first spoonful is one of hesitation but it stays down, no obnoxious gas related eruptions, so it must be safe to continue. Several spoonful's later the little white ceramic bowl is empty.

Feeling satisfied with my effort I sit back in the soft lazy-boy, however this feeling is quickly replaced with one of uncertainty. That bloated feeling in my stomach returns and gas suddenly fills my mouth. I open my mouth just slightly and release this unwanted burp, instantly my mouth fills with saliva, past instances remind me that this is not going to be an enjoyable experience. I try and get up but the tray is blocking my escape, even if I could get up that damn tripod thing I'm attached to looks as if it would slow me down. In a panic a look for something deep enough to contain this inevitable stream of regurgitation. Before I can grab something to contain what is about to happen, my stomach unleashes a torrent of vomit all over the floor. I grab the jug of water off the tray and try to catch the remainder of what my body is rejecting. Shit, that did not taste as good coming back up as it did going down. I push the tray out of the way and stumble my way into the bathroom. A glowing green button on the wall indicates the way to get some assistance so I push the button.

I turn the tap on and begin to clean myself up, as I'm doing this two young nurses run into the room. Instantly they are greeted with the intense smell of my vomit and are stopped in their tracks. "Oh my god, that's disgusting" one of them remarks. They both walk over to where I was sitting and find the pool of fresh warm vomit on the floor. They both seem to be even more shocked to find that the water jug now contains the contents of my stomach. "He even got it in the water jug, yuk!" the other exclaims. Obviously these two haven't been nurses for long as a little bit of vomit is going to be a walk in the park compared to what the other orifices of the body are capable of ejecting. They haven't yet come to see if I'm okay yet. Seems a little unprofessional really!

When I emerge from the toilets they both stop there cackling, "Are you okay?" one of them asks. "Yea just a little reaction to the dinner" I reply.

"We'll get someone to clean it up" the other says.

I sit back down on the bed. In a somewhat agonising attempt I lift my legs into the bed and lie back. One of the cleaners comes into the room and comically asks if I've just had an accident. "I sure did, I'm really sorry, I tried to contain most of it in the jug of water but spilled a little."
Chapter Seven

The next day is filled with doctors and nurses checking on the wound. They keep reassuring me that the surgery went well and the knife missed anything vital. Apparently I should have a nice little scar I keep getting told. I start to wonder how the asshole that did this to me is getting on. Suddenly my Senior Sergeant walks into the room with her notebook in hand. Fuck off I think to myself and turn my head to gaze through the imaginary window.

She pulls up a chair and sits down next to me.

"Do I need a representative from the Police Association?" I sarcastically ask.

"It would be wise she replies softly, I've already contacted our local one and given them a run down on what's happened. Look once you get home which will be in the next day or two you'll have some time off to relax and gather your thoughts. But you will need to be interviewed about what happened."

"It's quite obvious what fucken happened isn't it?" I hurl back at her.

"I know, but he's in pretty bad shape" she exclaims. "He's had some extensive surgery to his jaw and will be eating through a straw for weeks."

A little smile emerges on my face upon hearing this news.

"I don't think you realise how serious this is, he's still in hospital as there are some concerns about a possible brain injury. If he doesn't pull through that's going to change the situation dramatically" She retorts.

I can feel my blood pressure rise, "What situation? The situation where he decided that he wasn't going to be compliant? The situation where he decided to attack me? The situation where he chose to pull out a knife and stab me? Fuck him"

"I know, as long as you can justify your actions, I'm just giving you a heads up. Be careful what you say and try to keep the cursing to a minimum."

"Yea, sorry it's all a bit much at the moment. Who's going to be interviewing me?"

"I don't know, it'll be someone carrying a latte though" she smirks.

"Ha wankers I wonder if they will offer me one, good times huh?"

She laughs, "Your trouble you know that, do you know when you're getting discharged?"

"Nah not sure yet, Will ya be able to sort me out a ride when they let me out? I don't feel like sitting on a bus."

"Of course mate, I'll suss it out."
Chapter Eight

The ride home seems to take forever. Every bump on the road rattles through my body reminding me of the wound in my torso and the arse hole that inflicted it. Even the simple act of breathing sends pain shooting up to my brain.

I thank the taxi driver, and once inside I go about locking all the doors in the house. Peculiar as it sounds I know I can relax a bit easier knowing that no one can get in.

As soon as I sit down on the couch, a feeling of relief overcomes my senses and every muscle in my body loosens. My eyes feel heavy as I slump back into my chair, and begin to fall asleep.

Without warning a thunderous sound shatters through the room. The exhaust of a heavily modified vehicle erupts into our quiet street. The driver takes the engine all the way through to red line in first gear, a quick change, and he's into second, third and then fourth.

Our street isn't by no means short, it's about 1.2km long and very wide, and so I can see why the little hoon wants to open up his car. By the time they decide to button off and slow down for the incoming intersection, they would easily be doing about 120km/hr. It angers me that someone would be so careless, and not think about the impending chaos that would be caused if a child, or a car reversing out of a drive way, was to suddenly appear before them. I hear the driver lift his foot off the accelerator, this is followed by the unique sound of the car heavily back firing. Unique, because you don't really see cars that are modified to that extent driving round the streets here. As he does this, the engine begins to dump fuel into the exhaust which keeps the turbo spooling at the revs before the driver took his foot off the accelerator. This enables the driver to put his foot back down and the turbo is still going to be boosting, meaning the power is right there.

It's a fucken quick car. In the past I've tried to get outside in time to get a licence plate or the make of the vehicle, but so far all I've managed to see are some tail lights in the distance. The old Holden wouldn't be a match for that in a pursuit. In my current condition I struggle getting up off the couch to take a piss let alone run down the street chasing a hyped up Japanese rocket.

As I'm staring out the window my phone snaps into life. A text message from Maree, this will be interesting.

" _Hey I dropped by the hospital to see you but you weren't in a state for visitors, hope you're doing well"_

Maree...she's been a good friend of mine for a long time now. She's been with one of the guys at work for nearly as long, Detective Sergeant Dave Beaumont, he's an alright bloke.

I think I'll text her back later.

Days go by and I'm starting to feel a little better. You would think that cabin fever would start to set in, but I'm quite content sitting here in my little house protected from the outside world. However every breath reminds me of what happened and a sneeze feels like the knife is being driven back into my side again. Even the simple task of sitting up in bed is a painful ordeal.

In response to these annoying boy racers my somewhat vindictive mind has come up with a simple solution to putting a stop to them before they injure or kill an innocent bystander.

A set of road spikes would be quite handy at home but far too obvious when the investigating officers find the spikes in the tyres. A quick audit would reveal that they are missing a set and I don't need the suspicion cast on me. Mind you that's if the attending officer at the scene looks for it but I think it's best to mitigate the risk.

Suddenly the thought of my father saying he'd always wanted to have a piece of 4x2 with six inch nails through one end so when the little bastards come flying down the street, out it slides. The potential for that to go tremendously wrong is great. I could only imagine the carnage that would be caused if it snapped and got launched through the air.

The concept sounds good, but how can I improve on that?
Chapter Nine

A knock on the door interrupts my quiet solitude. Curiosity is really the only motivation that compels me to move off the couch and answer the door. After a few painful movements I'm off the couch and on my way to the door. As I fumble with the keys I give an impatient command to the stranger to hold on.

A flurry of words make their way through the door "Hurry up you cripple!"

Ha I think to myself, instantly recognising the female's voice, and when I open the door I find that my suspicions are true. A tall blonde, curvy female is standing on the porch. "Maree, so kind of you to drop by with your words of endearment" I say. "Why didn't you text me back" she replies with a somewhat disappointed look on her face. Just as I'm about to reply she interrupts me "So are you going to invite me in?"

I smile and awkwardly shuffle to one side, bow my head a little and gesture with my arm that she may enter. She gives me a cheeky smile and steps inside. Without warning she wraps her arms around me and gives me a hug. "You need to be more careful, Nate" she whispers in my ear "hmm I Know" I answer. The smell of her hair engulfs my senses and overcomes the pain her tight hug is causing me. I've always described her as having a hippie demeanour to her personality which is why I always found myself drawn to her. In summer she always wears long flowing dresses and she has a very natural beauty. This hug seems to be going on a little too long so I begin to release my arms from around her. "Would you like a hot drink?" Not wanting to make eye contact she answers "I'd love one".

"So what's been happening with you Maree? How's life?'' I ask as I hobble into the kitchen and turn on the jug, "Tea or coffee?"

"Coffee please, milk and a sugar, thanks" she answers.

As I'm preparing the cups I poke my head back through into the lounge to find Maree sitting on the couch with a somewhat distant look on her face.

"What's the matter?" I ask softly. "It's Dave" she replies and then pauses for a moment longer "Don't worry about it" she says while shaking her head "I don't want to have to burden you with my problems when you're the one who is in need of the attention".

"Don't worry about me, I have enough time to sit around here and feel sorry for myself. It would be good to talk about something other than how I am." She looks at me with her big brown eyes as if she needs more reassurance. "Come on, something is eating away at ya" I say.

I hand her a mug of coffee. "Careful it's hot" I warn.

She cups the mug with both hands, stares into the steam and takes a deep breathe "Like I said it's Dave, I just feel as if we are growing further and further apart, especially over these last few months. As soon as he gets home from work he's straight onto the computer and playing some stupid war game with the guys that he has just spent all day at work with. I try and talk to him but all he wants to do is hide away in the dark playing games. It's just so frustrating that he won't talk to me. Every day, it's the same routine. All I can get from him is the same mundane conversation over dinner, then I won't see him until he comes to bed. I just don't know what to do".

I reply with my usual nonsensical, irrational solution. "You could just put a hammer through the computer screen or wear some sexy lingerie".

"Seriously, Nate" she angrily replies.

"Shit that would get my attention I suppose you need to tell him that you really need to talk to him, but do this before he gets a chance to continue developing his ass mould on his computer chair."

She kind of chokes a little on her coffee and laughs at my answer.

"Look you two have been together for years now, so make sure you talk to him before it turns toxic. I can guarantee that he won't have the slightest clue that you are feeling like this. He probably thinks nothing is wrong".

I can see her mulling my words over in her head.

In a quiet voice she answers "Yea, I know. Sorry to pester you with my problems, I just didn't know who to talk to".

"It's no problem at all. You know I'm always happy to listen" I reply.

"Well I should be going. I have to go and get ready for our netball game at five. You should come down and watch" says Maree.

As much as I'd like to see her and her friends jump around in tight clothing I decline. "Maybe another time, I'm still a little fragile".

"Okay" she replies looking a little disappointed. "Maybe another time".

I walk her out to the front door. As I open it for her our eyes meet. Our small entrance puts us in unusually close proximity. She brushes a loose bit of her blonde hair behind her ear while saying "I'll guess see I'll see you later, look after yourself"

"You too" I reply as she walks down the steps. I close the door, my heart is almost in my throat, what the hell do I make of this?
**Chapter Ten**

I begin flicking through the channels and find one of those crappy fishing shows. The actual act of fishing is bearable but those damn shows always have a presenter that seems like a know it all wanker, especially that little blonde bogan looking scrotum. Mind you to be a T.V presenter you pretty much have to be a walking erection. As I'm sitting there feeling superior the presenter is talking about the amount of pressure this certain line can be put under, then it hits me. If I was to attach a series of 'z' nails to a fishing line I would have myself a makeshift tyre deflation device. I could chuck a weight on the end so that I could throw it across the road or have it already set up on the other side of the road, so when the target vehicle approaches, all I have to do is pull the line and we will have deflation.

A sickly excitement fills my body. I would have to make sure that the running end of the line doesn't get tangled up in my hands or fingers. I wouldn't want to de glove any of my fingers and not doing it directly outside my place would also be a smart move. I know I've seen some 'z' nails lying around the garage along with some fishing line.

This little morbid idea is a good excuse to get me out of the house too. I wonder how far I need to space the 'z' nails for it to be effective. There's definitely going to be some trial an error. Somehow I don't think google or youtube will have the answer.

After rummaging through the garage I find enough fishing line along with a box of z nails. I ease myself down on the back deck and begin to tie the line to the 'z' nails and space them about 25 centimetres apart from each other. It takes me awhile but I end up with roughly four meters of fishing line with about 24 'z' nails attached. I stand up, make sure that none of the neighbours are about or peering over the fence and begin a trial. I throw the line out and it lands in a tangled heap on the ground. Shit, I'm going to have to try another method. I place the line down and pull it back towards me. This doesn't work that well either! It would have to be tied to an anchor for it to be effective. Looking at this little destructive device I remember that I've forgotten to attach a sinker at the end. I search through and old tackle box to find a substantial sinker. I attach another length of line to the end so that I have enough line to twirl in the air before launching it across the road.

I stand on the driveway, again checking that no one is watching. In my left hand I've carefully draped the 'z' nails and line. I begin to twirl the weight in my right hand, thankfully the line is quite dense as I can feel the sinker stretching on the line as it spins around. I watch the sinker spinning around, waiting for the exact moment to open my right hand, releasing my grip on the line as the sinker comes around to about 8 o'clock, I completely open my right hand. The sinker flies through the air, the line takes the weight and pulls the rest from my left hand. The first metre or two deploys with no problems at all, the rest is just a mess. I think four metres of 'z' nails is overkill. I'm only going to be able to effectively hold and deploy a couple of metres, so I may as well remove the excess nails. At the speed this car is travelling, I only need to deflate one tyre and the less line means less evidence to try and clean up.

After the alterations have been made I place the device in a box under the table by the front door. It's positioned so that when the time comes, all I have to do is pick it up and run out the door.
Chapter Eleven

After a few days of intense dry heat a cool rain quenches the thirst of the land.

The road is covered in a thin sheen of water allowing the oils and grease that have been soaked up to secrete their way to the surface creating an ice like quality. This is generally all the encouragement the majority of the 'bogan' population need to display their douche bag prowess, and give their vehicles that little bit of extra throttle to get the tyres loose.

The day is followed by an uncomfortably humid sticky night. As I stand looking out of the lounge window I notice there is a fair amount of cloud cover concealing the moons fluorescent glow making for a very dark night. This will become quite advantageous if this demon car makes an appearance, I think to myself. I twist my torso to the right to gauge how the wound is feeling. I can tell it is starting to heal as it is getting fricken itchy. Each day my range of movement is increasing and the pain is continuing to subside.

Suddenly my thoughts are ripped away from me by a familiar chaotic sound of six cylinders hitting its rev limiter and tyres screeching as the rear end loses traction. This is it, I grab my DIY spikes and head for the door. With each gear change, this beast increases its speed, all the while swallowing up the distance between us and our impending confrontation. I know it's not ideal but I'm going to have to deploy the spikes right outside my address. In my panicked excitement I realise I'm not holding the nails how I should be. Because of this I'm going to have to lay them out across the road. With the shortened length of fishing line my margin of error has increased. I drop the spikes on my side of the road and quickly hobble across to the other side with the running line in my hand.

As I crouch in the tree line trying to lower my profile, my heart is pounding and my hands are shaking with anticipation.

The exhaust comes thundering down the street and the two headlights are almost upon me. From the looks of the headlights the car looks to be positioned in the middle of the road. There aren't any vehicles parked on either side of the street, so hopefully he keeps this line. Just as I think he is staying on course the headlights veer to the left. I pull the line as gently as I can, but with as much urgency as I can afford. The z nails scrape sharply across the rough surface, and thankfully don't get tangled up.

This unearthly machine finally emerges from the darkness to reveal itself. A long slender white sedan. With each pulse of the accelerator the large intercooler viciously sucks in the unsuspecting air around it. I sit there in the dark cool night waiting for the car to cross those spikes. The sound is horrendous as it flies towards me. The car rips through the z nails, as one finds its target it pierces the rubber of the front wheel, sparks fly through the air and the steel rim of the wheel bites hard into the road lurching hard to the left. The driver tries to correct the unexpected redirection of his vehicle but he doesn't have the reaction time at the speed he's travelling at. The car comes barrelling into the kerb, concrete shatters and grass is ripped out of the ground. I can feel the panic of the driver trying to push the break as hard as he can into the foot well, but it's too little too late. Nature lends to help dissipate the vehicles energy by way of a five meter tall tree about a meter in circumference. Metal bends and glass shatters as the rear of the car is forced up into the air when the two informally meet. I wait a second or two then run out from my cover and over to the car. I quickly survey the wheel, the z nails and fishing line are well tangled up, I pull out my multi tool and cut away the line and start to remove the nails. I gather it up and put it in my jacket.

I run over to the driver's side and open the door. The driver is sitting there and looks to be knocked out cold. I put my hand up to his nose and mouth and I'm reassured by his warm breath against my palm. I then check his pulse which is thankfully still there. I quickly scan the vehicle for passengers, when I notice the lack of airbags. It's probably a good thing that he's sitting so far back from his steering wheel. The thought crosses my mind of giving him a quick jab to the jaw but that's slightly unreasonable in the situation. I make the call and ask for an ambulance. I also tell them they may as well get the police on their way as well.

By now a couple of other residents have come out to see what has caused all the noise. Some panicked chat reveals that only a few heard the noise of the car speeding and then the crash. I get one of them to keep an eye on the driver and get the other to ring 111 again, while I use this opportunity to finish surveying the front wheel. Although the lighting in the street is poor, I can't see any more fishing line. It doesn't really matter if a nail is found, all it will do is add to the picture that his speed is the contributing factor to the crash.

It's not long before the police, an ambulance and a fire engine are on scene. The driver is being carefully extracted by the ambulance and fire crew. As they cautiously begin to remove the male, he begins to regain consciousness. I can hear him mumbling something about what happened. It takes a decent amount of time to get him out onto the stretcher and strap him down. I can see the crews taking as much care as they can in case he has a spine or neck injury. Looks like he could be quite seriously injured, he could spend the rest of his time in a wheel chair. But life's not without risks I think to myself.

After a few minutes one of the officers walks over to me and asks if I had seen anything. I give him a quick rundown about hearing the exhaust of the vehicle and that it was quite obvious he was speeding. When I heard the crash I came outside to check. The officer seems to be feverishly scribbling down what I'm saying. "If it helps mate, I can write up a job sheet and get it to you when I'm at work next" I say. I can see him take a second look at me which is when he recognises me. "Nate, yea that would be all good, I'll let you know if we need anything more from you" the officer replies. "Sweet I'll leave this to you capable officers then, have a good one" I reply.

I turn around crossing the street walking away from the carnage that I have just caused. I disappear up my dark drive way and I can't help but feel somewhat pleased with myself.

The next morning I wake up to the morning light piercing through my bedroom blinds. I pick up my phone to check the time hoping that I would have a bit more time to snooze, but as I roll over and reach out for my phone the damn alarm kicks into life. I don't particularly feel like listening to this ring tone this morning. In fact for some reason it really pisses me off. No doubt the pain shooting through my side is responsible for my irritable mood, so I aggressively press the dismiss button on my phone. Lying in bed looking up at the ceiling I begin to fantasize about not having to work. I've mentioned this too people on several occasions and I'm mostly met with looks of confusion and disagreement. I don't actually think they could fathom not working. I just don't think that I want to accept the fact that I will be working the rest of my life. Maybe it's the lack of dependants or a mortgage or to be more accurate, the lack of responsibility which drives my thirst for not wanting to work. The job doesn't help either. After seven odd years this job has made me despise people. I'm becoming reliant on coffee to get me through a shift. At least with some caffeine in my system I will actually be motivated to attend jobs and give a shit. Unfortunately this doesn't change the fact that some people are just fucken useless and have sad excuses for what they call a life. What is worse is that they have an expectation that I can solve their problems. Most of the time it would save a lot of people a lot of trouble it they just simply jumped off a bridge, at least that file would be easy to complete.

Fuck that's a depressing way to start the day I think to myself. I pick up my phone again to check the time when I notice a text message, it's from Maree.

" _Hey, I spoke to Dave, he seemed pretty reserved about what I had to say, I'm sure something else is going on, hope you're feeling okay, night"_

While I lay in bed I contemplate whether or not I should reply or just leave it. At the end of the day she is a friend, so I hesitatingly begin to draft a reply.

" _hey, sorry I didn't see your text last night, there was a bit of drama out on the street, give me a call if you wana talk, have a good one."_

I flick the blinds open and peer out the window. Somehow nature has portrayed exactly how I'm feeling today, which is shitty. With the incentive of a strong coffee I drag myself out of bed and into some clothes.

I decide to check on the carnage and venture outside. While walking down my drive way a few neighbours are standing about gossiping and drooling over the night's events. I throw them a friendly wave with a smile and the survey chaos. The fire fighters have done a nice job cleaning up the scene and as per usual they have helped destroy any evidence that may have been left behind. I'm pretty sure I got everything but I'm betting the officers who attended the scene won't be investigating this too thoroughly, especially considering the driver is one of the local shit kickers.

The car has taken a decent chunk out of the kerb and the grass berm. A bit of bark missing from the tree seems to be the only injury it has suffered, and appears to be holding up well. Good job Mother Nature.

Standing there in the crisp morning air I take a moment to relax in the stillness. I turn around to head back inside when I notice a red Holden driving towards me. The little dash lights indicate that it is an unmarked police car. It pulls into the driveway and stops next to where I'm standing. When the window winds down I see a familiar face. My Senior Sergeant pokes her head out, "you got that jug on yet?" she cheekily enquires.

I turn around and give her a look of disapproval. "Shouldn't you be bringing the coffees?" I jokingly reply.

"I can't stay long, just here to tell you that the ball bag is out of hospital and in remand. He's been cleared by the doctors and the facial reconstruction you afforded him has been repaired." She quickly blurts out.

"I suppose I should be relieved?" I reply trying not to sound too sarcastic.

She gives me a look of discontent. "Looks like once you've been given the green light by the doctor to go back to work, you'll be off to court section for a while or at least until this settles down, but I'll be in touch" she says.

With that the red Holden reverses out of the drive way and she disappears onto her next pressing engagement.
Chapter Twelve

For the first time in a few weeks I'm leaving the property with the intention of going to work. I look across the street and can see that the dark skid marks have begun to fade and the freshly torn up grass berm shows signs that nature is repairing herself. A wave of happiness fills my body allowing a smile to creep across my face, not that I'm too concerned, but I wonder how the driver is.

Stuck in the court cells on light duties probably isn't the smartest of places to put me. Mind you there was an officer working in the court cells who had been suffering from cancer and at one stage had a colostomy bag. So I suppose I shouldn't expect too much compassion from the organisation. Mind you this guy loves being at work, hell, if I got given the choice I'd be at home.

After getting into my uniform at work I notice a nice new vest has arrived. A quick inspection reveals there is no hole where the knife defiantly outwitted the armour and no putrid metallic smell of dried blood. I place the vest over my shoulders but somehow it doesn't feel the same. My vest always gave me that extra little bit of confidence, a feeling of safety, but now it feels foreign and somewhat false. I pull the Kevlar around my stomach and attach the Velcro. The wound is still tender and lets me know that this might be a little bit tight. I'm not going to be busting my arse today so I can't imagine this being on for too long.

Looking down at my watch, a sickly tension fills my stomach when I see small drops of dried blood in the strap. Memories uncontrollably flood back of that day. I try and shake it off but I can feel my body temperature rise and saliva begins to fill my mouth. I quickly make for the hand basin and splash cool water on my face subduing this unwanted feeling. I look into the mirror and my eyes meet with my reflection, everything looks normal but I know it's not. I look around the changing room and thankfully no one is there to see me in this state of vulnerability. Part of me doesn't want to face the day but I know I have to. When I walk out of the changing room and into the muster room I'm meet by my colleagues who stop and awkwardly convey their feelings with smiles and pats on the back. Hopefully this doesn't last too long. In a station like this, old news is replaced fairly quickly with a new scandal or hot piece of gossip. Thankfully everyone is drooling over the latest new couple that has emerged from the ranks especially when it's two woman. Jokes about female locker room antics seem to be rapidly consuming every males mind.

I know it won't take long before I'm settled into the routine of court section. The roster is pretty relaxed, and consists of only working four days a week so I've got no complaints about that. A day in court is fairly straight forward. Start at 8am, pick up the shit kickers from the station, and take them to court. Then pick up the next pedigree of shit kickers from the prison and take them to court. Then we sit around making coffee and talking shit waiting for the court staff to organise themselves. I swear some days it seems as if a retarded monkey is running the show. Seems to be a waste of four constables to be honest.

Once all the monkeys are in their cells the next onslaught of torture begins. Having to listen to the caged muppets whinge and moan for ten hours can be quite tiresome. I got quickly shut down by my colleagues when I suggested that I should put up a sign informing the prisoners stating the unfortunate truth that they are not as important as they think they are, and we are not there to meet there every want and need. I even offered to use my own ink and paper, but it was quickly decided that it was politically incorrect. By now if your soul hasn't been completely crushed, the next stage of torture begins and what is left gets run through the mincer. This is the point when the unusual breed of the 'lawyer' enters into our day, and it's not long before they also start to whinge and moan.

This particular morning starts off as normal as any other mornings on court section. I have a look at the custody console and we've got four prisoners waiting to be taken over to court from the main station. Once the prison truck is backed into the sally port and the garage door is down and secured. We open the up the cell and begin loading them into the back of the truck. The usual pleasantries are exchanged as they exit the cell. One, two, three but no number four. I take a step towards the cell and find number four standing in the corner of the cell with his head bowed and his back towards me.

"Hey, number four time to head off to court fella, Come jump in the back of the truck" I say, however the words seem to float across the cell only to be refracted by the back of his head. He turns around almost in slow motion revealing his face to me for the first time. I am met by a very pronounced primitive looking brow, his eyes are dark and beady, and his hair a short dirty blonde colour. All this perched upon a golem like physique. He replies to me in a menacing tone. "I'm not going in the back with those fucken criminals". This strikes me as a little unusual. I can feel his eyes narrow in on me, his fists clench and his shoulders drop indicating that a physical altercation is about to begin. I signal to the others to lock the van doors and to come and back me up.

"Why don't you want to go to Court?" I ask in the most caring way I can, because in all reality I don't particular give a shit. I'm more interested in knowing what his fucken malfunction is. Unfortunately this is just what I naturally think about the majority of the people I deal with. Depending on the circumstances, I can guarantee most people would be appalled if they knew what was running through a cops mind when being spoken too.

"I'm not going with those fucken criminals" he repeats with his eyes still fixated on me.

By now my colleagues have stepped into the holding cell, however he doesn't seem to be phased by the extra bodies in uniform that have appeared.

"I can't be in with those fucken criminals" he demands.

"You've got no choice in the matter, you're going to Court now and that's the end of it" I angrily protest. I should know better than to even make that statement as its success rate is very minimal, I begin to feel my temperature rise as I'm thinking this. I wonder if it shows that I'm starting to get pissed off at him. Part of me wants to drag him by one of his weirdly shaped ears out of the cell and into the back of the van kicking and screaming. Funny as it sounds it would be slightly counterproductive, especially as we will have to look after him for the rest of the day and should at least try and keep him onside.

As if being stuck on some monotonous pre-record, number four recites the only words he seems to know.

"Okay" I say, my words stammer as I just realise I don't know what this guy's name is. Number four seems fitting but is very impersonal.

"Okay mate, hey what's your name?" I ask in the most sincere tone I can manage.

His eyes still remain fixed on me, almost as if he is seeing more than just me standing in front of him.

Unexpectedly he opens his mouth and seems to exhale the word "Harley".

"Well, Harley, I'm Nate" I reply.

He just stares at me. In fact I still don't think I've seen him blink yet!

"Look Harley, you have to get in the van as we are all going over to Court".

He sharply replies "I'm not getting in the van with those fuckers".

It suddenly occurs to me.

"So you're not getting in the van with those fuckers?"

Harley nods and lowers his brow.

"That's fine mate because you will be in the van by yourself and once we get you over to Court you will be in a cell all by yourself, so there is no need to worry about the others".

His eyes finally release their gaze from mine and he stares at the floor for a few seconds. Time seems to stand still and after what feels like an eternity he looks back up at me his face revealing his changed expression. He's gone from a painful look of insubordination to a look of innocence.

"Really?' He asks, 'because I don't want to hurt them".

"And I don't want that either Harley, so come on let's get you into the van".

He sheepishly walks towards me as the other two officers give him some room and he walks towards the cell door.

I can only describe his walk as if he's carrying two surfboards or a giant watermelon under each arm, add the accentuated sway in his shoulders and he's walking like one of the usual fuck wits that we deal with.

He probably doesn't realise how much of a cock he looks like, I'm sure he's got a theme song playing in his head as he walks along.

He slowly gets into the van and takes a seat I close the aluminium door and secure the latches. I look at my two colleagues who both have a look of amusement on their faces. "You were going to wind him up weren't you?" One of them says.

"Nah we don't need the day to be any longer than it's going to be" I reply.
Chapter Thirteen

After successfully moving the three somewhat normal prisoners from the van into their cells it's time to get number four. I mean Harley into his cell. As I open the door to his compartment I'm instantly overwhelmed by the stench of his body odour. Fuck no wonder he doesn't want to be in a cell with anyone else.

The cells aren't a very welcoming place. The walls are painted a horrible pink and the insides of the cells are a faded yellow. Each cell has been uniquely decorated with various statements, gang regalia, profanity and the stereotypical "enter ball bags name here...was here", by the pieces of shit that occupy them. I would liken it very much to a zoo. As soon as you walk past little heads pop up all wide eyed and is usually followed by "hey boss, what's the time?, or when's lunch? And when am I going up?" If I can be bothered, the majority of the time these are all answered with "it's only been five minutes since you last asked, at lunch time and I have no idea".

This is pretty much the only dialect for most of the prisoners. Some tend to be needier than others but occasionally you get the diamond in the rough who will just sit there and keep to themselves. I like these ones. The best way to manage the real ball bags is to put no more than three prisoners in a cell. Any more than this and you will start to see the savage, animalistic side of humans. They seem to feed off each other and one will always put on some alpha male bravado. It's almost a defence mechanism to show the others that they are not to be messed with.

The morning carries on as usual. The prisoners appearing today from Rimutaka are brought in to Court and placed in their cells. The Corrections staff that 'babysit' them seem to have a different relationship with the prisoners than we do. Because of this they don't seem to be able to control their monkeys all too well.

It's almost as if they are trying to maintain some kind of friendship with them rather than being the authoritative figure they represent. I've seen on countless occasions corrections staff letting prisoners roam up and down the corridor while they are escorting them to a cell. The monkeys run between each cell window in an effort to see if they recognise any of their other caged associates. If they do recognise someone they then begin a kind of ceremonial dance. It's almost as if they are celebrating the adversity they have triumphed over to get back in here. The routine continues and the usual sentences involve the words, chur, bro and pigs. This is all code for, got any smokes, lighters or here's a note. The corrections officers then seem to laugh it off as if it's nothing, and then wonder why they get no respect.

Just the other week we had a corrections prisoner threaten another with a broken pair of scissors. It wasn't until we made some enquiries with the prison that they said oh yea we had a pair of scissors go missing off our counter this morning. We thought it may have been him. That sent my blood boiling. If they knew they were missing a pair of scissors why didn't they tell us. It's this kind of fucken complacency that ends up getting some one seriously injured or even killed. We could have a lot of explaining to do as this particular prisoner was alone with a lawyer for a considerable amount of time. He even showed the lawyer the pair of scissors and told the lawyer that he intended to stab another prisoner after an altercation they just had.

I walk past Harley as he hurls an incoherent sentence at the door. I stop and give him some human attention that he is obviously craving.

"What's up Harley?"

"These fucken Jews are going to burn when Satan returns. Adolf fucken Hitler knew what to do and if these bitches come near me", he rants, while pacing back and forth.

"Whoa, Harley where's this coming from?"

He walks up to the door and quietly speaks through the window.

"I have a mission for you" he exclaims.

"You need to make sure all the sprinklers work in all the Police stations".

"And why is that Harley?" I ask even though I already know the answer.

"When I get out of here I'm going to stab all these bitches on the street" he says with a deathly stare.

Suddenly a figure wearing a dark suit erupts from an interview room. His sandy coloured hair is ruffled up and mustard coloured tie flung over his left shoulder. A look of pure shock encompasses his face, this is being followed by a tirade of expletives. It's the duty solicitor Anthony, his eyes lock with mine. "Nate, that prisoner just attacked me!" By now Terry has emerged from our office while taking a sip from his Chinese tea and doesn't seem to be bothered by all the commotion. The yelling becomes louder, "come on Terry" I say. We both run down past Anthony who is standing outside the interview room obviously bewildered at what had just happened. We find one of the Rimutaka prisoners sitting in a chair. He is visibly shaking with his fists clenched. I make a quick glance over this prisoner to assess the risk and make sure he doesn't have any weapons, but I do notice a red mark and a bit of a lump to his forehead. This guy just looks plain crazy. He's got intensely blue eyes, the left one is a little lazy and tends to drift off at random. His hands begin flailing around, 'he fucken attacked me' he screams. 'Time for you to go back into your cell' I instruct.

"I'm not going anywhere" he yells accompanied with an unsettling head twitch. The anger in his voice is extreme. This isn't going to end well.

The male jumps to his feet, his fists clenched and standing right in my face and demands to see another lawyer. "You're not seeing another lawyer until you've calmed down", "I...I am calm" he stutters. "There is no way you're going into the same room with a lawyer in the state you're in at the moment. You're going back into a cell and we will sort it out later". He looks at me with a stern look of defiance then sits back down in an attempt to demonstrate his refusal.

I give Terry a look that suggests that we are going to have to drag his sorry arse into a cell. Terry takes the lead and gets in his face. There's a moment silence and just as the male is about to say something Terry opens his mouth and out comes a booming voice in broken English, "get out of the room, now!"

The male stops and looks at him. Again Terry's voice dominates the little room we are in and completely overpowers him. Reluctantly the male stands up and takes a step forward. "Keep moving" Terry yells. The male knows he has already lost, but again he attempts to put up some form of passive aggressive protest. Dominance is the only way to control this shit stain. Terry keeps up the verbal barrage. Anthony is standing in the corridor as the male is herded out of the room. When he sees Anthony he directs some abuse towards him, accusing Anthony of attacking him. Terry interjects with his commanding voice and silences his efforts. The male seems to finally give up and sheepishly retreats into his cell.

I shut the door behind him and turn the key. I turn to Anthony "What the fuck did you say to him?"

Anthony is still in a state of shock and confusion, his eyes remind me of an animal that's just been caught in the headlights. "I don't know" is all he can manage.

That afternoon we sit down for an informal debrief about the morning's incidents. Anthony sits in his usual chair by the phone and still has a look of shock on his face. His clothing is still somewhat dishevelled, his shirt half hanging out at the back and the once tidy Windsor knot is loosened and pulled to one side.

"I still can't believe he attacked me" exclaims Anthony.

"I can believe it the guys a fucken nut" I reply somewhat sarcastically. "Well now we know he's nuts and in future he shouldn't be left alone with anyone". I painstakingly point out the obvious.

It seems that Anthony's world has just imploded on him. You would think that a criminal lawyer of more than ten years' experience would realise that his customers are actually capable of committing crimes.

"I didn't realise he was like that" Terry chimes in. "I would have at least stayed outside the room".

At this point Anthony begins to reveal a bit more of what happened in the room before he called out for our assistance.

He hands me a piece of paper. "I've written down my account, I want this recorded" says Anthony.

I begin to read through it and it seems straight forward enough.

" _After I sat down with Samson Jones, I began to explain to him that I am merely representing him today as a favour to a colleague of mine as she is unable to represent him in Court today. Because of this we are going to ask that this date be put off until next Tuesday, simply because I do not know anything about your charges so you're going to have to spend the weekend in remand. Samson become enraged at this and began swearing and waving his arms around. I told him to calm down at which point he lunged towards me. I believed that he was going to punch me so I struck out and hit him in the head. I got up and he again came at me while I was trying to leave the room. I pushed him back into the wall and rushed out into the corridor and called out for assistance._ "

"Well if that's what happened it's quite obvious that you were merely defending yourself. I can't see anything wrong with what you've done" I say trying to reassure Anthony.

I look over the letter again. I drift off from the conversation the others are having visualising what has taken place in the letter.
Chapter Fourteen

When I come back to reality the conversation has shifted onto a much darker topic.

I know that most cops have negative thoughts about the shit they see and a coping mechanism they use to deal with it, is through the use of 'black humour'. So this conversation never really surprised me too much as it is usually spoken about around the meal table or over a few beers.

They started talking about one of the pieces of shit that routinely comes through the cells. He's the type that seems to enjoy coming to court, almost as if he needs the attention to justify his existence. He's got forty odd pages of criminal convictions ranging from family violence offending to drugs, dishonesty and even child abuse. It's fairly obvious that the system has not worked for him. To be honest I don't think he wants it to work for him.

Terry speaks up and begins talking about back in china "when I grew up, if you got arrested you would be kept in custody for two weeks by the Police. You would be placed in a cell with up to twenty others and as the unfortunate newbie in the cell it's your job to clear the drain that is used as the toilet. It gets worse because you have to use your hands to push the urine and shit along the drain and out of the cell. If that's not punishment enough the two weeks is just for the Police to decide if you are going to be charged, and put before the court or not"

"Sounds like a pretty strong incentive not to get arrested it you ask me" I say.

One of the young fellas Rueben pipes up. "So why not do society a favour and give them a bullet instead. Cure them of their lead deficiency"

As these words are being spoken I can just hear the wimpy moans of the left wing tree huggers jumping up and down about human rights. I do believe that it would be too much power for a single person or counsel to have. Who would control them and how could we stop it from getting out of hand. Would it be best to have a secret organisation that did dawn raids and took out New Zealand's most vile criminal offenders, or do we just bring in capital punishment, the hangman, or the lethal injection. The conversation then turns to how New Zealand is full of spineless swine that couldn't stand on their own two feet, which is reflected as the majority of the population stay silent. All the while the minority appears to have the louder voice and consequently the most sway.

The thought of handing the punishment back to the community, mob rules, or an eye for an eye are terms that are brandished around a bit by the boys. The only problem is you'd have all the unstable nut jobs come out of the wood work wanting to pull off people's fingernails and feed them to a bunch of starved eels. They continue talking about vigilante justice. I try and keep my input to a minimum as I don't want to be seen as too much of an avid supporter. I decide to make a hot drink and offer the others if they want one. As soon as I stand up and walk past our door the stench of fresh shit engulfs my nose. 'Fuck, can you guys smell that' I say in disgust. 'Smell what' they reply in unison.

Terry gets up and is stopped in his tracks as soon as he gets to the door. His face contorts as he comes into contact with the invisible wall of stench. The look on his face is quite comical as he tries not to inhale the horrid smell. I walk out of the office and to the left, making sure not to breathe through my nose. Terry breaks right for a quick recce of the other cells. I walk closer To Harley's cell, the smell becomes more intense. I step towards the cell window and reluctantly peer through and I'm definitely not prepared for what I find. Harley is standing in the middle of the cell with his back to me, completely naked.

"Oi Harley", I yell, "you break the toilet!"

He just stands there, not moving a muscle.

"Oi Harley", I yell this time accompanied with a sharp kick to the cell door.

He turns his head and stares straight at me. Again he begins to ramble on about some nonsensical dribble. I give him my blank stare along with a shoulder shrug, and he turns around to reveal the cause of the stench.

"For fuck sake" I mumble to myself.

He's drawn an unusually tidy swastika on his stomach which I can only imagine is his own shit.
Chapter Fifteen

The next day we sit down around the smoko table. It's a Friday and the court list for today is filled with a couple of familiar names. Harley will be back. Hopefully a night in custody has done him some good. "You know the forensic nurse thinks that his behaviour is induced psychosis from all the legal highs he has been smoking?" I say to Terry.

Terry doesn't appear to be listening, while he's reading out the court list for the day.

The next name causes me some apprehension, Stabby is appearing.

"Fuck what is that piece of shit going up on?" I ask Terry. I thought he was not appearing for at least another month or two.

"He's up on your charges today, looks like it is just another list hearing" Terry replies.

I quickly log onto the police intelligence database, look him up and read his through his charges. "It ain't the first time that he has been charged with burglary" I say to Tony, but he doesn't seem too interested as he is in the middle of making a fresh cup of miso soup. Shit, the last burglary was pretty much identical to the incident that took place when we caught him. The charge was later withdrawn due to lack of evidence. As I scroll further down it shows that the officer in charge of that file is Dave Beaumont. I might just give him a call to find out how that transpired.

I pick up the phone and determinedly punch in his extension. The dull ring fills my ear as I wait for the phone to be answered.

"Hello, Detective Dave Beaumont speaking" the voice answers.

"Hey, Dave, its Nate here, how's it today?" I reply

I can sense the awkwardness in his voice as he hesitatingly replies "ah, I'm good Nate. What can I do ya for?"

"I'm over at Court and Stabby is appearing today, I've just been looking through his other charges and I see that some previous burglaries he was charged with were withdrawn due to lack of evidence, what the hell is that about? That better not be happening again" I demand, starting to feel hot under the collar.

Dave pauses, I can tell that he's not sure what to say, as this pause seems rather unnatural.

"Ah, it's nothing major really Nate" he finally comes up with.

"Come on Dave, stop bull shitting and tell me"

I can hear the reluctance in his voice. "Look, I can't really discuss the older cases, but he's saying that he was on the property to offer his services as an arborist. When he's approached the front door he's heard an unusual sound from the rear of the property. When he has gone to investigate he has come across a burglar decamping from the scene and at that point he's run"

"What a load of shit" I scoff at Dave, "Don't we have two witnesses corroborating each other?"

"The informant and victim both gave pretty generic descriptions and no forensic evidence has been found that adds weight to the charge" Dave sheepishly answers.

Trying not to sound as if I'm telling him how to suck eggs but I ask "Well has a photo montage been done, have you checked out his cover story and was anything taken from her house?"

The slow exhale from the other end of the telephone tells me that this question has already been asked. "I've spoken to his boss and the story checks out. I've got a signed statement from his employer confirming that he works for Argyle Arborists, the witness and victim were unable to positively identify him and we never recovered any of her stolen property" he answers.

By now my frustration is becoming apparent. "Fuck, it all sounds a bit fucken rich to me, so what happens to the wounding with intent charge, are they going to argue that the arrest was unlawful?"

I can tell he doesn't want to answer me but he replies. "It's likely but we will definitely fight that!"

Dave continues. "Look Nate, I need to speak with prosecutions as we are more than likely going to withdraw the burglary charge because we don't have enough to proceed. I'd imagine that if they argue that the arrest was unlawful and you weren't justified in using any force he was defending himself, the charge will probably get lowered for a guilty plea"

My silence confirms to Dave that I'm obviously not happy with this.

"Nate, I'm doing you a favour and keeping you in the loop, you heard it from me first" he goes on to say.

I let my anger get the better of me. "You're keeping me in the loop? When I had to ring you, Shit", and with that I slam the phone down.

What really gets me is that arseholes like Stabby, have no idea the effect they have on people's lives. The pain just doesn't stop for them, it continues forever. At least I can take some solace in the fact that the low life is still in custody. I think I'll do my best to avoid Stabby as I don't know if I'm going be able to control myself.

"Terry" I yell across the room "you better look after Stabby, I'll take care of shit boy".

The day slowly progresses on. Harley is pacing back and forth in his cell and Stabby is being a needy child. He's an unfortunate bi-product of our shitty society. These people have been conditioned to believe that they are deserving of everything, but that it also has to be served on a silver fucking platter. They have a distinct sense of entitlement that has in no way been earned. What we need is a world war three or a plague to really show people that hardship is not going without wifi or an Iphone.

This is all reinforced by the outcry from New Zealanders living in Australia who went chasing the greener grass. They get over there, get themselves into financial trouble and then go crying to the Australian government expecting them to come to their rescue. When they get told hard luck they whinge and moan. What confirms that this is a problem, is that our whole country jumps up and down demanding that something needs to be done to help these poor people. Fuck them, they should have done a bit more research before taking the plunge. My blood begins to boil as I am interrupted by the court service bell which consists of a loud thunderous kick to a cell door. Then like finger nails on a chalk board I hear "Hey boss!"

I walk out into the corridor to see some eyes staring at me through the window like some primitive creature.

"When am I going up, it's boring in here, tell them to hurry up, can I have my lunch?"

This barrage of demands is answered with a simple turn of my back and the slamming of the office door.

Not long after, one of the registrars voice comes piercing over the intercom. "Stabby to court room 4, Stabby to court room 4"

I can hear the seats begin to shuffle down in the office where corrections staff sloth around as they begin to prepare themselves to move Stabby. Some dull steps are followed by the fumbling of the keys into a cell door, then the unmistakable clunk of the lock snapping free rings through the corridor. I stand in the door way and Stabby eyeballs me as he walks out. As he walks past he mouths something which I can only assume is muted filth. Instantly rage begins to fill my body. My mind races with ways that I could bludgeon his Neanderthal looking skull. A quick scan around shows that the closest, heaviest blunt object within reach is a toaster. The thought lingers for a moment until I realise it would probably cause more damage to my hand than his face. I could just strangle him with the power cord of the toaster. He smirks at me, knowing perfectly well I won't do anything and with that he disappears out of view. I can hear every one of that fat fucks footsteps as he walks up the stairs, and with every step I'm filled with the determination to cause him harm.

I am again interrupted by the shrill voice of the court registrar. This time she's asking for Harley to be brought up to court room 3. I look at Terry and I can see he is thinking the same thing as I am. "I hope he's constipated" I say to Terry with a laugh. As we walk into the corridor we both breathe a sigh of relief as there is there is an absence of Harley's bowel movement in the air. We open the door to his cell and we are confronted by his calm and somewhat sober personality. "Sorry about yesterday" he says with a look of remorse on his face, "I just really want some help". "No worries mate, that's what we are hoping we can get you today" I respond, trying to invoke as much empathy as I possibly can.

"I really want it, no one seems to want to help me", Harley replies.

"That's usually what happens when you spread your own shit on your stomach, it kind of sends an antisocial message to them" I remark. Instantly I bite my tongue realising that comment could send him into a shit smearing tantrum. There's a pause of silence, Terry and I look at each other as we wait for his reaction, but he just sits there, his head bowed as he stares down at the floor. Finally the silence is broken by a softly spoken apology from Harley. "Right well it's time to head up to the court room Harley" I reply.

Waiting outside the cell is the court forensic nurse. "Hello there Harley", his rough Scottish accent gently greets Harley. "How are you feeling this morning?" He asks.

"I'm fine Neil. You know I really want to go to ward 27. I'm going to stay there this time as I need the medication", Harley answers his voice filled with determination.

"Well, we'll see how we go up in Court" Neil says. The duty solicitor reluctantly steps into the cell and informs Harley that they are wanting him to go voluntarily to ward 27. My ears prick up at this. How can they want him to go voluntarily, hasn't he proved enough that he's mentally unwell. I've seen people admitted quicker for not saying anything to a nurse let alone smear their own faeces on themselves. Why does this not fucken surprise me.

It's only takes a few minutes of hearing the prosecutor speak in the court room for my body to begin to sabotage my alertness. The temperature slowly rises, my eyes are getting heavier and my breathing begins to slow. Shit, I hope the registrar turns on the air conditioning soon. I look across at Harley and he seems to be staring off into whatever fantasy land his unfortunate mind is creating for him. The judge begins to speak and asks Harley if he wants to go to ward 27? He's been living in a 20 foot shipping container for the past month, so of course he says yes. With that bail conditions are set and he gets remanded off to another date. As I'm contemplating lunch, the door to my right suddenly flies open, the handle narrowly misses my jaw and an unintelligible, hory laughter can be heard echoing from behind the door.

I quickly open the door to find Stabby standing there looking at me with his usual meat axe stare. There are three correction officers standing around him and don't seem to be too fussed at the disruption he has just caused.

"You think your fucken funny doing that do ya?" I snap at him.

Sensing the confrontation he tries to take a step towards me, but I've already taken into account he is standing at the top of the staircase so I quickly move into his personal space.

"You think I'm a boy, I know how this works!" He replies. "Next time I'll make sure that knife is a few inches higher".

I visualise how a quick head butt would send this piece of shit hurtling backwards down the stairs, but I don't need the hassle from the bosses.

"You know that you're standing at the top of a stair case and you don't exactly have a dainty figure so the injuries from you falling could be quite serious" I threaten.

He just stares straight at me. Hopefully by now he realises that I'm just as unstable as he is.

He hesitatingly takes a step back. "You know I'll be seeing you around pig and when I do I'll make sure that you don't fucken walk away!" he threatens back.

"I look forward to it you piece of shit!" I quietly respond.

The corrections officers finally decide enough is enough and motion for him to carry on walking down the stairs. As they disappear out of view, one of the senior corrections officers starts talking to me.

"You know that he has just been granted electronic bail. I'd be careful" he warns.

"Well if you lot did your damn job properly rather than let him lead you around by the short and curlys, we may not have had this confrontation. You need to learn how to keep your animals under control!" I say frustratingly.

With that the corrections officer turns away and starts walking off after his colleagues down the stairs. Shit, I had better get back into the court room. Hopefully Harley hasn't gone primal and started redecorating for them.

I open the door and quietly step back in and I'm greeted with a confused look from the judge, I look across at the prosecutor and he looks just as bewildered. Did they hear my threat to send him hurtling down the stairs? Ah fuck it, most people are aware that I don't like letting offenders like that arsehole get away with shit. I once cut out an article with the headline _"cops should punch more people in the face"_ and placed it around the station for everyone to see. The article was relating to an interview with a retired cop who was quoted saying that. Understandably most are too afraid to voice their opinion in uniform for fear of retribution, so they wait until they have left the job. Mind you while in uniform we are not supposed to have an opinion.

People know that we can't lay a finger on them unless it is justified and then it has to be reasonable. Which is fair enough, but some people just won't learn. This is shown by our joke of a court system, it's all geared up for the offender. They know if they draw things out long enough they can potentially deter witnesses or victims through intimidation or just merely the fact they can't be bothered with the hassle and drop off the face of the planet, so police end up having to withdraw charges.

"Is all okay young constable?" enquires the judge.

"Sorry sir just had to make sure one of our clients understands the correct court etiquette while he is visiting' I reply, trying not to sound like too much of a smart arse.

"Good to hear", the judge replies.

The decision relating to Harley's freedom was interesting and left me a little confused. The judge's words were, we will bail you from here to Ward 27, but you will have to voluntarily admit yourself. Isn't that just setting him up to fail? What's voluntary about putting him in the back of a police truck and taking him up to the psych ward. If he is crazy enough for the court to want him to have his mental health assessed, why don't they just have him sectioned under the mental health act. With that decision Harley is directed into the courts custody and he's herded back downstairs to await his inevitable incarceration. I lock the door behind him and 'Stabby' appears with two corrections officers by each side. His eyes lock with mine. Words exit his mouth tarnished with his stereo typical piece of shit accent. "Next time, next time you won't be walking away".

A quick jab to the face seems like the appropriate response at this point. I could easily get one on target before he or the guards register what had just happened.

I bite my tongue, and let a little smile creep across my face. Nothing more needs to be said. In that moment I knew he just made the decision easy for me, I was going to get this piece of shit. I'm going to make sure he never sees me again. A life of torture and pain would be the only way that he would ever truly repay his victims. If he could only feel the fear, vulnerability and loneliness that he has caused his victims over the years.

They keep on walking.

I quickly check with one of the registrars and it turns out that this arsehole has made a successful bail application. Fuck I say under my breath, "do you have a copy of his bail bond?" Sure enough, there it is, I can see the fucken joy in his signature. I scan back up the page to find his bail address, 10 Beveridge Place.

As I leave court for the day, my mind continues to play over and over what he said to me. Anger comes first as I repeat his words and I start to wonder what might happen. It's the unknown that scares me the most, the unknown coupled with the ability of humans to be sadistic and twisted creatures.
Chapter Sixteen

My mind torments my body. The address 10 Beveridge Place grips onto my thoughts choking my mind and not allowing my body to find peace for the night. I start to picture what the address may look like; how exposed it is. Is it one or two storeys? Is he as paranoid as his other piece of shit brethren? Will there be cameras and dogs? Unless I satisfy my curiosity I know I'm not going to get any sleep. I grab my tablet and bring it to life. The harsh white glow of the screen stings my eyes, as I wait for google maps to load up. When it does I gently tap in his address, the page slowly loads. The little red bubble hovers above the address, it's at the end of a cul-de-sac. It's a single storey east facing house, built in the 1950's or 1960's, weather board exterior, a garage at the back and fully fenced. Conveniently to the left of the property is a park scattered with shrubs and trees perfect for concealment in low light. It also provides access to the adjacent street, and this could be useful. The area is mainly occupied by middle income New Zealanders. The aerial view shows the section to be approximately 600 square meters and the house looks to be about four bedrooms. The pictures also look a bit outdated, so it may pay to get a closer look. I put the tablet down as my curiosity has been quenched for now. I shut my eyes and drift off to sleep.

A dull thud launches my mind into reality. This alien noise is followed almost instantly by an even louder thud. My heart begins to quicken almost as if it is trying make its escape through my throat. I can feel the moisture building on my forehead. I try and move my arm to wipe the beads of sweat but a familiar voice silences my effort, "I told you I'm going to fucken get you. I told you I know all about you". The voice gets closer. Sensing the impending panic, I tense every muscle in my body, my fists clench followed by my biceps. My body explodes forward as my lungs scream out for fresh air. I feel the beads of sweat propelled forward as the invisible weight on my chest vanishes. I frantically search the room, again the room is empty. Why am I letting this happen to me? I wonder. I get out of bed and go straight into the shower. The cool water washes away my vulnerability. It's time to end this! He's not getting away with this, I'm not letting myself become a victim.

I slide on my running shoes and tighten the laces. My voice of reason asks me what I'm doing. Are you really going through with this? I answer my thoughts with the last knot of my shoe and anger consumes my body again.

I slip out of the house and let the darkness engulf my being.

The cool air stings my lungs as I jog down the street. It takes me about ten minutes to make my way into the park next to Stabbys.

I position myself against one of the fences and pretend to stretch out my leg so I have a good view of the house. The lights in the front room are on and I can see movement inside.

A few more minutes pass and daylight begins to chase the night away. I suppose I don't want to linger too long in the park stretching. Suddenly the front door flies open and the sound of the door hitting the frame echoes across the park. Stabby struts down the steps and walks towards the car parked in the driveway. His car is a Subaru legacy which doesn't surprise me. As it's usually the car of choice for his pedigree and the sole reason id never buy one.

He jumps in the driver's seat and reverses down the driveway. He then floors it down the street, purposely bringing the car into boost guarantying he wakes every one up in the neighbourhood with his immature blow off valve.

That wasn't exactly eventful. I finish up with my stretches and carry on jogging through the park. I'm definitely going to have to do this every morning until I figure out his routine. As I think to myself while jogging away the same Subaru comes hurtling towards me. My heart stops for a moment. Shit, is he going to recognise me? I don't make any eye contact or show any signs that I'm interested in his pre-pubescent display of douche bag-ness. I just keep looking forward and focus on putting one foot in front of the other. The sound of that boxer engine winding up as he screams pass me confirms that I haven't been recognised. My heart starts to beat again and repositions itself securely in my chest. I continue on into the distance and wonder, thinking to myself, what's my next move?

I get to work later that morning and I am greeted by the usual mundane boredoms that court section entails. Knowing that I won't have any emails of interest, I still aimlessly log on and check them. As usual there is nothing of importance so I decide to have a flick through the pages of stuff.co.nz. The guys are bringing in the monkeys from prison so I've got a bit of time to sit back and relax before they start their de-evolution into demanding little five year olds.

One of the main head line on Stuff catches my attention.

" _Flesh burning plant strikes"_

A Christchurch man hopes his close encounter with a giant ''flesh burning'' plant will serve as fair warning to other unsuspecting home gardeners clearing their grounds. His skin reaction, phyto-photodermatitis, was caused by a brush with the giant hogweed. It can grow up to five metres high and is listed on Biosecurity New Zealand's unwanted organisms list – making it illegal to sell, grow or distribute. It is also listed by Landcare Research as poisonous to children. Furocoumarins in the sap leave the skin highly sensitive to ultraviolet light, triggering swelling and severe blistering that may lead to permanent scarring. Contact with the eyes can cause temporary and sometimes permanent blindness.

The grey matter starts to tick over. The picture of the plant looks very familiar, I know I've seen this plant around, I just can't remember where.

Suddenly my thoughts are interrupted by a cell phone vibrating on the desk. Terry looks at it, "This yours Nate?" Holding the phone in the air. "Yep looks like it, who's it from?"

"Ahh Maree" Terry replies.

I don't get a lot of text messages so I didn't really think twice about asking that and having them look at it. Suddenly the school yard onslaught begins, "ohhh who's Maree?" Terry teases. "Dave's girlfriend" I reply trying to brush it off. We've known each other for years. Terry hands me my phone and looks at me a little strangely.
Chapter Seventeen

That night I'm lying in bed struggling to get some sleep when without warning my mind reminds me of where I've seen that plant. I'm sure its growing behind an old council water mains building. Hopefully it hasn't been recognised and removed. I set my alarm for an early start so I can get out for another run and see what Stabby is up too. On my way back I'll look out for that plant.

The familiar noise of my alarm breaks the silence of the night, my eyes open and my mind is set to this morning's task. I again silently slip into my running gear and out into the morning air. The sky is blanketed in a thick cloud. No stars are shining and it's unusually warm. My watch lets me know that I'm on time. As long as I keep this pace I should be in the park next to his place around the same time as the previous morning.

I run into the park and I can see the lights are on inside his house. I begin to stretch on the park bench when I hear a scream come from Stabby's house. The door bursts open and a female comes flying out of the house, she is being quickly followed by Stabby. The abuse coming from her mouth is horrendous. I can see the darkened blemishes on her face, evidence of the loving relationship the two have. She gets into the car and tries to shut the door. He grabs it and forces the door from her grip, pulling the door open. He then steps in between her and the door, his menacing figure looming over her. While he is yelling abuse at her she places her arms over her head in anticipation of the impending violence and cowers away from him. I can hear her sobs between each pause while he thinks of a new derogatory phrase to call her. Unexpectedly he grabs her arm, leans back and starts to pull her out of the car. She tries to resist him but her small frail body can't withstand his strength and she is soon pulled from the car. His body twists as she is hurled into the air and lands in the unkempt cool green grass. She curls up in the foetal position, her hands again covering her head and knees tucked up as close to her chest as she can manage. Her eyes are wide and screaming out to anyone. I can almost hear her thoughts. I can feel her pleading for the ground to open up beneath her and protect her from this nightmare. His body tells me that he wants to take this further. The anger and venom is so apparent in his face. I can see the hatred in his eyes. Any reasonable person wouldn't take this any further but he takes a step forward. My stomach is in turmoil over seeing this. Do I get involved and risk exposing myself? Suddenly a small child emerges from the house crying out for his mother. Without any hesitation he runs down the steps and throws himself on top of her. I can see the love that he has for his mum from the tightness that he holds her. She looks at stabby directly in the eyes. I'm not sure if he realises what he's doing or the consequences his actions have, but nothing more is said and he takes this moment as his escape. He turns around and storms off towards the car. He jumps in the car, slams the door and reverses out into the street. By now the female has risen to her feet and is embracing her little hero. She cradles his head in her shoulder and walks back into the house and so the cycle continues.

This must be a regular theme at this address as none of the neighbours don't seem to of stirred. It seems that my presence has gone un-noted so I carry on jogging down the street. As I concentrate on keeping a steady pace I come up to the local shops when I notice his Subaru is parked up outside the dairy. I jog past and I notice that it is unlocked. He probably thinks no one would touch his car. I wonder if it's locked when he parks it in the driveway.

I continue up the street and again stop to stretch out my legs. I make sure that his car is still in my peripheral vision so I can at least have a fair idea of how long he's been in the shop for. I don't have to wait long before he skulks out of the shop carrying a couple of packs of smokes. He gets back into his car, reverses onto the street and tears off towards his home. I wonder how quickly he goes through a pack of smokes a day.

My attention now turns to the plant. I'm sure it's in a park not far from here.

That night I take out a section of the stalk that I cut from the plant from the fridge. I'm not sure how long this will last so I have to be careful not to waste any of it or more importantly get any of it on my skin. I hold the stalk vertically and the toxic gel oozes from the plant into a small container. Surprisingly there is a large amount of it in the stalk which is roughly 4 centimetres in diameter. As I'm handling this I accidentally get some of the gel on the gloves I am wearing. It doesn't take long before paranoia rears its ugly head and I begin to feel a tingling sensation. I reassure myself by assessing the gloves and confirming there is no way the toxic gel has penetrated the plastic barrier.

I place a couple of small sponges in the container in an effort to soak up the gel and put it in the fridge for the night.
Chapter Eighteen

A crisp cool breeze rustles a row of trees interrupting the morning's silence. My footsteps echo through the neighbourhood as each step heavily connects with the pavement. The sky is clear and the last few remaining stars are starting to disappear. It's promising to be a sunny day. I near the park and jog towards the usual spot that I've been stretching. I go through the motions and place my foot up on the bench and lean forward. I pull out a pair of gloves and slide them on. At that moment I hear a door open and I glance across and see Stabby standing at the top of the steps. I pull my hoody a little lower and start to jog past the drive way. When I get to the next driveway I stop and take cover behind the fence. I hear the footsteps of the fat fuck stumble down the front steps, and then scuff their way towards the car. The unmistakeable sound of a door handle opening echoes through my ears. My heart begins to race, my hands begin to shake, and my breath becomes quicker. I close my eyes for a moment, I take a deep breath, and everything goes quiet.

With an explosive step I break out from my concealment with my eyes focused on the rear door handle. I reach out with my hand and as I'm doing this, the Subaru fires into life I open the door and jump in behind Stabby.

Our eyes meet in the rear view mirror. Both of his eyes are filled with surprise and the shocked look on his face is somewhat amusing. "Keep those hands up on the fucking steering wheel!" I demand.

"You don't know who you're messing with do you boy" Stabby remarks

"I know exactly who I'm messing with and I don't give a fuck" I retort.

We need to talk some business as my hands silently slide into the pockets of my hoody. I pull out the two sponges that had been soaking in the gel overnight and hold one in each hand. They feel cool and unassuming. I lean forward as if to whisper in his ear, he anticipates this and tilts his head to the left.

I've thought this over and over, my movements have to be slow and smooth to be quick and effective.

I feel his body jump with surprise as both of my hands cover each of his eyes.

"What the fuck?" he yells.

His hands come up to mine and he tries to pull them down. I squeeze the sponges harder against his head and I can feel the cool gel being expelled. I start to rub the sponges into his eyes making sure every last drop is going to be absorbed and not wasted.

I force my hands forward, which release his grip from mine and I jump out of the car.

Hearing this Stabby, carelessly fumbles with the door handle and awkwardly jumps out of the car. I assume that this is in an effort to pursue me all the while expletives begin to flow from his mouth. Suddenly he stops moving, no doubt the toxic gel has begun to take effect. I didn't expect it to work so soon but from his groans and swear words the pain sounds excruciating. He starts to rub his eyes trying to give himself some relief but all it does is force the gel deeper into his pupils and pores. I can hear desperation and panic in his voice as he yells out for help. He spins around trying to orientate himself but he seems to be lost. The realisation must be setting in that his situation is a bit more dyer than he expected.

I pause for a moment. The sun is rising higher into the sky. It may still be early in the morning but I can already feel the heat on my face and from the intensity of his yelling, so can Stabby. Now he's hunched forward with his arms outstretched, his hands feeling the air trying to give him an indication of his whereabouts. I wonder if he is searching for the tap. Maybe I should mess with him a little more. No doubt Stabby would have got the neighbours attention with all the commotion coming from the property this morning as it is definitely out of place, so I don't want to be hanging around too much longer.

I turn my back to Stabby and begin jogging down the driveway. I pull my hoody just a little bit lower covering my face to try and decrease the possibility that someone might get a decent look at me. I haven't noticed anyone out in their yards, but I can't focus on that right now. The adrenaline has started to wear off and I can feel the colour draining from my face. I just need to keep putting one foot in front of the other and focus on getting out of the area. It's highly unlikely that Stabby or his partner will call Police. However the neighbours might. If anything Stabby's partner will probably call an Ambulance. The bad news is that they will pass the job onto Police for them to attend in the first instance to make sure the scene is safe.

I can't hear any sirens or the unmistakable sound of a patrol car so I keep my head down.

My street is still quiet and it doesn't look like the neighbours are stirring. As soon as I'm inside I strip my running gear off and quickly throw on my usual clothes I wear to work. I take a moment to try and calm myself. I look down at my hand and it's trembling and I can feel that my heart is still racing. Suddenly, there is a loud knock on my front door, my heart skips a beat. Shit I wonder who that could be. Again there is another knock, this time louder. As I get to the front door all I can see is a dark silhouette. Puzzled at who this might be, my mind races through the possibilities. I fumble with the keys trying to put it into the lock and my heart is racing. Fuck is it the police, I think to myself. The key is getting stuck and it seems to take an eternity, but finally I manage to open the lock. I turn the handle and open the door. The silhouette now takes human form and instantly my heart slows and my breathing returns to normal. When I recognise who is standing before me. But this still doesn't remove the sickly feeling from my stomach. "Oh Maree", I stutter trying not to sound guilty.

"Can I come in?" She asks.

###

Thanks for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, please take a minute to leave me a review at your favourite retailer and be sure to keep an eye out for the follow up.

Thanks again!

Russell Judd

## About the Author

<https://www.smashwords.com/interview/RussellJudd>

Connect with Me

Favorite me at Smashwords: <https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/RussellJudd>

Follow me on Facebook: <https://www.facebook.com/RussellJuddTheAuthor>

Follow me on Twitter: <https://twitter.com/RussellJudd2014>
