Read Online Jill Jackson - 04 - Watch the World Burn by Leah Giarratano - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Leah Giarratano
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her pyjamas.
‘Hello,’ he said into the phone. ‘Is he all right? ... I’ll be there in fifteen. Thanks.’
‘Is he okay?’ Lucy’s eyes were huge.
‘The fucker’s got himself charged,’ said Troy, looking for his shoes. ‘What did I say?’
‘Where is he?’ she said.
‘Copshop, Redfern. I’m going to get him.’
‘What did he do?’ asked Lucy.
‘Vandalism, graffiti. Little fuck,’ he said.
‘You can’t drive. You’ve been drinking.’
‘I’m all right.’
‘I’ll get dressed. I’ll drive,’ she said.
‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘At least I have a licence.’
‘You’ve taught me. I can do it.’
‘Forget it. Cops get schooled in how to drive pissed. It’s part of the job.’
‘You’re an idiot. I’m coming.’
‘Hurry up then,’ he said.
Troy washed his face, brushed his teeth and gargled. He then went back to the kitchen and scoffed some more garlic chicken. Entering a copshop smelling of mouthwash or mint gum was as good as blowing beer fumes in their face. Every drunk prick had tried that one.
‘Ready, Lucy?’ he called.
As Troy and Lucy left their apartment in the middle of the night to pick up their brother from the police station, Troy had a feeling that this scene would soon become familiar.
Troy parked the car in a one-way street near Redfern Station, wondering if he’d ever see it again. Graffiti covered the surface of every wall on the street. He kept Lucy close, and encouraged her to jog with him across Regent Street to the TNT Plaza tower building, which housed Redfern Police Station. The sight of his former workplace soured the beer in his gut. He and Lucy entered the station.
It had been four years since Troy had last been in here. It had been a home, then he’d become a hero, and finally he was hated. Thank Christ he didn’t know the Koori female customer-liaison officer behind the partition. He gave her Christopher’s name and she told them to take a seat. Troy dropped into a bolted-down plastic chair on the wrong side of the glass and waited.
‘So, I was, what, twelve, when you left here?’ asked Lucy. She walked past the noticeboards, picked up a flier about domestic violence and flipped it open.
‘Yeah, maybe eleven,’ he said.
Lucy put the flier back, chose another. ‘You never really told me and Chris why you left the job, you know.’
‘Didn’t I?’ he said.
‘We always guessed it was because of the shooting.’
Troy looked over towards the partition. The liaison officer was too far away to hear them.
‘But I remember you went back to work after that,’ said Lucy. ‘You came back here. You brought me back here once when your hand was still bandaged up.’
‘You were cute,’ he said.
‘I had the mumps.’
‘You didn’t act sick, walking around here, talking to everyone. You climbed up on Singo’s desk and scribbled all over his whiteboard. He lost half a day’s work with what you rubbed off.’
‘I don’t remember that,’ she said. ‘So, if it wasn’t your hand, why did you leave, then?’
‘Are you going to keep nagging me until I tell you?’ he asked.
‘You know it,’ she said.
‘I was assigned to a smash-and-grab in a leatherwear shop that was just across the road there. Maybe forty leather jackets got boosted. It happened around five o’clock one morning. So we get there, dust for prints, and – surprise, surprise – the prints are in the system. Couple of local hoppers, just kids, not much older than you and Chris. So that afternoon I go around to their aunt’s house – where they live – and half the street’s wearing leather jackets.’ Troy laughed, rubbed at stubble on his cheek. Lucy came and perched next to him, knees bent, feet up on the chair.
‘Anyway, I go in and the kids are in bed. The rest of the jackets are all over the floor in their room. I bring the hoppers back here, feed them McDonald’s, and they tell me everything. Thing is, they swear they only got
‘Hello,’ he said into the phone. ‘Is he all right? ... I’ll be there in fifteen. Thanks.’
‘Is he okay?’ Lucy’s eyes were huge.
‘The fucker’s got himself charged,’ said Troy, looking for his shoes. ‘What did I say?’
‘Where is he?’ she said.
‘Copshop, Redfern. I’m going to get him.’
‘What did he do?’ asked Lucy.
‘Vandalism, graffiti. Little fuck,’ he said.
‘You can’t drive. You’ve been drinking.’
‘I’m all right.’
‘I’ll get dressed. I’ll drive,’ she said.
‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘At least I have a licence.’
‘You’ve taught me. I can do it.’
‘Forget it. Cops get schooled in how to drive pissed. It’s part of the job.’
‘You’re an idiot. I’m coming.’
‘Hurry up then,’ he said.
Troy washed his face, brushed his teeth and gargled. He then went back to the kitchen and scoffed some more garlic chicken. Entering a copshop smelling of mouthwash or mint gum was as good as blowing beer fumes in their face. Every drunk prick had tried that one.
‘Ready, Lucy?’ he called.
As Troy and Lucy left their apartment in the middle of the night to pick up their brother from the police station, Troy had a feeling that this scene would soon become familiar.
Troy parked the car in a one-way street near Redfern Station, wondering if he’d ever see it again. Graffiti covered the surface of every wall on the street. He kept Lucy close, and encouraged her to jog with him across Regent Street to the TNT Plaza tower building, which housed Redfern Police Station. The sight of his former workplace soured the beer in his gut. He and Lucy entered the station.
It had been four years since Troy had last been in here. It had been a home, then he’d become a hero, and finally he was hated. Thank Christ he didn’t know the Koori female customer-liaison officer behind the partition. He gave her Christopher’s name and she told them to take a seat. Troy dropped into a bolted-down plastic chair on the wrong side of the glass and waited.
‘So, I was, what, twelve, when you left here?’ asked Lucy. She walked past the noticeboards, picked up a flier about domestic violence and flipped it open.
‘Yeah, maybe eleven,’ he said.
Lucy put the flier back, chose another. ‘You never really told me and Chris why you left the job, you know.’
‘Didn’t I?’ he said.
‘We always guessed it was because of the shooting.’
Troy looked over towards the partition. The liaison officer was too far away to hear them.
‘But I remember you went back to work after that,’ said Lucy. ‘You came back here. You brought me back here once when your hand was still bandaged up.’
‘You were cute,’ he said.
‘I had the mumps.’
‘You didn’t act sick, walking around here, talking to everyone. You climbed up on Singo’s desk and scribbled all over his whiteboard. He lost half a day’s work with what you rubbed off.’
‘I don’t remember that,’ she said. ‘So, if it wasn’t your hand, why did you leave, then?’
‘Are you going to keep nagging me until I tell you?’ he asked.
‘You know it,’ she said.
‘I was assigned to a smash-and-grab in a leatherwear shop that was just across the road there. Maybe forty leather jackets got boosted. It happened around five o’clock one morning. So we get there, dust for prints, and – surprise, surprise – the prints are in the system. Couple of local hoppers, just kids, not much older than you and Chris. So that afternoon I go around to their aunt’s house – where they live – and half the street’s wearing leather jackets.’ Troy laughed, rubbed at stubble on his cheek. Lucy came and perched next to him, knees bent, feet up on the chair.
‘Anyway, I go in and the kids are in bed. The rest of the jackets are all over the floor in their room. I bring the hoppers back here, feed them McDonald’s, and they tell me everything. Thing is, they swear they only got
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