‘Still in Queensland,’ I said.
George nodded. ‘They all come back. Holiday, it’s all right, not bad. Live there, no. Everything stings you.’
I heard the sound, the dangerous murmur, the jostling, gossiping, teasing, scuffling sound of teenagers released from school for lunch.
‘Quick,’ I said. ‘Salad roll.’
I went back to Linda’s car, sank into the leather and watched the country’s future invade the shop. Longer hair for girls this year, boys in anarchy — shaven, long, greased, bleached, dyed.
A knock on the passenger window, a big hand. I unlocked the door.
‘Gone fucken upmarket, have we?’ said Senior Sergeant Barry Tregear, sliding in, filling the cabin, bringing the smell of cheese and onion chips, cigarette smoke, Old Spice aftershave. He adjusted his seat, belched.
‘Excuse,’ he said. ‘Early lunch. Following fucken early breakfast.’
He produced a cigarette, put it in his mouth, groped himself, couldn’t find anything.
‘Fuck,’ he said. ‘Bastard took my lighter.’
I pushed in the dashboard lighter. It heated in an instant, changed colour.
Barry used the lighter, put it back without looking, slotted it, no hesitation in the hand.
‘This cunt in Dandenong,’ he said, ‘he goes to call on the ex-de facto, 3 am, he’s off his tits. She’s out of it in the bedroom with the next cab, give or take a good few. The boy’s not happy, goes out to the shed, finds the wood splitter.’
I was watching a teenage embrace, stylised, she wound around him, found a way to push back her hair at the same time.
‘Stop now,’ I said.
Barry sighed, added a hint of garlic to the stew of scents in the car. ‘Two kiddies in the next room. And teddy bears, whole fucken room’s full of teddy bears. All sizes. I’m too old for this kind of shit.’
I said, ‘You should have stuck to cleansing the streets of drugs.’
He shook his head, sighed again. ‘Jesus, that was a good gig. Just walk around and make bear noises at the cunts. They bugger off around the corner, end of story. Now I have to keep up with these fucken shorthairs — they’re on a mission from God.’