Roll With It by Nick Place

though.’
    ‘Wildie, we have things to do.’
    ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, you old woman. Chill. Take a tiny percentage off the merchandise and help your brain party for a few minutes, instead of fucking worrying all the time.’
    ‘We didn’t take it to use, Wildie. I need to think straight to get this done.’
    ‘Well, then think straight somewhere else. This is your home town, isn’t it? Haven’t you got any old girlfriends you can annoy or something?’
    Actually, thought Stig, that wasn’t a bad idea.
    ***
    Laver and Standish returned to the garage for lunch and Laver quietly pulled Slatts aside and suggested that, for their deal to stand, it might be best if he and Standish – or ‘Nazi Bob’, as Laver called him – were separated.
    Slatts grinned. ‘Yep, Standish is one of the reasons it was felt best that you weren’t allowed to carry a gun.’
    So in the afternoon, Laver rode with a kid, Ollerton, who he had pegged as Standish Lite. Ollerton looked at his reflection in shop windows far too often and took himself and the job far too seriously – but otherwise, he was not actually offensive. So far.
    Laver tried to play nice as they pedalled along. To his credit, Ollerton actually did the job, directing tourists, moving along double-parked cars, phoning in an abandoned and almost certainly stolen car in a lane behind Brunswick Street. At one stage, he pulled up a bike courier, a big guy with a massive gingerish beard, for riding on the tram tracks on Swanston Street, which Laver thought was a little harsh, given they had also been riding along the tram tracks at the time.
    ‘We’re cops, he’s not. For him, it’s an offence,’ Ollerton shrugged. ‘He didn’t have a bell on his bike either. Another fine. You let those bastards get away with one thing, and they take the piss forever.’ Laver was unconvinced, watching the courier curse and mutter as he rode away, but decided it was his second day and he should just concentrate on enjoying the sunshine.
    Otherwise, things went well until about 4 pm. Laver and Ollerton were riding along Lygon Street, Carlton, when their radios burst into life.
    During his career, Laver’s police radio had sent him flying to murder scenes, crazed gunmen, sieges, interrupted burglaries – known as ‘hot burgs’ – rapes and attempted rapes, arsons, desperate suicides trying to take others with them and political demonstrations turned ugly. Today, as a dutiful member of the Mobile Public Interaction Squad, he listened to the tiny speaker hanging on his chest squawk: ‘MPI 5, MPI 17, please attend domestic disturbance at 129 Station Street, Carlton. That’s 129 Station. Copy?’
    Ollerton, all business, already had his microphone in his hand. ‘MPI 5 reads you. Situation update?’
    Laver had to hide his grin.
    Slattery sounded tired over the speaker. ‘Domestic disturbance, Wayne. An old lady’s had a fall and hurt her arm. She’s a bit spun out and she won’t get in the ambulance. She’s screaming assault and wants the police to arrest the ambulance drivers. Can you guys just humour her until they can lock her in the back? Copy?’
    ‘Roger that, Sergeant Slattery. MPI 5 and MPI 17 acknowledge and are actioning that request now,’ Ollerton said, already starting to ride.
    Laver pressed his transmitter and added, ‘This is MPI 17, Laver, responding. I can confirm that action and add that we’re decamping in a northerly direction now, Sergeant Slattery, sir.’
    ‘Thanks Tony,’ said Slatts drily. ‘Remember our deal.’
    Laver caught up to his partner and yelled, ‘Vamoose! We ride!’
    Ollerton didn’t laugh. In fact, he rode straight back past Laver, legs like pistons, pumping remorselessly as he pedalled hard. He turned to look back at Laver, who was struggling to keep pace, and there was no mistaking the note of contempt in his voice as he said, ‘It’s not my fault you didn’t cut it in the Major Crime Squad, Senior Constable Laver.’
    Laver