Free The Chop Shop by Christopher Heffernan

scared, but that
guy wouldn't give anything up. His memory was so bad he could pass for somebody
with brain damage.”
    Michael held up
the memory stick for him to see. “Got pictures from that security camera. The
quality isn't so good, though, and I don't know what we can do with it. I think
we just ran into a dead end.”
    “The guy told me
that camera was a fake.”
    “Yes, well. Like
you said, he must have a memory problem. I'll show you the pictures when we get
back to the station, but it's not going to help much. Maybe if we had access to
proper equipment and facilities.”
    They ate their
food and tossed the litter out the window.
    “Too bad,”
Richard said. “I've got to say, though, I'm kind of relieved about it. We can
go back to investigating some guy offing his wife, because he thought she was
cheating, or somebody putting petrol through a letter box to get rid of their
rival drug dealer.”
     
    An armoured
coach waited inside the station's perimeter wall, with metal bars covering the
windows. A squad of Assurer police officers stood guard around the vehicle.
Their infantry fighting vehicle was parked off to the side, white paint
blackened and charred with the splash of a petrol bomb.
    “What's going
on?” Michael said.
    One of the
policemen turned. “We're emptying the cells down below of stock. Fill 'em up,
ship 'em out; you know how it goes. It's a never ending stream of shit heads on
a conveyor belt to Assurer tribunals.”
    “Right,” said
another. “I give it two weeks before the livestock pens are full of wasters
again.”
    The rattle of
chains drew Michael's attention. Prisoners marched chained to the man in front
and behind them, dressed in orange boiler suits.
    “You hear that,
you bunch of coke heads? You're going to rot north of the wall. Enjoy your slow
and painful deaths from radiation poisoning.”
    “Fuck you,” one
of the prisoners muttered.
    “No thanks, I've
got a wife. Enjoy your time with your cell mate. Prico always love more
offenders for their labour camps.”
    Michael and
Richard went inside. The office was empty of everyone except Archibald. Michael
slumped in his seat, letting his head rest against the worn leather, as he
waited for the computer to power up.
    “Where is
everybody?”
    Archibald
shrugged. “I got called out to half a dozen bodies decomposing in a tunnel
today. Total waste of time; they were too far gone to get anything of worth.
Spent an hour signing off for them to be shipped to a disposal furnace.”
    Archibald
signed, then, resting his chin on a hand. “I was doing this work before the
collapse, you know. We had databases, forensics, and all kinds of fancy
technology. Couldn't win them all, but you still nailed somebody now and then.
Now it feels like we just go through the motions for the sake of it.”
    “Nostalgia,
isn't it great?” Richard said.
    “Michael plugged
the memory stick into his computer. “Okay, take a look. You interested,
Archibald?”
    Archibald
hesitated. Finally he relented and rose from his seat. “Okay, I'll bite.”
    Michael opened
some of the images.
    “Jesus,” Richard
said, burying his face in a hand. “We went all the way for those? What the fuck
are we going to do now?”
    Archibald
cracked a wry smile. “Get a new case. One you might actually be able to solve.”
    “Yeah, like
those rotting corpses? How did that one work out for you, Archie?” Richard
said. “Hey, you know what, Michael? Don't sweat. I'll talk to Harris, and he'll
shake the pillars of heaven. The skies will fall and by tomorrow we'll have
another lead. Trust me. Log everything we've done, file the reports and then go
home and get yourself a pint. Tomorrow, I guarantee something good will
happen.”
    Archibald
chuckled, as Richard hurried outside.
    “Maybe he's full
of shit, but at least he put a smile on your face. Bad day, I guess?”
    The chuckle
faded, but Archibald was still grinning. He sat back down with another sigh.
“Yeah, that's