Free Roll With It by Nick Place

the fuck is Louie?’
    ‘Not here,’ said the rabbit. ‘She doesn’t work here anymore.’
    ‘Really? Gone back to the ‘burbs, has she? Seen the error of her bullshit hippie ways and gone back to silvertail luxury?’
    ‘Just leave, Stig.’
    Stig smirked at her, the attempt at defiance, and said, ‘You’re bullshitting me. I bet she is still working here.’
    ‘She’s not here,’ Bindi said miserably.
    ‘Well, you tell Louie I’ll be seeing her very soon and I’m looking forward to seeing a lot of her, if you know what I mean.’
    ‘You are disgusting,’ Bindi spat with terrified venom, but Stig responded with a cheerful wink. He turned and walked out, slamming the door so hard the bells sounded as though they were announcing the apocalypse.
    Bindi leaned hard against the counter, put both hands to her mouth and began doing an exaggerated breathing exercise, body quivering, until a female voice from somewhere out the back of the door where Bindi had first appeared called, ‘Bindi love, is that you breaking the door? Have we got customers?’
    ‘No Lou. It’s all good. I’ve got it,’ Bindi said, and closed her eyes, taking several more careful deep breaths while placing her hands together out in front, palms up as though to receive something. Then she suddenly opened her eyes to catch Jake staring.
    ‘What?’ she asked. ‘What do you want?’
    Jake was already edging towards the door. ‘Nothing thanks, just looking.’
    And then he was gone.

Laver liked Constable Cecilia Valencia immediately, the pair deciding to start off the day by heading towards Carlton. It was his third day in the saddle, and his arse hurt as soon as it hit the seat.
    ‘So, you drive a Pajero,’ Cecilia said as they left the garage. ‘Strange choice for a bike cop.’
    ‘Why?’ Laver asked, puzzled by the comment.
    Well,’ she said, ‘somebody devoted to police work and saving the environment by cycling gets in his car at the end of the day and all but personally clubs baby seals to death with carbon monoxide?’
    ‘I’m unconvinced about the science of that statement,’ Laver replied. ‘Anyway, let the record show that I have been known to load the Pajero with surfboards, scuba-diving gear and camping gear. It’s huge, and not that reliable, but it’s useful.’
    ‘You’re a camper,’ she said, an eyebrow raised in his direction, black hair whipping back in the wind as she pedalled.
    ‘I’ve been known to camp, yes.’ Laver wished his legs would warm up or at least loosen up enough to stop the cramping.
    ‘When did you last camp? In the bush.’
    Laver had to think. ‘About two years ago. But it wasn’t in a tent, if that’s what you mean.’
    ‘A cabin? That’s not camping.’
    ‘No,’ smiled Laver. ‘Not like that. We were performing surveillance on a suspected terrorist cell near Macedon. Had to lie flat on our stomachs, guns ready, wearing camo gear and night-vision glasses, taking photos and trying not to need to piss or crap for the best part of thirty-six hours.’
    ‘You serious?’
    ‘Sure. We thought they were al-Qaeda, planning to blow up the Supreme Court.’
    Cecy, whose entire police experience so far had been giving fines to motorists and dealing with minor street-level offences, was impressed. ‘So what happened?’
    ‘Nothing. They were all talk. We ended up rumbling their farm – busted them for growing some pot, gave them a few gentle taps to remind them they shouldn’t move beyond pub boasting, and packed it up.’
    Cecy decided he might be serious and wondered what ‘a few gentle taps’ entailed. The scenario he described wasn’t like anything she’d read in the thick police work manuals in her training. They rode in silence for a while.
    ‘Who’ve you been out with so far?’ she finally asked, as they cruised side by side along Johnston Street.
    ‘The first time, I rode with Standish and Ollerton.’
    Slatts hadn’t done the new guy any favours. ‘Oh Jesus. The