Free Freedom Incorporated by Peter Tylee

at
him.
    But Simon wasn’t yelling
at anyone in particular, he just needed to yell. And Mike was the
nearest target. “Oh, fuck it!”
    His language
caught him a warning glance from Steward across the room.
The Superintendent wouldn’t tolerate foul mouthing in the office. It was his job
to ensure the force retained what little was left of their
dwindling public image, and he considered ripe language too uncouth
if there was a possibility of civilians in the building. Simon
understood why, though he hated the reason. They weren’t just
working for public interest anymore; they were entrenched in a
bloody battle for survival. And they were losing. They had private
contractors to worry about now. And the enemy were slick. They
offered candy to anyone who turned up for questioning and the
public loved their extravagant advertising campaign. The Australian
Government was just searching for excuses to axe the police force
and outsource the entire mess.
    Simon
swallowed hard. He was uninitiated in the game of
politics . In
truth, it scared him senseless.
    “ All right.”
He slunk back to his office and closed the door behind
him.
    He grunted in
disgust and dialled the number, trying to
relax before someone answered.
    It was
a long wait.
    “ Good morning,
Help Desk. This is Peter, how can I help you?”
    “ My keyboard’s
broken, I’d like it replaced.” Simon tried to keep his voice calm
and good-natured. It was still deep and husky and sounded like a
rumbling volcano, but that was as pleasant as he could make
it.
    “ Okay, can you
describe the problem to me?”
    “ I just did, I
need a new keyboard.”
    “ Yes, but
what’s the fault with your keyboard?”
    “ The
spacebar’s broken.”
    “ So when you
press the spacebar it doesn’t print a space on your
screen?”
    Simon nodded
and the movement squirmed into the tone of his voice. “Yeah, pretty
much. It looks like the spacebar’s come loose because I have to
press it hard in the dead centre or nothing happens. It just
wobbles. I’ve called about this every day for the past week, you
know.”
    “ Oh, okay, do
you have your reference number?”
    “ Huh?”
    “ When you
first logged the call you would’ve been given a reference number.
It’ll help me find your call in the system.”
    Simon closed his eyes in
frustration. “No, I don’t have a damned reference number, I wasn’t
given one.”
    A pause.
    “ Can you spell
your name for me please?”
    “ Simon West.
That’s w-e-s-t. As in, the opposite of e ast.”
    Another pause.
    “ Okay, I’ve
found your call… hmm… oh…” Simon heard him swallow. “It looks like
this call was waiting on the serial number from your keyboard
before we could place it through to Global Integrated Systems for a
replacement.”
    Simon was flabbergasted.
It was a true testament to his incredible self-control that he
didn’t leap down the phone and strangle everyone on the other end.
“Okay, fine.” He rattled off the serial number from the bottom edge
of his keyboard and scribbled down the reference number he received
in return.
    Steward Vincent chose
that moment to crack Simon’s door and peer into his office. “You
got a moment?”
    Simon switched on his
smile and perfectly aligned white teeth beamed from his dark
complexion. “Yeah, sure.” He waited while Steward crossed the room
and sat on a corner – the only corner – of Simon’s desk not covered
with paper.
    “ Hey, if this
is about the swearing just before you wouldn’t believe-”
    “ It’s not
about that,” Steward said, cutting him off. He slapped a
manila-bound file in front of his top detective.
    “ What’s this?”
Simon opened it and immediately saw the designation-52 in the top
corner, appropriately written in red. “Oh, no.”
    “ It’s your
turn,” Steward said apologetically, which was unusual for
the Superintendent .
    “ No, no!”
Simon pushed the file away, trying to get it off his desk as if it
were a snake. “Get someone