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expression that he’s already annoyed by the conversation they haven’t had yet.
     
    ‘On your day off? Really?’
     
    Billy tries to smile it off. ‘I was just doing my job.’
     
    The large red-faced man nods Billy towards his office. ‘And now I have to do mine.’
     
    Billy stands and enters the room, feels like a scolded child sent to the principal’s office. He tries to lighten the mood. ‘Does that shirt come in pink, Sarge?’
     
    ‘It’s “rose” and fuck you.’
     
    Senior Sergeant Burt Macklin is usually a happy-go-lucky kind of fella, rare for a cop, but he’s got his game face on today and is clearly pissed off. Billy takes a seat inside the small office.
     
    ‘And you need to get a haircut, Ringo.’
     
    ‘Now, was Ringo the drummer for the Beatles or the Monkees? I keep getting them mixed up.’ Billy points a finger at the sergeant and grins, to make sure he knows it was a joke.
     
    ‘Don’t smile at me. There’s no smiling today.’
     
    ‘Well that doesn’t sound good.’
     
    ‘You realise it isn’t Lethal Weapon , right?’
     
    Billy doesn’t follow. ‘What isn’t?’
     
    ‘Your life! Chasing trucks, pulling guys off armoured cars —’
     
    ‘I saved that guy.’
     
    ‘He doesn’t see it that way.’
     
    ‘What?’
     
    ‘He’s suing the Police Department.’
     
    Billy is gobsmacked. ‘For what?’
     
    Macklin picks up a piece of paper and reads it aloud. ‘Injuries sustained —’
     
    ‘It was gravel rash —’
     
    ‘— injuries sustained through the direct action of Junior Detective William J. Hotchkiss —’
     
    ‘Gravel rash .’
     
    ‘Really?’ Macklin extracts a photo from a file on his desk and flips it around to show Billy.
     
    ‘Aaah.’ Billy recoils, shocked by the gruesome injury. ‘Is that his thigh?’
     
    ‘Yes it is.’
     
    ‘Oh man. That looks terrible.’
     
    ‘And that’d be why he’s suing.’
     
    Billy feels a cold dread turn in his chest. ‘What was I meant to do?’
     
    ‘Follow protocol, wait for backup to arrive— not do it yourself.’
     
    Billy takes a moment. ‘How bad is it?’
     
    ‘The Commissioner wants you gone.’
     
    The world stops turning as Billy tries to process the words. ‘So pretty much as bad as it gets.’
     
    ‘They want to pay off the guy and bury this thing before it goes public. There’s an election in four months so they can’t have these “distractions”.’ Macklin stops, can see Billy is both bewildered and dazed. ‘It’s your fourth reprimand in two years. You can stay on but you’ll be suspended and the disciplinary tribunal will recommend your dismissal, which, of course, will be on your permanent record and follow you around forever. If you resign you avoid that and leave with the basic severance package.’
     
    ‘Jesus, I was just doing my job —’
     
    ‘You recklessly endangered the public. And the fact you can’t see that is part of the problem.’
     
    ‘I just—I can’t—you can’t speak to the Commissioner?’
     
    ‘I already did. Reckless endangerment, Billy. If that guy had been critically injured, or died then —’
     
    ‘I was only trying to do what was right.’
     
    Macklin looks at him and Billy’s almost certain he knows the statement is not completely true. Billy did it for the adrenaline rush as much as anything else.
     
    ‘Is there something I can . . .’ Billy trails off, studies the worn linoleum beneath his feet, at a complete loss. ‘Christ.’
     
    ‘I had the letter of resignation typed up.’ Macklin pushes it across the desk towards him. ‘With vacation time owed you’ll end up with about seven weeks pay.’ Macklin holds out a pen.
     
    Billy takes it and signs the letter quickly, doesn’t want to read it, doesn’t want to know what it says. ‘Well that didn’t work out the way I hoped.’ He tries to smile it off but his heart just isn’t in it.
     
    What the hell am I going to do now?
     
    He doesn’t