The Service (1/3) By Joe Hakim

(1/3), (2/3), (3/3).

I'm a professional. I get the job done. It's already getting dark as I arrive at the station. I make my way past the perimeter fence and park my car in the shelter. So begins the process of shedding everything that makes me who I am, in order to become somebody else. You can never tell what kind of night it's going to be, so even now after all this time the anticipatory adrenalin begins to make its way around my body, preparing me for the night ahead. It could be a really quiet night or it could be the night I die in the line of duty - you never know.

There are a few people milling about in the canteen when I walk in. I get myself a cup of coffee and flick through a couple of papers. There's nothing much to look at, aside from some minor celebrity's tits and a load of stories about how the world's going to shit - rising youth crime, a new drug epidemic, the latest unemployment figures - but I see enough evidence of that while I'm working, so I can't be bothered to read about it as well. I find a decent su-doku grid and set about it to try and waste a few hours. Waiting for a job to come through feels like waiting to be hanged. I look over and see old-man Edwards sat in the corner, smoking a cigarette and staring out into space.

His face is a network of scars, some old, some recent, topped off with grey, wiry stubble. Out of everyone in the station, he's been working here the longest. When I first started working here I tried to talk to him, ask his advice about the job, but he would just shoot me this look, this look that said, you really have no fucking idea, and then he would take a drag from his cigarette and retreat back into his head and whatever the fuck it is he thinks about all day.

Carter, one of the call operators, rolls into the room. He has a sheet of paper in his hand, which means only one thing: there's a job. His eyes dart around the room before settling on me. He walks over to me, wearing a smile that makes me want to jump up and smash his face in. "Good to see you," he says. I don't reply; I just turn around and put my hand into the air, waiting for him to put the slip into my palm.

"It's a difficult one - right at the other side of the estate. We were going to ask old-man Edwards," and then he looks over at him and turns back to face me before continuing, "but we feel like he might be losing it." "That guy's the sharpest out of all of us. You'd do well to remember that," I say.

Carter touches the badge on his shirt and says, "You saying you don't want the job? You can't handle it?" What I would give to be able to wipe that grin off his face. "Just get the fucking vehicle ready," I say. I'm in the garage. It's still quite early, so I'm hoping that this will go off without a hitch. It's my duty to get across town. There are people out there relying on me, desperate for my arrival, and I can't let them down. I'm a professional. I get the job done.

I pick a baton out of the armoury and I walk over to the vehicle. Carter's already there waiting for me. "I don't need to remind you of the importance of this. You've got to get there within the hour or else," he says, and he looks down at the floor, in an attempt to give the situation more gravity. "Well, who knows what will happen."

Continued...Next Page (2/3)

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