Tram Cop, Episode 1
Crime Stopping, All Stations
It’s early in the morning: it was 6:04AM last time I checked. I’m sipping on a takeaway coffee that I bought from the tram depot. No sugars: I don’t get as much exercise nowadays compared to my last assignment and after putting on a few pounds I’ve resolved to make some dietary changes. I’ve got a biannual physical examination coming up at any rate and I would prefer to pass on my first try this time around.
Seems like something’s been going around, quite a few of the drivers have been subbed out due to sickness, and I’m watching their replacements check the fronts of the trams for their designated number. I have no need to touch base with the warden; I can spot my tram from a mile away. Luckily I’m not actually a mile away or it would be a struggle to make the distance. I approach the great imposing vehicle and as I wait for the front doors to fold open, I rest my hand on the side and gently stroke. My steed. We’ve been through thick and thin together, and if the recent rumors of its impending decommission are to be believed, it’s going to be hard to move on. Blue checkers on a white background span the length of the carriage, broken only by POLICE in blue aside the Victorian Police insignia.
I might be a tram driver, but I’m also a cop. One of a kind. Fellow tram drivers scowl at me, cops just laugh at me. But cops were laughing at me before this assignment. When I’ve made my mark, nobody will be laughing.
I get a text from my manager, Ross, who tells me ‘I’ll be dropping by the depot tonight when you knock off, will you be free for a chat?’. Of course I will, Ross.
I pull out of the depot and take a left, the beginning of an unwieldy and tiresome route, but one that will hopefully lead me to a catch. If I can arrest somebody by the end of today, I’ll have Ross off my back for at least a couple of weeks. If not, well, I hope he’s only stopping by to admire the new paint-job.
It’s not long before I need to stop for some commuters. A few seconds after the tram has halted, a car pulls out from behind to speed past in the left lane, but upon seeing just what he was dealing with from the side, hits the breaks and remains stationary as the passengers board the tram. Didn’t think so buddy.
One of the passengers, a skinny lad wearing Air Maxes and an Adidas jacket, walks straight onto the carriage without scanning his MyKi card. This rat has picked the wrong tram driver to fuck with.
‘MyKi Card?’ I yell from the front. The kid ignores me, and to rub salt in the wound, literally swings off the bars lining the ceiling of the tram straight into the back seat. I think I hear him mumble ‘pig cunt’ under his breath but it quite possibly came from another passenger. I eye him off through the rear view mirror for a good ten seconds. He looks back nonchalantly, glassy eyes that conceal any signs of a soul living within. I’ve been doing this for long enough now to know I’m not going to be the first to blink. Even so, soon enough he chuckles to himself and whips out his phone, apparently uninterested in whatever issue I might have with him.
I open the clear plastic door beside my seat and step into the carriage, walk half the length of the tram, and stand facing the kid, my gun hip poised to remind him that I’m not somebody he wants to fuck with. ‘Where’s your MyKi, son?’. He’s laughing at something on his phone. ‘In the back seat, look at me, you need to scan your MyKi’. Other passengers are murmuring, some openly bemoaning that they’re going to miss a connecting train thanks to this confrontation. Fuck your train.
He looks up, feigns surprise, and responds ‘I left it at home, didn’t I?’. As if I was supposed to know.
‘No problem, you can pay for the ride right now at the front’.
‘Don’t have any money’. It’s now clear to me that he is sporting an obscenely long rat tail, and I’m genuinely perplexed at how I didn’t notice it earlier. No less, you can’t arrest somebody for being a shitstain, and in the tram system, there is a clear separation of powers between drivers and ticket inspectors, meaning I have no recourse to fine this kid for failing to present a valid MyKi.
‘Well next time be more careful, or you could get a fine’. He’s already gone back to laughing at his phone again. I am less than nothing to him. I look at the other passengers, a handful of them dispersed around different seats. I feel a fury spread from my stomach into my chest and my heart starts beating violently. One passenger, a woman in a navy blouse, probably on her way to some corporate job, locks eyes with me, then looks away through the window, as if she couldn’t care less that her commute has been disrupted by this petty little incident. None of them fear me. For now.
I return to my seat, and continue along the route.
Melbourne is a beautiful place. Great green trees, old buildings that carry a heritage stretching back hundreds of years, and cheery residents bathing in the morning light as they walk down winding white pavements. I love this city; it’s my home. But there is a stain on it. There are people walking among us that mean to harm others, that lack respect, that lack basic decency. It’s my job to teach those people that in this beautiful city, everybody reaps what they sow.
The day stretches on, the sun is now setting, and just as I’m starting to sink into my seat and dissolve into a mindless drone following my predefined route, I spot at the corner of my eye a development on the side of the street. It’s an assault; a man is violently striking a woman. He’s getting into his car, which lacks license plates, and pulls into traffic. I spot some commuters waiting at a tram stop up the road. Sorry guys, not today. I flick a switch and both inside and out the tram starts flashing red and blue lights. The tram, like me, comes alive.
I speed up, and cars ahead move into the left lane to make way. I’m gaining on the suspect. I’m right behind him. I speak through a microphone that’s hooked up to an outside speaker, ‘Pull over the vehicle!’. The car slows, and turns its left indicator on. We’re surrounded by shops near a station and there aren’t any parks available. It looks like he’s just going to stop right there. But now he’s hit the gas again, and he’s taken a right down a side street. I follow and prepare to make the turn but then realise the tram line only follows the main road. The car is moving too quick for me to follow on foot. I open the doors, and jump out onto the road, the inside passengers only slightly amused by what’s unfolding in front of them. I draw my pistol and get on one knee. The car is approaching the end of the side street and is about to turn. I exhale, slowly, and fire.
From behind me, screams mark the beginning of a mass exodus of commuters out of the tram. Fear is in the air. The car pulls the corner and disappears. Did I get a wheel? I couldn’t tell. I sprint down the side street and make the same turn, but the car has vanished. I pull out my phone to call backup but after a moment’s hesitation, I stop myself, and put it back in my pocket. I’m not going to be the cop who needed backup from the ‘real’ cops to apprehend a suspect. I’m not getting anybody else involved in this.
I get back to the tram, and see that I’m responsible for quite a jam behind me. I look down the road to where the assault had taken place, and the woman is gone. No time for that now, I can watch the dashcam recording later for pointers. For now, it’s time to continue the route.
Night gathers and soon enough I’m back at the depot. I see Ross in a single breasted grey suit, standing with the warden, waving as I enter, with a smile that betrays his grimness. I’m not looking forward to this conversation.
The warden grants us use of the lunch room to talk privately. Ross gets straight to the point.
‘We need to talk about performance’. He is a sincere man, but I resent him all the same.
‘I know the numbers aren’t looking good’
‘On both fronts, Garry. You have made a grand total of two arrests since you began this assignment, one of which was deemed unlawful, the other for a petty misdemeanour that you knew wouldn’t land a conviction. And just today I’m told you were late connecting to a train station in the morning, and completely missed a tram stop in the afternoon. Were either of these incidents related to policing?’
There was no point admitting it: I would rather look like a lousy tram driver than a lousy cop. ‘Just wasn’t paying attention, it won’t happen again’.
‘See that it doesn’t. Garry, we started this project to bring some real police muscle into the public transport game. If we can’t see results in the next month, we’re either going to declare the project a failure or reassign you to other work. I’ve taken a gamble on you and this project as a whole, and I need to see a payoff or I’m folding. Do you understand?’
All to well. ‘Yes. Is that all?’
‘That’s all. Enjoy your night.’
Ross steps out of the lunch room, and I sit in silence (and darkness) for a while. I can feel the rage inside me again. The anger. I get a double espresso iced coffee from the vending machine and make my way back to the tram. I had already clocked off for my tram work, but a cop can work as late as he likes. I get back in the tram, and switch the electronic sign to read ‘NOT TAKING PASSENGERS’. I pull out of the depot.
It’s quite dark now, and it’s started to rain. I scull the iced coffee and play ‘Message In A Bottle’ on the speakers. Again I start to sink into my seat, but now I’m dissolving into a puddle of disdain, and regret.
Time passes, and soon enough I see a person waiting at a tram stop ahead, on his phone, paying me no mind. From the back of his head, illuminated by the light of his phone, is a long rat tail. From this point onward I black out.
The ding of the tram startles him, no doubt because he was expecting his tram to come later. In the black of night, when the tram’s lights are glaring at you, it’s harder to spot the blue checkers along the side. He steps onto the tram, once more neglecting to scan his MyKi or pay for his trip. This time, I’m indifferent.
‘Where to?’ I ask.
‘Prahran’ he responds, not looking up from his phone. I take a moment to drink the sight of him through the rear-view. What a piece of shit.
For a time we move in silence, and soon enough he presses the buzzer for his upcoming stop. I don’t stop.
‘Hey that was my stop man’.
I don’t respond. My eyes remain fixed on the road ahead.
‘Are you listening to me fuckwit that was my stop’.
The tram continues. Eventually, halfway along the side of a park, with no other people in sight, I slowly bring the tram to a halt. I switch off the security camera from my dashboard. I step out of the seat and the kid instantly recognises me. His face turns pale and his fear reveals his youth: he’s probably still in highschool.
He begins, ‘Look, I just need -’ and before he finishes the sentence I’ve clubbed him in his temple with the butt of my gun. He drops to the floor where I proceed to pin him down and repeatedly punch him in the face. His screams soon turn into weak muffled moans as I continue punching again and again.
Soon he is barely responsive, and I take a moment to nurse my hand, my knuckles bruised and flared. I look at the blood smeared across them and feel disgust, and get to my feet to finish the job with a hard kick to the head which strews him across the carriage floor unconscious. The only sound now is the rain falling down the windows, and the windscreen wipers methodically wiping the rain away.
I cuff him to a pole, sit back in my chair, take some deep breaths, then make my way back towards the depot.
