Pick You Up

A/N - Hello! Time for another simple romantic tale.

It's an unfortunate reality that, in the country I call home, we've had a decades long problem with DV (Domestic Violence). It's not just a problem in my country but it does receive a lot of media attention, focus groups, government intervention, that sort of thing. I've seen it happen in my family and I've seen it happen with friends. It's generally a topic many steer clear of. It's uncomfortable to think about. It's even worse if you see it happening. Whether things have improved from thirty, forty years ago is a matter of conjecture, but it is still an issue to this day.

This story is complete fiction (I hesitate to call it 'fantasy' due to some of the content), of course, and I've tried to keep my treatment of the topic respectful and serious.

Comments and feedback appreciated as always.

*****

It was a warm spring Saturday morning. While the youngsters in the neighbourhood were probably still fast asleep in bed, I was already up, breakfast eaten, house quickly cleaned up, before I headed out into the backyard to get the mowing done before the sun was too high and it was too hot to be pushing a lawnmower across the front and back lawns. It was one of those chores that I found therapeutic. Put on my headphones, metal music not blasting too loudly, cover the headphones with some ear defenders, then get to work.

First the edging and trimming. Then I'd push the mower up and down, ensuring the lines were even, the cut not too low, not too high. I looked after my lawn like it was almost another child of mine. Once I was content the backyard was done, I took everything out to the front yard and did the same thing. I was in the middle of completing the mowing of the front lawn when a removals truck pulled up outside the house, opposite side of the road, one house down.

It had been up for lease for a couple of months now. The family that had been renting had somehow managed to save up enough for a house deposit and moved to a different suburb. They'd kept in touch since moving as everyone on the street were close. There was an eclectic mix of families. A couple of older couples who had raised their children and seen them leave home. A few younger couples now raising children of their own. A couple of single mothers raising kids alone. Sometimes the father was involved, but I knew of two where the father had pretty much disappeared.

Then there was me. Late-thirties. A decent job that paid well but allowed me to usually work my own hours. My own house. And three daughters who were currently spending the weekend with their mother. I had custody of them most of the time, something unusual as, the majority of the time, the woman ended up with custody. The mother had cheated on me and walked out on our family. I was able to categorically prove I was the primary caregiver, and for once, the courts listened to the children. No chance our daughters would have tolerated living with their selfish, narcissistic mother, and I knew they utterly hated the man she was shacked up with now. I knew, as soon as they were old enough, they'd stop visiting her, but I'd do nothing to impact their relationship. It would be their choice whether to continue the relationship or not.

Back to the removals truck, a trio of men got out and opened up the back. I stopped mowing long enough to it wasn't exactly full of furniture. They'd only just started unloading when a beat-up car, an old Commodore at least fifteen years old and in need of a tune-up, turned up and parked in the driveway. A woman slid out of the driver's seat, a pair of children getting out of the backseats. A boy I reckoned around ten years old, the girl perhaps a couple of years younger. The woman glanced in my direction and I knew what she'd been through straight away.

I'd seen it far too many times while I worked the job.

*****

I'd been a cop in the New South Wales police force for well over a decade. I'd applied for the role as soon as I'd finished high school, graduating with a Higher School Certificate and top marks in the appropriate subjects. I'd found the job rewarding for the most part, but there were still scenes that, even after resigning and going to therapy, I knew I'd likely never shake off. One of the worst jobs was the last one and why I'd quit soon after.

I still remember receiving the call, driving alone to the residence in question in my patrol car. I arrived at the house in the western suburbs, a couple of colleagues having already arrived minutes beforehand. One of them walked out and I met his eyes. All it took was a look and I knew what I was going to find once I'd walked inside. It never got any easier. In fact, it usually got worse with each time I walked into something like this.

There was no missing the blood on the walls. Signs of a struggle. Signs someone had been hit more than once. The woman was being attended to by paramedics. I took one look at her to know she'd been beaten within an inch of her life. My colleague walked over and I knew the news wasn't going to be any better than what I could already see.

"Kids are upstairs," he whispered, "They saw the whole thing. Child services are on their way. We think he was doing something to the girl when their mother got home from work."

I hate men who beat up on women. I won't even describe what I think about men who would do such things to children. We're meant to be objective, working only on the evidence, but those of us who'd done the job long enough knew the truth when it was staring us back in the face. I turned to see him sitting on the lounge. His knuckles were still covered in blood. He met my eyes and the fucker smirked. I felt the blood in my veins turn to ice. Ever seen those movies where a cop hands his badge to a friend or colleague and says 'I'm not a cop tonight'?

I offered to take him down to the cop shop so he was booked in. No-one else wanted to take him so I cuffed him, told him what to expect, and led him outside towards my patrol car. Putting him in the back seat, I made sure I smacked his head against the side. He looked ready to hurl abuse at me when he met my eyes and he went quiet very quickly. In fact, he gulped and I knew he was already wondering what was going to happen next.

I drove away, reporting in that I was on my way back to the station. But I didn't head straight there. I turned off anything that could track the vehicle and headed further west, towards bushland I knew rather well. That's when he started to get nervous.

"Hey, mate. This isn't the way! This ain't right, mate! This ain't right..."

I glanced into the rearview mirror and met his eyes again. I could see the terror returned and I made sure I smiled at him. Pulling onto a dirt road, I drove us deeper into the bush before I brought us slowly to a stop. Meeting his eyes again, he was shouting and yelling as I stepped out of the car. Opening the back seat, he scampered backwards, thinking I couldn't reach him. I just grabbed his ankle and dragged him out, hearing him land with a thud before I easily picked him up by his collar.

Slamming him back against the car, he was begging me to stop, that he was sorry for beating up his wife. That he hadn't done anything to his kids. That he was a good man. I almost laughed, but kept my face blank as I led him further into the bush. Before he got any ideas, I slammed a fist into his gut and undid his cuffs, bending his arms back around a narrow tree trunk, cuffing his hands again.

Standing in front of him, I noticed the faint whiff of urine, glancing down to see he'd pissed his pants already. Most Australian cops are trained to operate firearms. I smiled as I undid the clip of my holster. He started begging for his life. I hit him in the gut again. Then I aimed for his kidneys, making sure he'd be pissing blood before too long. He was soon whimpering and crying, begging me to let him go.

"You know one thing though," I whispered, leaning down close to his ear, "No-one will believe you. I've been a good cop for over ten years now. Not broken a single rule, and I've seen pieces of shit like you get away with all sorts of crimes. Walked into one too many domestic violence situations. Guess you were just the unlucky bastard that finally caused me to snap. But seeing her on that gurney, her face black and blue. I saw the photos on the wall and situated around the room. A beautiful woman, eyes full of love, the joy of life... And your kids. You did that in front of them." I spat at him. "Call yourself a man. You're nothing but fucking vermin. Men like you should just be led out into the wilderness, forced to dig their own shallow grave and then be forced down to their knees and be put out of your fucking misery."

He told me he was sorry. He told me he'd never do it again. He told me he loved his wife and kids. He told me a lot of things. He was begging for his life. I wasn't going to kill him. I wasn't a killer. I wasn't going to go down for murdering a piece of shit like this. I'd never fired my weapon on the line of duty. Not to say I hadn't faced danger more than once but though I'd taken my weapon from its holster, I'd never been in the position where I'd felt the need to pull the trigger and put a possible criminal on the ground.

Australia isn't the wild west, despite what some people think.

I hit him a couple more times. I knew my time as a copper was drawing to a close. My Local Area Commander would no doubt hear about this. I'd deny it, stating the piece of shit with me was exactly that. I'd be quietly asked to resign, no questions asked. No-one would actually give a shit about someone like this, but I'd crossed a line this evening.

I finally released him from the tree trunk and dragged his sorry arse back to the car, ensuring I slammed his head into the side of the car before I cuffed him again and threw him onto the back seat. He spent the entire time on the way back to the station sobbing. Arriving at the station, I led him inside and I noticed the eyes from my fellow officers. They knew something was up but, for the moment, nothing would be mentioned.

"Remember tonight," I whispered into his ear, "Next time, it might not be someone as nice as me."

Within a week, I was summoned into the office of my commander. Before he could say a word, I offered my resignation. He wasn't surprised though he still went through the motions of asking why.

"Been doing this for over ten years and I've had enough. I've already had an offer from a friend to go into private security plus there's the consultancy offer on the table. Add to that the impact it's had on my marriage..."

"We're all aware of your impending divorce, Mark. Are you sure you're not being too hasty?"

"Look, Boss..." Everyone called him that. He'd been in charge of the station for as long as I'd been there. Part of the furniture, happy to remain at his level. He was someone who preferred to be on the front lines. "I know why I was summoned here. I'm doing us both a favour by resigning. I need to focus on myself for a little while. Rebuild my life. Plus, I have an offer in private security that means less hours, more money and fewer rules when it comes to dealing with dickheads."

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Why'd you do it, Mark?"

I met his eyes though kept my face blank. "I didn't do anything, Boss. I collected the man from his residence and transported him directly to the station."

He knew I was lying. I knew I was lying. Everyone in the station knew I was lying. I hadn't hit his face, though he did end up with a couple of bruises on his head from where his head had collided with the car. I'd left a couple of bruises on his body. He did end up pissing blood. But it was the fact he'd been utterly terrified. Everyone knew I'd put the fear of god into him.

Another reason I needed to go. If I stayed and saw the same scene again, I knew I'd kill whoever it was. Everyone has their limits. I'd seen the worst of humanity too many times already. I'd always wanted to be a cop, I knew what it would sometimes involve, but I'd reached a point where I was on the verge of going vigilante.

I walked away before I ended up going to prison myself.

That was a little over two years ago. What probably didn't help was the fact my marriage was collapsing at the same time. Well, not collapsing. It was already over. I knew she was cheating on me so I was just getting ready to kick her out. The house was mine. Though we both paid the mortgage, only my name was on the deed. She didn't want any issues to affect her credit score. She could go live with her parents or lover. Despite the fact I worked hard, I still did more caring for our daughters than she did. More than once, I returned home to find our children being babysat while she was off doing god only knew what.

The day after my final shift as a copper, I kicked her out the house, flinging all the evidence in her face. I had friends who had helped get it all for me. She didn't even try and fight me. I packed her shit and threw her out. She didn't even try and take the kids, happy to head off to live with her new fella. My daughters were sad to see her go, but happy to stay with their father.

*****

I finished mowing the lawn before putting everything back in the garage, ready to do the same thing within a fortnight. Grass always grew quickly in the spring. Heading inside, I had a quick shower to wash away the dirt, grass and sweat, checking my phone to see all three daughters had already messaged me. I'd driven them to see their mother the night before and I wasn't surprised to hear they were already bored, desperate to come home.

More than once, the ex-wife had called me by lunchtime on the Saturday, almost begging me to pick them up. I smiled every time as I missed my daughters but I had to send them to see their mother.

Sipping at a cup of coffee, I headed outside again, standing by the front door as I watched the movers hard at work. The two kids were playing on the grass of the front yard while the woman was busy giving directions. Even from a distance, I could read the body language. She glanced around more than once as I could see other neighbours having a sticky beak. When she looked in my direction a third time, I raised my mug and smiled back at her.

She didn't smile back, remaining grim faced, but did return a polite nod. Even from a distance, I could see something about her. She was terrified, yes, but she wasn't hunched over. Back straight but also alert. And there was no doubting she was attractive.

But I'd seen a woman like that more than once.

Heading inside, I flicked on the television for background noise as I focused on some more household chores. My girls looked after their own rooms, kept them clean, but I still helped change their beds and vacuumed their rooms, though they'd always help me if they were home. If you're wondering, I was doing the same chores I'd done while married. The ex-wife had been, quite frankly, a slob. Another reason I was glad to see the back of her. The only good thing she'd done for me was our three daughters.

It was mid-afternoon when my phone rang. The ex-wife. "Mark, you need to come pick up your daughters," she stated without preamble.

"Don't you mean 'our' daughters, Sarah?"

I heard her scoff. "Whatever, Mark. Just come pick them up. They clearly don't want to be here, and quite frankly, they can go back to you if they want to keep up this attitude."

"Fine. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Locking up the house, I noticed the rear of the removal truck was already shut up tight, one of the workers seeming to go over paperwork with the woman. Reversing out of my driveway, I glanced in the side mirror to see the three men getting back into the cab of the truck. It had been a rather quick move-in, suggesting she didn't exactly have a lot of things.

Arriving at the McMansion my ex-wife now lived in with her affluent husband by the eastern shore, I wasn't surprised that the front door burst open, my three daughters running towards me. "Daddy!" they practically yelled in unison, quickly finding myself wrapped in the arms of three excitable young girls.

Once I had them in the car, I looked at the doorway where my ex-wife was waiting. "You want them your next weekend or are you finally going to give up the charade that you're a good mother?"

She took a drag of the cigarette she was holding before blowing out the smoke. "We might not be here in a fortnight. John is talking about a trip away for work somewhere."

"For how long?"

"No idea," she replied with a shrug, "I'm sure you can..."

"No," I growled, "If you're going to break their hearts, you can at least have the backbone to do it yourself." I was about to walk back to my car when I asked, "Do you seriously not care about them at all?"

"Of course I care, but I've moved on with my life, Mark. And John..." I'm sure it was the look of disgust that appeared on my face that caused her to shut up. Taking another drag of the cigarette, she flicked the butt into a nearby pot plant. "Look, I'll call them before I take off but we're heading to Europe and John is considering a move there. We'll come back eventually but, well, the move there might end up being permanent in the future."

Shaking my head in disbelief, I walked back to my car and slid behind the wheel. After buckling up, I glanced at my oldest daughter riding shotgun, before glancing back to see my two other daughters already belted up and ready to go. "Ready to go home, girls?"

There were three enthusiastic responses. "Can we get some take-out tonight, Daddy?" my youngest asked.

"Oooh, are you asking for a treat? Hmmm... Well, it's a little early for dinner now but I'm sure I can organise something for later."

During the drive home, the two youngest chatted between themselves behind me, but my oldest, at the age of twelve, was already wise beyond her years. I could see she was upset, reaching over to take her hand. "Sorry, Daddy," she whispered, using her other hand to dry her cheeks, "I can't stand her anymore. She's... She's a b-word. I don't want to visit her anymore."

"I want to say it's your choice but the court order is that she does have the right to see you every second weekend and one evening each week, though that part of the agreement has never been enforced by her."

"She told us she's leaving by next weekend and isn't sure when she'll be back so for us not to bother thinking about visiting again. She said she'd call us before our next weekend with her. I don't want to talk to her. She's just selfish and mean nowadays, Daddy."

"I want to stay home," my youngest whispered, and I heard the sadness in her little voice.

I felt my hand grip the steering wheel tight as hearing my little girl upset. My oldest squeezed my far larger hand in hers. "It's okay, Daddy," she whispered, "We're back where we'd rather be anyway."

"But you need a girlfriend, Daddy," my second daughter stated.

"I don't need a girlfriend when I have you three to look after," I stated.

"Don't you get lonely though, Dad?" my oldest asked. When I was called 'Dad', she was making a point, being serious. As I said, wise beyond her years.

I chewed on that question until we arrived at home. My two youngest disappeared to their rooms with their things, and I knew they'd put any washing in the laundry and ensure they didn't make a mess too quickly. My oldest stayed close to me as I started to give dinner some thought. I knew I'd relent and get some take-out. "Still thinking, Dad?"

"I'm not lonely, Katie," I replied, "And you're too young to be worried about certain aspects of an adult relationship."

"But Mum was cheating on you and you've been left alone with us."

I hugged her tightly, feeling her try and hug me in return. Her arms were still not quite long enough to get around my torso. "What your mother did says more about her than any of us. She made her choice, sweetie. I think I got the better deal in the end."