Copper Script

by K.J. Charles

Policing is a contract. The public agrees to give people like me the power to ask impertinent questions, give orders, or even deprive people of their liberty, under a strict set of laws and circumstances and restrictions that govern our behaviour. If we don’t respect our part of the contract, the public can’t be expected to respect theirs. And if the public decides that the police don’t deserve to be obeyed, or that we don’t serve a useful purpose—well, you considerably outnumber us. Corrupt police officers don’t just harm individuals, they strike at the rule of law and the structure of society.”

So you fight it, or obey it, or try to fit your life round it by whatever means necessary.

“And I don’t expect any saints are easy to live with. It’s asking a lot of anyone to do so much and be cheerful about it.”

I don’t have a great deal of time for grown men who can’t manage their own moods.”

He’d wanted to make things better in a world that screamed for help, and he’d sacrificed so much for that and been so lonely, and he wished he could say, It was worth it.

I like to stay on the right side of good food.”

This was wrong, and he was angry in the sick deep-down way he’d been angry about his trial and conviction, with the impotent rage that came from watching powerful people wreck lives for advantage or profit or fun.

It was truly terrifying to have a man lie to your face when you both knew he was lying, but he didn’t care that you knew because you had no power to object.