Borstal Slags by Tom Graham Read Free Book Online Page A

oh-so-simple copper.
    Up in A-Division, Sam found all the desks empty, all the phones unmanned. Everybody – Chris, Ray, a motley assortment of blokes from the department, and even Annie – was clustered together on one side of the room. What had attracted them was a huge white contraption, about which a rep in a pinstriped suit fussed and tinkered.
    ‘What’s all this?’ Sam asked.
    ‘A new gadget, ordered in on trial,’ said Annie. And then, looking intently at him, she frowned and added, ‘You all right, Sam?’
    ‘Bad night’s sleep, that’s all,’ he smiled. Her eyes were bright and clear, her skin was gently flushed around the cheeks, her hair was glossy. Not bad, he thought. Not bad at all, seeing as she’s supposed to be dead.
    I’m just a copper. I don’t understand these things. Annie’s alive. We’re
all
alive. That’ll do for me – and to hell with the crazy bloody nightmares!
    ‘They want to start sticking these new machines in the offices all over, Boss,’ put in Ray, speaking without taking the fag from his gob. ‘Not that the Guv’s too keen on it.’
    He nodded towards Gene’s office, where the man himself was visible as a brooding, lurking shape behind frosted glass.
    ‘I’m sure your guv’nor will change his tune when he sees what this little beauty can do,’ said the rep. With a knowing smile, he pressed a button and the cumbersome device clanked and juddered, emitting a sudden sweep of light.
    ‘Look out Boss, the bloody Martians have landed!’ grinned Chris, turning to Sam.
    ‘Not Martians, sir,’ grinned the rep proudly. ‘
The future
.’
    ‘The future’s not always such a great place to be,’ put in Sam.
    The rep turned that oily smile towards him: ‘Ahh – there speaks a man who’s stuck in the past. But let me see if I can bring you up to date, sir. Look.’
    The machine slowly disgorged a sheet of paper that reeked of chemicals. The rep swept up the sheet and flourished it proudly.
    ‘See for yourselves, gentlemen, madam. Look at the quality of that reproduction. Pristine. Beautiful. Reliable. No more mucking about with messy old carbon paper or wasting time typing up duplicates. The Xerox 914 is the automated office secretary you’ve always dreamt of!’
    ‘She’s not the stuff of
my
dreams,’ sniggered Chris. ‘Secretaries are supposed to have – well, you know – a right ol’ set o’ melons.’
    ‘In the ideal world, Chris, yes,’ said Ray, and he smirked across at Annie. ‘But we don’t live in an ideal world. Do we, luv.’
    ‘Not so long as it’s got dopes like you in it,’ Annie glowered back. Ignoring sniggers and jeers from the boys she added, ‘And I’m nobody’s flamin’ secretary.’
    ‘
This
office secretary doesn’t need lunch breaks,’ the rep went on. ‘Or holidays. And she won’t go and get married, leaving you all in the lurch.’ He pressed the button again. The Xerox noisily and laboriously delivered another copy. ‘It’s a lovely model this, the 914 – but who knows, if you get on with it well enough then you might like to think about upgrading to one of our cutting-edge machines that actually makes copies
in colour
.’
    ‘Colour?’ exclaimed Chris. ‘No way, give over!’
    The rep nodded proudly. ‘Full-colour copying at the touch of a button, right here in your office.’
    Chris whistled through his teeth, genuinely impressed: ‘It’s Buck Rogers, ain’t it.’
    Mutely, the staff of CID stood watching the copies emerging one by one from the Xerox machine. They seemed almost hypnotized. Ray puffed smoke. Chris audibly chewed on his bubble gum.
    ‘This ain’t a church, it ain’t a library, and it ain’t a bloody undertaker’s!’ Gene’s voice boomed out from the doorway of his office. Everybody jumped. ‘It’s too quiet in here! I want noise! I want activity! I want typewriters clacking and phones going ding-a-ling! Move it, move it! Mush, mush, you dogs!’
    The gaggle of gawpers broke up at