Drizzle had set in as the government car cruised down Spring Street. The driver switched his wipers from intermittent to continuous. A sizeable demonstration was gathered on the steps of Parliament House, placards waving, oblivious to the steady rainfall. In the rear seat a shadowy passenger edged forward toward the driver.

"I must remember to legislate these clowns out of existence, eh Steve?"
"um . . . yes Mr Premier?"
"Damn degenerates!"

The car flew passed the unsuspecting crowd and recklessly swung into Treasury Place. The Premier let out a stifled curse as he noticed further trouble at the Premier's Building. More protesters. "Ah look Steve, police back-up . . . good."

A large contingent of police had formed a barricade as the black BMW cruised to a halt. The Premier leapt from the car. Security men and police gathered either side of him, forming a human shield. There was also a small television crew. The crowd grew louder with the realisation that they had stumbled upon their quarry. They hurled abuse, and began to surge.

"Zieg heil, zieg heil", came the mocking chant. Several hands saluted, Nazi style. The Premier temporarily retreated towards the car. An egg smashed against the windscreen and splattered yolk, some onto his suit. He was furious. "Grab 'em", he snarled.

The police acted quickly grabbing randomly at a hapless suspect from the throng. A young man of dark complexion, dreadlocks and beard, was dragged before the Premier.

"Turn those cameras off", the Premier screamed, motioning towards a cameraman. It was seized and switched off. The young man had his arms twisted behind his back and his head thrust upwards. The Premier glared contemptuously. "Bread and water for you, scum. Here's your water!" he yelled, spitting in his victim's face.

Several newsmen managed to slip through the police cordon and rushed forward. "Mr Premier, is it true," said one, "that privatisation of public schools will begin next month?"
"You've got a damned hide," he snapped arrogantly. "That rumour is nothing short of scurrilous."

By this time the crowd had temporarily retreated and the Premier was able to make his way up the stairs and into the foyer of the building, which had recently been refurbished, again. He made his way to the lifts, entered, and bumped, literally, into his colleague, the Treasurer.

"Morning, Billy," he began.
"Good morning, Mr Premier, "no trouble out there?"
"Not a bit Bill, they are as weak as. By the way how was the meeting with the Japanese consortium?"
"Those bastards, they're so damned hard-headed, they wouldn't give an inch. They insisted on purchasing 100 percent, or nothing. I told them we'd get back to them."
"They agreed to our price, per school?"
"Yes, but I think . . ."
"Don't think, Bill", he condescended, "you're not paid to think. Ring them back straight away, and go for it?"
"Go for it?"
"Yes, go - for - it?" he emphasised. The elevator pinged, the door opened, and he strode out onto the third floor.

"Good morning girls" he hummed to the office staff. "Julia, bring my some coffee and some eggs . . . no . . . skip the eggs," he motioned while dabbing his suit with a handkerchief. "Just coffee."

Making his way into his office, he flung his coat onto a nearby hatstand, causing his wallet to slip to the floor, and jarring out a card which tumbled towards the expansive mahogany desk.

The phone chirped. He picked up. "Yes, Julia?"
"It's the former Premier for you, sir, on line seven." He momentarily mused over his predecessor, then pushed seven.
"Hello, Geoffrey. How are you. Still suffering withdrawal symptoms?"
"No, no, nothing of the sort, I just wanted to wish you well. Listen, at the rate you're selling government assets, I'll go down in history as a social democrat."
"Flattery will get you nowhere, old man, how about lunch?"
"Sounds great, one thirty, the usual?"
"Fine. Catch you then."

Julia had just walked in with a large tray. Coffee and biscuits. She layed it down before him.

"Thank you my dear, service with a smile." They exchanged glances, and then she noticed the card before her feet. "Oh look, you must have dropped this," she exclaimed as she picked up and read the card:

AUSTRALIAN LABOR PARTY
A. CRUMM
MEMBERSHIP No. 4818

She placed it on his desk. Just then some kind of object hit the window, possibly a home-made missile, splattering paint outside. The two were startled, but there was no real danger. The building was secure.

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Copyright © 1997 Leigh McIlwain