ROSS: [grudgingly] Right.

SIMMONDS: You don’t know a bloody thing. Right? [Pause.] You don’t know a bloody thing. About life, about the force, about yourself. You don’t even know why you joined up. [Pause.] I’ve been round on this earth about thirty years longer than you have, Ross, and in that time I’ve learned a lot of things. If you want to go on staggering through life like a blind man in a brothel, then that’s your business. If your pride won’t let you accept a little bit of hard-earned knowledge, then fair enough. You can go on staggering around for the rest of your life for all I care. Everybody’s fool. Is that what you want?

ROSS: [grudgingly] No.

SIMMONDS: Good. We’re getting somewhere. I’m glad you haven’t got the sort of pride that won’t accept a little bit of help. I’m glad you feel you can accept a little bit of advice.

ROSS: I’m always ready to accept advice.

SIMMONDS: Then how come you wouldn’t tell me what your father does?

ROSS: I didn’t think it was any of your business.

SIMMONDS: [acting puzzled] I don’t understand you, Ross. You want my help. You want the benefit of my experience. You want to learn in a few years what it’s taken me twenty-three and yet you won’t—you will not—give me one simple straightforward bit of information about yourself. [Acting angry] How in the hell do you expect me to help you if I don’t know anything about you?

ROSS: [stubborn, sullen] I didn’t think you needed to know that.

SIMMONDS: [emitting a long, weary sigh] Yes. It probably seems irrelevant. Let me tell you a little story, Ross. A few years ago they sent me a young lad straight out of training—not unlike yourself. Wouldn’t tell me anything. Fair enough. Either a person wants to tell me something or they don’t. Two weeks after he arrived we got this hysterical little tart fronting into the station, yelling: ‘Rape’. Quite common around here in the summer. At any rate, we give her an aspirin, jump in the divvy wagon and cruise round a bit, and bugger me dead, the lads in question were there, large as life, in the local hamburger joint. Well, before I could stop him, the young fella’s out the door and into ’em. Laid out three before I had time to park the car. Turned out the tart was the biggest bike in the district. They’d all been through her—no worries—but the only reason she’d stacked on an act was because the young idiots had left her out in the bush for a joke because they knew her husband was due home from night shift. Silly bitch panicked and thought she could square it with her old man by dobbing them in.

ROSS: What happened to the…?

SIMMONDS: To the young fella?

ROSS nods.

Sued for assault. Out of the force like a shot. Wasn’t anything I could do about it, Ross. Do you know why he snapped, Ross?