guy down. We both know we could have ended up on the cold, hard sidewalk thrashing around with him, all of us getting scuffed and Tommy and me ruining our sports coats. Tommy’s threads must have set him back a stack of hundreds. Mine, not even one bill.
“You know,” Tommy says, as he steers the car out into traffic, “there have been a couple three incidents during my time when guys like him, street guys, winos, guys who we deal with every day, have stepped out of a crowd and saved some cop’s bacon.
“About six months ago, a gangbanger had the drop on a uniform guy out in North Precinct, Tim Storlie, I think it was, and a guy like Ace bashed the banger in the back of the skull with a wine bottle. Probably saved Storlie from eating a round or two. Point is, every time someone asks the street person why they helped, the guy said that some cop treated him with respect once, and he wanted to return the favor. Sort of a pay it forward, I guess. So I always think about that when I deal with people. Plus it’s just the right thing to do.”
I agree with him one hundred percent, but I can’t resist. I put my hand gently on his shoulder and stroke it a couple times. “I am sooo turned on right now.”
“Okay, okay,” Tommy laughs. “Let’s go get those photos at the Asian store.”
The rest of the day is routine. We chat with the shop owner, get the photos, and suggest ways to better secure the business. In the afternoon, we get statements from two witnesses of a church burglary and then finish the day picking up a still-in-the-box surround-sound system that an honest homeowner had found in his shrubs. Apparently, the thief had gotten spooked carrying it down the street and stashed it with the intention of retrieving it later.
All in all it’s a good day, a nice transition into the job after two months off. I didn’t realize I’d missed it so until after we had lodged Ace. I like the feeling of treating a guy right, of making one little corner of the city safe for passersby, and about being part of a bigger picture. For the last several weeks, it’s been all about me and my effort to come to terms with taking a life. Today was all about problem solving and making other people feel a little bit better. Corny, but that’s what I’m feeling.
I get off work on time, which is always a good thing since it rarely happens, and I grab a burger at Wendy’s on the way to my school. I have just one class to teach, a group of twenty-five beginners. They’ve been training about a month, so they know enough now that I can work out with them a little.
I worked up a nice sweat with the students and after the class I don’t feel a need—mental, spiritual, or whatever—to beat the heavy bag to a pulp. Maybe this getting back on the horse idea really does work.
So I head home, shower, watch CSI, and hit the rack at eleven.
I’m almost asleep when the phone jolts me awake. It’s eleven ten.
“Reeves.”
“Hey, did I wake you?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“I wanted to ask about your day and how you’re feeling.”
Tiff doesn’t like what I do but she wants to know how my day went? I don’t’ think so. Damn, she’s hard to figure out and I’m tired of trying. To be nice, I tell her about Tommy and how he handled The Ace. She laughs hard and says that that was really good police work. I’m not sure if she’s implying that shooting someone isn’t really good police work, but I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt.
She asks how I’m feeling. I know she’s referring to how I feel after going back to work, but her tone, a sexy one, sounds more like she’s asking what I’m wearing. I tell her that I’m feeling good, better than I have in a while.
“I’m so happy to hear that, Sam, I really am.” I picture her hair fanned out on the empty pillow next to me.
“Thanks,” I don’t know what else to say.
“So what are you wearing, good lookin’?”
I grin. “A smile.”
“Mmm, and you have such a beautiful, uh, smile. So tell me…”
“Yes?” I whisper.
“Is that beautiful smile getting bigger?”
We’re at the Kick Start again and I’m watching Tommy squeeze the last and the bitterest drops of Earl Grey out of his three bags. He gulps it down. Gross. Don’t know how anyone can drink that.
“What’s on the agenda this beautiful morning?” I ask, just as the cutie waitress, who’s flirted with us both days, lays the bill on the table and smiles, first at me and then at Tommy.
“If there’s anything else I can do for you boys…” She turns and wiggles her way back toward the cash register. “Just ask,” she says over her shoulder.
“You’re doing it now,” Tommy calls to her. She giggles but doesn’t look back.
“Earth to Tommy?”
“What? Oh, I got seventeen new business break-ins down in lower southeast. Could be the same guy. What do you got?”
I open a manila folder. “Three old cases I was working before I went off. Small jobs. One guy likes to steal silverware and women’s under things.”
“So there’s two of us who steal undies?”
“Yeah, but this guy swipes women’s.”
Tommy laughs, tosses a five-dollar bill on the table and scoots his chair back. “My treat. Ready to roll?”
Five minutes later, I’m driving and Tommy is slumped low reading a police report. A nice violin concerto wafts softly from the speakers.
“How are you sleeping after your shooting?” Tommy asks, flipping through reports.
“Much better now, thanks” I answer, impressed with the genuine interest in his tone. “It was rough for a while there but I’m coming to terms with it. I’ve been talking with a shrink and training extra hard. I actually slept last night.”
Tommy nods. “Glad you’re slipping back into the groove. I’ve worked with a couple other guys after they’d dropped the hammer. Both came out of it fairly quickly. But I remember an old timer at Central Precinct when I first came on the job. Jack Watkins, I think it was. He capped a teenager who had just shot his own mother. Kid shoots her and then sits down on the sofa and starts playing a video game, while mom lay bleeding out on the carpet ten feet away.
“Neighbor calls about hearing a gunshot. Jack responds, walks in the open front door and sees the kid playing Donkey Kong. You believe that? Donkey Kong! The kid picks up the gun from the coffee table—gun in one hand, game controller in his other—and points both at Jack. Jack was in his fifties and fat, but he drew fast and drills him in the five ring, sending the little prick to answer to his mom in the afterlife. Righteous shoot, but Jack never got over it. Resigned six months later, just two years from retirement.”
“Pretty sad,” I say. “Department was in the dark ages in those days, wouldn’t even give you
