A heart that's full up like a landfill,
A job that slowly kills you,
Bruises that won't heal.
...
I'll take a quiet life,
A handshake of carbon monoxide,
With no alarms and no surprises,
No alarms and no surprises,
No alarms and no surprises, please.
-Radiohead, No Surprises
Around 11:30 I meet Cainer on Route 18. Hop out of the car and walk towards him as a light rain keeps tumblin’ down. Once I get close enough to see the whites of his eyes, he cracks open that same ole goofy Cainer smile and a "What’s up, Utsup?" Can’t remember the last time I saw Cainer and wasn’t greeted as such. He’s always comin’ up with dumb rhymes for everyone, and once he gets one in his head, it sticks, whether you like it or not. Everyone hates it at first, t’be honest, but his grinning and laughing gets to ‘em, and they’ll come to tolerate it, sometimes even start to like it.
"Hey, Cainer. Saw you at the ballgame yesterday."
"Yeah?" The patented Cainer smile spreads even bigger, ear-to-ear, ‘cause he knew what was coming.
"Yeah. Just having myself a drink and watching the ballgame, and the cameraman finds this guy holding up a big ole sign: ‘Wife thinks I’m at work, boss thinks I’m sick.’"
The smile’s been stretched beyond its capacity, and he bursts into fits of laughter like he does. Can always rely on him laughing real hard at own jokes.
"Few seconds after the camera got off ‘im, I realized that it was you."
He’s doubled over, wheezing, his face pink.
"The announcers got a good kick outta it, too."
"I know, I know," he chokes out between bursts of laughter. "I know."
"…What’d you do, tape it?"
He nods, and the laughter flourishes agin. Can only imagine how hard he musta started up when he first saw the tape. It’s a wonder he’s not coughed up a lung or sumpin. He eventually pulls hisself together, wipes the tears off his big red cheeks and clears his throat. "Oh, Gawd," he says. "Good Gawd, there’s some good times."
"Did Chelsea see it?"
He chuckles a bit. I’m afraid I may’ve started the laughter right back up agin, but he stops.
"Uh-huh. When I found it on the tape, she came in to see what all the noise was about."
"What’d she do?"
"Well," he says, "got a little upset at first. But then she admitted it was funny."
I don’t say nuffin, but he don’t realize how lucky he is. If I got caught doin’ sumpin like that, there’d be Hell to pay. Guess Cainer should enjoy it while the both of them are young...she’ll start to get sore ‘bout that sort of thing in a few years, fo’ shore.
Surprised the two of ‘em get along well as things are without Cainer running off to ballgames, honestly. Couldn’t be more different as a pair. I think it all stems from the fact that they’re from different places. She moved down here from up north to go to school coupla years ago, whereas Cainer’s a big ole Carolina white boy, born ‘n raised in this sleepy little town called Eden, where he’ll likely spend the rest of his life. It’s all the stereotypes come true—he’s real religious, but she don’t care for church; he’s been weaned on camping trips, she goes off on reguhluh skiing trips; both Cainer’s folks scraped a living off ordinary jobs, but she’s from some well-to-do family...and the list goes on and on. To add to all that, I’ve seen the girl oncer twice, and she’s thin as a rake. Cainer’s feet prolly weigh as much as she does. Always leaves me wonderin’ if Cainer’s ever allowed to get on top of her, or whether it’d be too much for her.
Guess it don’t matter, though, as they seem to get along pretty good, least for the most part. That’s what’s most important.
"Oh, speakin’ of playing ball, Cainer, remember when I ax’d you coupla weeks ago if you could teach my kids how to throw a good hammer?"
"Yeah."
"How ‘bout it? Some time this week."
He lets out a sigh. I know fo’ shore he’s go’n say that he’d like to, but he’s just been so busy...
“C’mon. I realize you’re workin’ a coupla jobs, but so am I. And how busy can you be if you’re goin’ to ballgames?"
He sighs agin. "Yeah, yeah, guess so."
I pat him on the back. "Good man, good man…"
"I rilly dun see why you’re so keen on me showin’ ‘em, though."
"Cainer, don’t rub salt in the wound, now..."
He messes up his face, puzzled.
"Cainer, it was just a coupla weeks ago..."
He laughs a little bit.
"Gawd, you’re still hung up on that?"
"Your twelve-to-sixer’s killer stuff!"
Cainer and I and a few other guys on the force sometimes go out and play ball. Last time we did, Cainer pitched. I went up there my first at bat, and he threw me some gas right down the heart of the plate. So next pitch, I’m lookin’ for the same stuff, and he tosses in this huge looper—had to be some twenty mile per hour slower than the fastball. Got excited and took a hack at it, but was way out in front. Shouted at ‘im to throw it agin, and he actually did. Punched me out.
"None of the kids on my team can throw a good curveball, or any good off-speed pitch, for that matter. I never pitched all that well to start with...plus, I’m getting old. Havin’ a hard time teaching them how."
"Fine, fine, guess I could stop by that school one of these days."
"Cool, thanks, man."
Cainer rilly does have great stuff. I never tell ‘im, but I think if he had a chance to go to a college and pitch for a few more years, he could get drafted. There’s no use in telling him that, ‘cause we both know he’ll never go back to school, and that’ll never happen. Real shame, too...I coach at this big private school, and all those kids will go to college someplace, but none of ‘em has his kind of talent.
Thunder rolls in the distance, and the rain starts coming down a little harder. Cainer lets out a big yawn and axes for the time. I tell him it’s only been some ten minutes since I got here.
"Aw, damn. I hate working speed traps," he says. "It’s so boring...and even when it isn’t, it’s not like we’re rilly doing anything helpful.”
"Mm, everyone thinks that way. Don’t change the fact that the state needs its money, though."
"Yeah, I know."
Some lightning flashes, followed by more thunder. There are so many dark clouds in the sky that I can’t even find the moon. Been dark and cloudy all day...been a good while since we had a storm like this. Most people don’t ever stand out on the street while it’s pouring out, but it’s been part of my job description for years now, and it’s kinda interesting, rilly. Never realized how dirty the streets are ‘til I watched the rain clean ‘em out. Oil, roadkill, whatever trash people decide to toss out their windows...it all comes together into a continuous flow of muck. Then the water sweeps it right off the street into a sewer drain or just to the side of the road, where the soil absorbs it or some scavenger feeds off it, or God knows. Strikes me kinda funny how the world seems like it’s always able to clean itself off, no matter how dirty it gets.
I start yawning myself...must be tired if I’m here thinking about roadkill. Still only been a coupla minutes, though. Time just goes by so slow...
"Say, Utsup," Cainer says, "do you have a lot of dreams?"
That wakes me up. Has to be one of the weirdest things I’ve ever heard Cainer ax’n me. He must be getting real tired. That ballgame did go into extra innings yesterday, after all.
"Uhm…I’unno. Sometimes I do, but I usally forget ‘em. Why?"
Cainer sighs.
"I’unno either, man. I usally forget alla mine, too. Been weird recently, though...been havin’ all kinds of dreams."
"Like what?"
"Like I said, all kinds." He stops. "...Well, they got some things in common, I guess. Just have these dreams where it’s just Chelsea and me, off on our own. Just off on our own, y’know?"
Just as I’m about to tell him I’m not shore what he’s getting at, he starts agin:
"I know you’re gonna say that we already are off on our own, living in our own house...‘cept for the help we get from her folks sometimes. That’s mostly what keeps us in that house, honestly. But I mean rilly on our own. Not just in a house. Not in a house at all."
I’m still not shore what he’s getting at. I turn to look at him. He’s got this weird look on his face, like he’s lost in thought. His gray eyes seem kinda cloudy and glazed over, but there’s also a little spark of sumpin, too—a little glint of light. I’ve never seen him like this before.
Glazed eyes...ha…reminds me of this time where I pulled a guy over ‘cause he was swerving back and forth ‘tween lanes. Walked up to the window, told ‘im his eyes looked a little red, ax’d if he had been drinkin’ a little that night. He told me that my eyes looked a little glazed, wondered if I’d been havin’ a few doughnuts that night. Still got the DUI, but I told ‘im it was pretty funny.
Cainer sees that I’m driftin’ off and takes it he should talk agin.
"It’s like...an island. An island, see? We’re on some island, all on our own, with nuffin else but some trees ‘n animals ‘n the ocean, or whatever. And that’s that. We could just live our lives and be happy."
Gawd, is he tired. The island analogy reminds me of sumpin else, but I try to focus ‘n not ignore ‘im.
"They’re just dreams, Cainer."
"No, but they aren’t. They’re more." He fixes his foggy gaze on me. "Just imagine it: alone on an island, all by yourself, aside from a woman you rilly love, and who rilly loves you, too. And you’ve not got any work to do...nuffin you’ve got to do, aside from go fishin’ or sumpin to keep your bellies full and to keep her happy."
He stops, and we’re just left looking at each other agin.
"And you could make love whenever you wanted!" he shouts in an afterthought.
"...Cainer...they’re just dreams."
I rub my eyes. This is a good way of killin’ time, but it’s also just wearin’ me out more and more…
"I already told you, that aren’t just dreams," he insists. "The way things are right now, I’m always working. Pushin’ and haulin’ stuff around from nine to five, then workin’ all kinds of ridiculous hours doing this, even then trying to cram sumpin else in part time...and Chelsea’s workin’ real hard at school, trying to get this degree, or whatever. I’m not smart, I dun know any of that stuff. There’s nuffin I can do to help her with any of that. We hardly talk, we hardly do anything...I’m always busy, she’s always busy...it’s like we’re just roommates or sumpin. I rilly lover...I teller I do, but it don’t mean nuffin anymore.
"And that ain’t the life I want to live. I dun wanna work...the only reason I do is so that way we have some money, and the only reason I care about that is so that we can both eat and have the house. I’m shore she don’t actually care about what she’s learning in school...it’s just somehow for her to get someplace further than I have in this world."
He nods a little bit, agreeing with a part of himself he’s never explored before. He gives me a look that seems to ax if it’s okay for him to keep going, then goes right ahead.
"I don’t want none of that...none of any of this, rilly. All I rilly want is what’s in the dream, see? I just want to be happy, and to share the happiness with someone else...that’s all I think anyone ever wants...that’s all I think people are ever supposed to want, or to have. ...So why can’t the world be that way?"
I rub my eyes. The rain keeps fallin’...
"Well, say sumpin."
"I’unno what to say. They’re just dreams."
He closes his eyes and exhales real slow, like he’s real, real tired...like when you’re too tired to even go to sleep. Makes me feel like I have to say sumpin else, but I dunno what to tell him. It’s taking a lot of work just to pay attention without laughing, rilly.
"I’unno, Cainer. I dun think everyone wants to live on their own island, and that’s why the world isn’t that way. They wanna work hard to get real rich, earn lotsa money...more money than most people will ever get. Then they can buy big mansions and boats and things and be happier than all of them."
His eyes are open now. He looks just as confused as I was when he was talking.
“You’re young, maybe you’ve not figgered all of this out yet…but that’s the way the world works. At least, that’s the way it’s’posed to work. Since you’re a kid, you’re s’posed to know that if you work real hard, it’ll pay off, and you’ll be real happy in the end. And so people who don’t work as hard will never be as happy, ideally. Like you just said, Cainer, the only reason you work is because you need to if you want to keep yoself fat and happy…that’s the way the world’s made. Work needs to be done, so it encourages hard work.”
“Huh,” he says, still confused. Looks like he’s trying to put a sentence together, but is having a hard time.
“When you say ‘work has to be done,’ what’dyu mean?”
“I mean that the world wouldn’t turn if people wouldn’t work. Everyone has to work, just like everyone has to be pay taxes.”
“But why?”
I’m about to go off about public schools and roads and all, but then I realize that we’re both cops.
“Jesus, Cainer, where do you think our pay checks come from?”
“Our pay checks suck.”
“Shore they do. But people pay taxes so that way they can pay cops to keep ‘em safe.”
“But why do they rilly need cops? Or why do they even need laws, or schools, or roads?” He axes all this, and before I have time to answer, starts ax’n more: “Why do they even need money? Like I was sayin’, if all tha’s for is food and a house, why not build a house for yourself and catch food? Why do we need any of that?”
I’m not even shore I can answer half of those, and I’m too tired to rilly even try.
“I’unno, Cainer. But, y’know…people were meant to live together, not on islands.”
“I’m not so shore,” he says. Gawd, he’s go’n go off rantin’ agin…got half a mind to ax who this man is and what he’s done to Cainer. Then his belly emits this long, unpleasant growl. He slaps a hand on it, says sumpin ‘bout nachos, and trudges off into the trees behind us. ...Convinces me it’s Cainer after all.
I stand and listen to the soft pitter-patter of the rain, accompanied with various sounds of relief coming from the woods. Cainer and I used to always joke that in this town, it’s big news if a bear ****s in those woods…locks up the front page, bold type. Big secret is that half the time, it ain’t no bear. Funny to think that’s what we usally talkin’ ‘bout…dunno what’s gotten into him tonight. Hell, I’ve practically never talked to Cainer before ‘bout anything but sports, work and women, and now he comes out with all of this ‘bout dreams. Don’t make any sense…think he’d agree with me any other day, too.
Cainer emerges from the darkness, pulling up his pants and fastening his belt tight.
“I take it you’ll need lotsa dark places on this island of yours.”
“I s’pose so,” he says. “I’ve prolly said this before, but it’s a shame how many people have never taken a squat out in the woods. Gotta be one of life’s simplest pleasures.”
“You’re crazy,” I tell him.
“Easy to say that when you’ve not done it for yourself,” he says. “In their mind, everyone’s got it pegged as being gross. But that’s only because that’s what everyone else thinks. It’s how everyone’s made to be…it’s enjoyable.”
“Like I said, you’re just crazy. If only it were so easy for you to get all the crap out of your head.”
“If only it were so easy for us to get all the crap out of this world,” he says.
I laugh a little bit at this attempt about bein’ profound. What’s that even s’posed to mean?
Before we can say anything else, we hear the screeching of tires and a motor hummin’ in the distance.
“Ooh, badass on the loose.”
“Ayup. Not go’n need the speed gun for that one…”
“This time a’night, betcha he’s a drunk or sumpin.”
“Uh-huh.”
We look to our left and see a pair of headlights in the distance.
“Got his brights on, too.”
“Well, ‘s raining pretty hard…”
With that, Cainer walks out into the road and starts waving his arms a bit. The driver responds by slowing down a bit…turns his brights off, too, starts comin’ towards us slower. Eventually rolls to a stop some twenty yards in front of Cainer, who starts to walk over toward the car.
“Tha’s an awful long way to walk!” I shout out at him. Doubt he can ever hear me, the rain’s comin’ down so hard...matter of fact, we prolly shouldn’t have stopped this guy without using the speed gun. Shore, we both know he was go’n real fast, but mostly on what we heard, and it’s hard to hear a damn thing with this rain. Just gets so dull out here…end up jumping on every opportunity to do sumpin, even if we shouldn’t.
The tires start screeching agin. I look up to find that the car’s back on ‘n moving. It bolts off toward Cainer. He makes a noise and jumps to one side, but he’s not quick enough, and he’s taken under the vehicle. I watch the taillights disappear, then look at the body it’s left behind as exhaust: all six foot, two hundred some pounds of it.
----------
It was sumpin, all of us sittin’ in that little room together, none of us sayin’ a word, but all knowing what was in the other’s head. John Roberts, a proud Republican and ardent supporter of the Bush administration, was thinkin’ he’d never have to hear no one axin’ ‘im “What d’ya say, Juantanamo Bay?” agin in his life; Billy Sadler was rememberin’ the times he had with his ole high school friend, randomly walkin’ into high-rollin’ Italian restaurants and hollering that Pizza Hut delivered the pasta…everyone was just trying to let it sink in that Cainer’s gone, and ain’t never comin’ back.
I came outside for a smoke. I rilly don’t wanna smoke, but figgered anything would be better than sitting in there. It was hard. I’un claim to have been his best friend or nuffin, but he was a good kid. He was nice to be around—always seemed to make everything simple. It’s hard to think he’s gone. It’s always hard when this sort of thing happens. As much as we do nuffin ‘round here, and as many doughnut jokes people like to make ‘bout us, it don’t change the fact that cops die just trying to do their jobs sometimes.
What makes it even sadder is that we had caught the guy who killed ‘im many times before. He’s this nineteen year old kid…was driving drunk, had a few pounds of marijuana in the trunk, which is just what he’s been taken in for before. I’unno what his problem is, but he clearly isn’t learning to behave better. I’unno what’s wrong with any of these kids today. There are so many like him…it’s almost all we do, pull over kids drinking and bust them for smoking pot. Everyone says they’re just experimenting, and going on trips to escape realities, and Gawd knows…Hell, when I was a kid, I went to a ballgame if I wanted to get away from reality. No excuse for breaking laws.
Guess as a cop I’m s’posed to think if we arrest him enough times, he’ll start shaping up. But I don’t believe it. I don’t think I ever will. This system we’ve got isn’t doing anything for ‘im, or us, or the rest of the town. People can go off about psychology and mothers and fathers, and say that troubled kids need this and that and the other thing…but some people just ain’t no good. Just makes you wonder what happened to the days where cops would just unload shots onto burgulars runnin’ with a burlap sack over their back…good ol’ cops and robbers…that’s the way this is supposed to work.
The door opens behind me.
“Utsup, man, come quick!”
I turn around. It’s Billy Sadler. He’s got a big smile on his face—a smile that coulda given Cainer’s a run for its money.
“Come quick!”
“Where to?”
“Well, just come with me.”
We start walking.
“What’s going on, anyway?”
“The little **** got what was comin’ to ‘im. Someone broke his neck,” he says, still glowing.
That stops me dead in my tracks.
“He’s dead?”
“Uh-huh. They just told us so. Someone broke his neck…at least, he was found just layin’ there with nuffin but a cracked neck and some bedsheets, so that’s what they’re thinking.”
He makes a gesture with his head, tellin’ me to keep goin’, so I start walking agin. Pretty soon I’m smiling a bit, too, morbid as that may seem. In all my years being a cop, this is the first time I’ve felt like sumpin truly just has happened.
----------
We’re all sittin’ together agin. The guys have filled me in with all the details: ‘parently, they hadn’t gotten the kid to the actual prison yet. Dunno why...they had a few hours, and it usally don’t take that long. Few of us guessed that ‘cause it was raining so hard, they decided to just keep ‘em here. It’s strange, but we’ve actually got a few good cells here at the police station. Only seen ‘em used oncer twice, but it’s always worked out alright…
Anyway, so they found ‘im dead just a little while ago. Obviously, they expect it was murder, ‘cause it’s awful hard to break your own neck without hanging yourself, and there wasn’t no evidence of that…and naturally, we were the only people around to do it.
But there prolly has never been a happier bunch of murder suspects. Most everyone feels like I do---like justice has come, and we’ve been a part of it. One of us had been a part of it, anyway. And we’re all proud of him, whoever it was. No one’s sure exactly who to be proud of, so we’re proud of everyone. We’re proud of ourselves as a group, ‘cause we’ve done sumpin real for once---sumpin beyond directing traffic, or writing up a ticket, or arresting a drunk, but sumpin that rilly made a difference. We did sumpin simple but important, and we did it for Cainer.
Guess the only issue is that not everyone in the building feels that way. Eva Nod, chief of police, is a little bleach blond sweetheart who’s had that job for a coupla years. I’unno how she got it. Usally takes a few years to get a position like that, but I can’t imagine she’s older than thirty. She’s gotta be one of the finest women I’ve ever seen…got that hair, sometimes puts it up in this big bun, with some blue ribbons here and there to match these bright eyes…and, my Gawd, she’s got the nicest pair of hooters I’ve ever seen. A man could suffocate between those things.
The sexiest part of it is that you can’t tease her or nuffin’ bout it…at least, I’un think I could without getting my black ass fired. She talks real sweet and smiles real pretty all the time, but she’s got a pole up her pants about some things, and you never know what’ll push her over the edge. There’s a strange sexiness that comes with sumpin that good being untouchable…you suddenly find it takin’ over your mind. Me ‘n Cainer ‘n a few of the other guys used to debate every day whether her melons were fake, for Chrissakes.
But anyway, she really hasn’t been here all that long, and for the time she has been here, she’s not really had much contact with any of us. She don’t know us too well…she didn’t know Cainer. There’s no way she could understand how we felt earlier tonight, or how we feel now. So she’s intent on finding who’s done it…but it don’t matter. I won’t say a word ‘bout anyone, and I’m sure none of the other guys will squeal on one another. She’ll have no place to start.
I close my eyes and just listen to the rain run off the roof. It’s well into the morning…should be getting home soon. I hear a door open on the other side of the room and open my eyes. The Chief’s stuck her pretty little face out, axes for me to come over. I get up and take a walk over, all the guys giving me funny looks ‘long the way. I try to tell them that they can trust me in the way I walk. Lots can be seen by the way a man walks.
She gives me a real warm smile and has me come into her office. I sit down in a chair in front of her desk. It’s a cozy ‘lil room that has obviously had the touch of a woman: got some green plants and different flowers potted here and there. Their leaves are so dark a green that I have to believe they’re plastic, though. Got one of those Zen water things runnin’ in here, too…one of those things made up of a bunch of cups that pour into one another, ‘til eventually it all empties out at the bottom. Keeps bucketing that water down, as if there’s some soil there to collect it, or some purpose to its runnin’, but there’s nuffin, and the same water’s used over and over agin for no real reason. Never understood those things.
“Mr. James Utsup?” she says.
“Yes’m.” Not used to hearin’ my name like that.
“I’m sure that it’s been brought to your attention that Mr. White was found dead just about an hour ago.”
“Yes’m, I know that.” The kid’s name was Darryl White or Darren White…or sumpin like that.
“Do you know anything else about it?”
“Can’t say I rilly do, ma’am.”
“How’d you hear about it?”
“Well,” I stop, “one of the guys told me.”
It’s getting hard to stay focused on her face. As pretty as it is, my eyes keep slipping down toward her chest.
“Which one of them told you about it?”
I think about it a little bit. Dun wanna give her one name, as that could get ‘im in trouble…
“Well, see, I didn’t rilly hear from anyone specific. All of them was just kinda talkin’ bout it at once…I heard some shoutin’ and excitement, and I ax’d ‘em what it was all about.”
“Ooh, I see,” she says with a little nod. “Now, James,” she says, and she leans forward a bit, with those breasts just pressed up firm and tight ‘gainst her shirt, “I understand that you’ve been working here a while.”
“Uh-huh…tha’s correct, ma’am.”
They’re sittin’ there on her chest, nipples like the stems of oversized, ripe apples, just beggin’ to be picked…
“So I take it you know a thing or two about all of these men, and about Mr. Matt Cain, who died earlier in the evening.”
“Guess so, ma’am.”
“So,” she sighs, “is there anything you could tell me about their relationships with him?”
“…With Cainer, you mean?”
“Yes,” she smiles agin.
This is the point where I rilly can’t say nuffin. Anything could be incriminating…and I don’t want no part in arresting any of these guys. I figger it’s best to keep mum. So she’s just left staring at me.
“…Mr. Utsup…?”
I still don’t say nuffin.
“Records show that a…let me see,” she turns through some paper on her desk ‘til she finds what’s she’s looking for, “Bill Sadler. Records show that a Bill Sadler was the same age as Sergeant Cain. Everyone else seems to be a few years older.”
Silence. We just hear that water pouring into cup after cup…
“Would you say they were close?”
Still nuffin but the running water. Were they close? Close…close…Gawd, those gazongas are comin’ awful close together…
“Mr. White has had run-ins with the law many times before,” she continues. “Would you say anyone had any kind of extraordinary frustrations with him before tonight?”
I dunno how long it’s go’n take for her to realize that I’m not go’n say nuffin. In the meantime, I’ll just keep enjoying the eye candy, I guess…
A little while goes by without either of us saying nuffin at all. Then she sighs loudly.
“Mr. Utsup, you’re dismissed.”
I get up to leave.
“Just leave your gun and badge here on the desk.”
I stop.
“What’dyu mean?”
“I mean to say that you’re being suspended,” she says.
I whip around.
“For what?”
“Mr. Utsup,” she says, “it’s clear to me that you’re choosing not to cooperate.”
“You’re suspending me for not snitching on my friends? That’s the biggest crock of **** I’ve ever heard!” I shout as loud as I can, hoping the guys outside can hear me.
“Please calm down, mist—”
“And let me tell you something, sweetheart:
none of them is go’n wanna talk to you, neither. You can suspend all of us. Fire all of us. No one will care. No one’s go’n talk. We all agree that the kid got what he deserved, and it don’t matter to us who did it—we’re go’n protect him from you.”
“Mr. Utsup—”
“Suspend me! My Gawd, in all my years, I’ve never been through sumpin this ridiculous.”
“Mr Utsup—”
I take my gun out of its holster and slam it down on her desk.
“There’s the gun…”
I take off the badge and hold it up for her to see:
“And here’s a five point suppository for you.” I put it next to the gun. “And I tell ya, you’ll have more than enough of those to go ‘round by the time—”
“Mr Utsup, Mr. White isn’t dead.”
She interrupted me loud enough that I could hear. Mr. White…the kid…isn’t dead?
“Mr. White isn’t dead,” she says agin, as if she heard what I was thinking. “He’s was transferred to a safe county facility shortly after his arrest. We made this a priority, despite the inclement weather, for his protection, as we figured that emotions may run high amongst some of you men after what had happened earlier tonight.”
She pauses. I wanna say sumpin, but I’m so hot and upset that I can’t find the right words. The water just keeps runnin’…
“I decided that presenting you all with this scenario would be a nice way to test just how cooperative and committed you were as a unit. So far, I’ve been disappointed.” She lets out another sigh, then puts on that same, sweet smile, like she always does, and says: “Now, Mr. Utsup, if you’ll step out of the office, I’d like to call in some of the others…”
I stand there, my mouth open a ‘lil bit, staring at the smile at her face. It plants a funny feeling in my gut. I feel like I’m go’n upchuck. I can’t…I can’t…She can keep the gun and the badge. I turn around, open the door, and walk out of the room. All the guys are smiling at me. They prolly heard all my shouting, just like I wanted. I wanna tell them that none of it’s real, that it’s all fake, but I can’t…I just start headed for the door. A few of them call after me. I don’t care. None of them will be working here tomorrow…at least, none of them should be…I prolly won’t see any of ‘em again for a good while…
I open the double doors to the stations and walk on outside. It’s stopped raining; all that’s left of the storm is that thick, moist smell that sticks after the world’s cleaned itself. The sun’s comin’ up on the horizon, shining through the clouds of yesterday, giving us a chance to see what the earth looks like after a good wash.
I think of Cainer. By Gawd, I hope he got what he wanted. I hope he’s up there on one of them clouds, that’s got trees and water and animals on it that none of us can see from down here. I hope he’s up there, workin’ with a rod ‘n a reel, just waitin’ for Chelsea to visit ‘im.
This post has been edited by Hephastus: Nov 22 2008, 06:37 PM
Nov 9 2008, 04:56 PM
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