Once Were Cops

Six

Riding with Kebar after, the whole dynamic had changed, he no longer gave me grief and Jesus, asked my opinion on stuff, like if we were going into a crack house, he’d go,

“How d’you want to play this... partner?”

Even he seemed stunned by his behavior, as if he’d lost his way and was floundering.

Fuck, I let him flounder.

The bollix had gone out of his way to make me life hell, and now he didn’t know his arse from his elbow, he even forgot one time to slide the bar up his sleeve till I reminded him.

Our luck stayed golden and we brought down a major dope dealer by pure chance, it was a collar that made the front pages of the Daily News.

Kebar said,

“This rate, kid, you’ll make detective in no time.”

And thing is, I felt blessed, bulletproof, no matter what I touched, it panned out. I’m Irish, I should have known better, things go that well, God is seriously screwing with you, seeing just how much you think it is your sheer talent before He fucks you good.

I was learning the lingo, my American coming in daily, still had me brogue of course and it amused the other cops to hear me cuss American with an Irish accent but at least I was getting there.

I noticed they had picked up a few of mine too, even Kebar had started calling creeps “bollix” and I once heard him say...

“Things were fierce.”

Best of all was when we pulled in a vicious hooker who had been slashing johns and he said, as she tried to bite him,

“Fuck on a bike.”

Had him.

A month flew by in a haze, and knocking off work, Kebar asked,

“There’s a bar in Brooklyn, got some great beer, I’d, um...you know, appreciate it if you let me... buy you a few brews.”

I figured he’d done enough penance, said,

“Sounds good.”

His whole face lit up and to see him smile, it was a whole other guy, like he was ten years old.

We arranged to meet at eight o’clock and as I headed for the locker room, he went,

“Shea?”

First time he used me name, and I turned. He said,

“ ’Preciate it.”

I said,

“Whatever.”

I was going to cut him some slack but not get stupid either.

Little did I know.

I got back to my place, I showered, broke out a cold one and rolled a little weed, nothing major, just chill on out, fingered the green rosary, the need was mounting.

This was always the roughest time, as the darkness mounted and demanded its due, the other side of me, the good cop, wanted to be a regular guy and, here’s the joke, to meet a woman who would so consume me that I wouldn’t need the long slender necks of others. The zoning was becoming more powerful and the durations longer, how much of any decency was left was eroding rapidly.

I had the TV on, listened to the news, a hundred Americans killed in Iraq in one month.

Jesus.

I turned it off, sank back in a chair, lit up the spliff, took a long draw of the Miller, hit the radio, a station playing old hits.

“Tainted Love” by Soft Cell, I sang along with the chorus, the weed chilling me way out.

My uniform was hanging on the back of the door, and I gazed at it, still in amazement it was actually mine.

I said,

“Fuck, you son of a gun, you really did it.”

I had bigger plans, no way was I going home after a year, I fully intended being a hero cop and then no way could they send me home, that precinct, it would be mine, I’d already started gleaning information, like that O’Brien liked young girls, I’d gather me ammunition and then when my plans were full crystallized, I’d hit like that cobra.

Back home, the lads would be getting ready to go out for a few pints.

For few, read fifteen.

Jaysus, if they could see me now.

Was this the American Dream?

Fecking would be if I made detective, and the way I was cruising, what could stop me?

Dumb fuck I am, I’m Irish, superstition is our birthright but did I bless meself, touch wood, do any ritual stuff?

Nope.

Bad fuck to it now, would it have changed anything?

Wouldn’t have hurt.

But no, I opened another brew, and here were U2 with still haven’t found what I’m looking for.

I had, hadn’t I?

Damn straight, my accent coming in.

I figured I should eat something and the weed had given me the munchies so I called out for some pizza.

The guy arrived in like jig time and I spotted him a five, he looked at me, said,

“Cop, right?”

I was delighted, asked,

“How’d you know?”

He gave that New Yorker look, said,

“Cop lives in the building, everyone hides their stash.”

Then he wrinkled his nose, smelling the weed, said,

“Evidence, huh?”

I put my fingers to my lips, made the shssssh noise.

He was cool, down with it, said,

“You ever need some decent blow, you gimme a call, my name is Jimmy.”

I asked,

“Jimmy, how come you think I won’t bust your arse?”

“Ass, you’re in America now, and you’re Irish, the Irish don’t give a fuck, see yah.”

And he was gone, whistling what might well have been “Galway Bay” but that was probably the weed.

The pizza was good and I felt wired, good to go, good to... boogie.

I didn’t have a whole lot of clothes so wore a white T... whitish, and black 501s, a pair of knock-off Nikes and me one sports jacket.

Whatever else it said, it sure as shite said, he’s not on the take.

A line that would come back to haunt me.

In my mind, I saw the green rosary... gleaming.

Kebar was in the locker room, feeling pleased the kid had agreed to have a brew.

He asked himself why it was so important.

He’d never wanted buddy stuff before.

But then, nobody had ever saved his life either.

If the kid hadn’t stepped up to the plate, Kebar would be pushing up dirt, and he shuddered:

What would Lucia do if he was gone?

Back to the state garbage bins.

Yeah, he owed and not just for himself, Lucia too, so the least he could do was buy the kid some cold ones, maybe let him in on stuff that would take years to learn.

Clean the slate.

He’d never owed before and it was confusing him.

Plus, fuckit, he liked the kid, who’d have ever seen that coming?

Kebar hadn’t liked anyone in... jeez... when... ever?

The other cops, they gave Kebar a wide berth, you bid him the time of day, he growled right back at you.

But the older guys, they didn’t much like him, what was there to like, he was a surly mean bastard, but they sure as shit respected him, he was your real beat cop, a stand-up guy, and he believed in the old ways.

A sergeant, a Polack named Swierzcynski, approached Kebar, asked,

“Got a moment, K?”

Kebar, who should have been a sergeant long ago ’cept for his attitude, snapped,

“Make it quick.”

The sergeant sighed, hard to help this schmuck but he tried, said,

“You need to watch your back.”

Kebar stopped, turned, asked,

“What’s that mean?”

The sergeant checked they couldn’t be heard, said,

“IA is sniffing around you.”

Kebar shrugged it off, said,

“Fuck ’em, they got nothing on me.”

The sergeant, knowing he was going way out there, said,

“You got a sister?”

Kebar was stunned, he’d kept her real hidden, asked,

“How do you know?”

The sergeant gave a rueful smile, said,

“I hear stuff and the word is, she’s in a real fancy home...”

Pause.

“A very expensive one.”

Kebar was thinking,

“Fuck fuck fuck.”

But he said nothing and the sergeant added,

“Word is they’re using the kid to bring you down.”

Kebar couldn’t help it, splurted,

“That kid saved my ass.”

The sergeant shook his head, said,

“That’s why he’s perfect to take you down, you trust him.”

Kebar gave a grudging thanks and the sergeant said,

“Not too many good ones left.”

Kebar got out of there quick, thinking,

“Damn kid, he wouldn’t turn, would he?”

He had to hustle to get to see Lucia before he met with the kid. The drive out to Long Island was the usual fucking nightmare, and he got there running way late so he’d have to cut his time with his sister short.

Thus preoccupied, he never clocked the tail on his ass.

And if he had, he’d have been sure it was Internal Affairs.

He’d have been wrong.

As he went in, the Chevy pulled in a few spaces behind his car. The driver sighed,

“How long will the prick be, liked, visiting?”

Morronni, on his cell phone in the backseat, said,

“I’m told he’s meeting the Irish guy...”

He checked his gold Rolex, he knew the time to the second but he liked to flash the bling, said,

“At eight, so he’s gonna have to cut the time with the spastic short.”

The driver, not really giving a fuck, asked,

“That what she is, huh?”

Morronni said,

“The fuck do I know, some kind of retard is all, what’s it matter?”

It didn’t.

Kebar hated to cut her time, but maybe she wouldn’t notice, he’d brought her Hershey’s Kisses.

Her ritual was always the same, she’d count them out.

“One for Daddy, one for Mamma, one for Konny,” her childhood name for him, “and one for little old me.”

Fuck, to see your beautiful thirty-five-year-old sister do that, when she should be married with two kids and a halfway decent husband, it shriveled his heart.

She had her own room, the room of a five-year-old girl, childish pictures on the wall, a comforter on the bed with the Care Bears, and a galaxy of dolls on the shelf with nursery rhyme books alongside.

Her hair was in ringlets, her huge brown eyes, not a trace of guile in them, and the button nose. Barney was on the TV... and she was singing along to the theme song.

Kebar hated that fucking purple dinosaur with all his soul.

He said,

“How yah doing, hon?”

She jumped up, threw herself into his arms, showering his face with kisses, he wanted to shoot some fucker, now.

He gave her the bag of goodies and she shrieked in delight, sat on the bed and said,

“Come sit beside me, Konny, we’ll count out the Kisses.”

Every time, it wounded him anew.

She asked,

“How is Daddy?’

The piece of no-good trash who’d beaten her senseless so many times, he wanted to go,

“Dead, thank fuck.”

Said,

“He’s working real hard, gonna get you that playhouse soon.”

The fuck worked like one week his whole whining life.

“And Mammy?”

Tell the truth?

“Loaded before noon, progressed to margaritas now and which with any luck will kill the bitch soon.”

Sure, tell that.

He said,

“She’s knitting you a scarf for when the winter comes and you can come home.”

Same goddamn lie he’d been telling for years.

Lucia asked, a slight frown between her innocent eyes,

“They sure love us, don’t they, Konny?”

“You betcha.”

And here came the same question, every visit, every time,

“Tell me how much?”

This might be always the hardest lie of all, he stretched his arms as wide as he could, said,

“To the moon and all the way back again.”

The words nigh choking him.

It did the trick though. She gave that radiant smile that age would not wither, nor time erase.

She sang along with the end credits of Barney and then yawned, said,

“It’s time for my nap, will you tuck me in?”

He did and kissed her gently on the forehead.

She was asleep before he reached the door.

He didn’t look back, that one step he could never take, seeing her sleeping, her face like every wonderful thing that never happened.

In the corridor, a nurse asked,

“Leaving so soon?”

He was going to go,

“The fuck does that mean?”

But said,

“She’s sleeping.”

And got the hell out of there, checked his watch, he might just make the appointed time.