The survivor

One Hundred and Two

Striker had just finished getting Courtney seated and buckled into his Honda CR-V when the sound of squealing tires filled the underground. He turned and spotted a small car speeding around the bend in the dark parkade. Instinctively, he swept his hand under his jacket flap and touched the butt of his pistol. As the car drove closer, Striker saw that it was a silver Volvo, a car he recognised well.

Laroche.

Striker let his fingers slide off the butt of his gun as the Volvo came to a stop ten feet away. Even in the darkness, Striker could see the angry expression on Laroche’s face. The Deputy Chief climbed out, slammed the car door.

‘Striker!’ he roared.

‘This is a hospital, sir — the mental institution is down the road.’

Dressed in civilian attire, Laroche looked even smaller than he did in his dress pants and officer’s shirt. Beads of sweat rolled down his face, making his white skin appear even more sickly. He stormed up to Striker, his hands balled into fists.

‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ he demanded.

‘Me, sir?’

‘I know it was you, Striker!’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘The complaint to Internal. The subsequent review over my handling of the Active Shooter file.’ When Striker said nothing, Laroche continued, ‘I’m getting demoted, Striker. Demoted! You’ve ruined my bid for Chief. Ruined it. My entire career!’

‘That’s very unfortunate, sir.’

Laroche’s eyes darkened and his face reddened till all the white had left his cheeks. ‘You think I don’t know you did this, Striker? You think I’m some kind of fool?’

‘Think, sir?’

Laroche swore out loud, raised a finger. ‘I don’t care if it takes the rest of my goddam career, I’ll make you pay for what you’ve done.’

Striker waited for Laroche to finish his rant, then stepped calmly forward and said quietly, ‘Let me give you a little bit of advice, Superintendent. When you’re in a field full of horses, don’t go looking for zebras. All you’ll find is more horses.’

Then Striker turned around, walked away from Laroche and climbed into the CR-V. Moments later, he and Courtney drove out of the underground parkade into the cold brightness of the blue-skied winter day. Courtney was returning home. Felicia was coming over for dinner. And Laroche was screwed. Striker let out a satisfied breath.

What more could a man ask for?