The Tin Collector

Chapter 10

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Dear Dad, Boy, do I wish you were here so we could sit down and talk this one out like the old days. I'm really in the shit this time, Pop, and no matter which way I turn, I'm faced with a new set of terrible options.

Where to begin?

I guess Ray's funeral is my biggest unanswerable right now. The department is going to give him a full-dress good-bye: honor guard, speeches, everybody wearing black ribbons across their badges. Today we got a department directive demanding that all officers not on day watch attend in dress blues. There's going to be a parade led by two hundred Mary units (motorcycle cops), followed by a hundred black-and-whites. The damn thing forms up at the Academy training field and will wend its way out of the foothills to Forest Lawn. Full TV and press coverage, of course.

Fart of me wants to go. I feel like hell, and going to Ray's funeral might help me through it. Another part of me is scared to death. They're going to have this giant turnout of my brother officers: a twenty-gun send-off, with everybody mourning Ray Molar, "the Policeman's Policeman" and double Medal of Valor winner.

My problem, of course, is I'm the asshole who shot him.

I don't know if I can bear to stand there under all the hatred I know will be directed at me.

What would you do, Dad? I could really use the advice. I remember you told me once that, in matters of the soul, the thing that is the most difficult to do is generally the thing that you must do. You said that in order to grow spiritually, one must not turn away from emotional hardships. But, still, I feel so isolated, so alone, so out of the loop.

Having you so far away has made things difficult. I know you can't get around much and having emphysema makes flying difficult, but I need help, Dad.

I guess one of my problems is I always tried to make the department my second family. All that bullshit they preach up at the Academy… the long blue line, fraternity of police, brothers in blue… I wanted to believe all that. I think maybe it's why I decided to become a cop. And now, despite almost seventeen years on the job, I've found a way to fuck it up. I'm alone again.

If you have any thoughts, gimme a ring. I'm still undecided about Ray's funeral.

I wish I had your strength, willpower, and sense of honor. I'm trying to do what I think would make you proud but, damn it, I'm panicked to go to that funeral.

You're probably saying I should just bite the bullet and go. So, that's the answer. You always did know what was best.

I miss you and love you. I know, enough already, blah, blah, blah.

Your loving son,

Shane