Janek studied the man in the bar mirror, then he nodded, got off his stool, pretended he was going to leave, turned and shoved the big Irishman to the floor. The fight lasted all of two minutes. Afterward he and the Irishman embraced, slobbered over each other, bought each other beers. When Janek left he had a sore chin, two black eyes and a huge amount of self-disgust. When he got home he vomited into the kitchen sink. Then he called Sue, 'If I'm going to eat it, tonight's the night,' he said.
She came right over, bawled him out, helped him undress and got him into bed. At the door she told him she respected him as much as ever.
'It's just nice to find out you're human,' Sue said.
It was an exceptionally cold winter. Deforest was named to replace Kit.
After that, at Janek's request, Special Squad was transferred back to the Detective Division.
The squad worked several cases, nothing interesting, nothing that taxed Janek's mind. One day Luis Ortiz called from Miami. He and his family had commandeered a small plane, fled Cuba, were seeking asylum in the States.
Janek flew south to meet them. He ended up staying a week. There was a huge welcoming party thrown by Luis's Florida-based relatives. Janek attended but drank only club soda, no rum, not even beer.
Luis, he thought, looked as alert as ever. He told Janek he wanted to find work as a cop. Janek neither encouraged nor discouraged him. When Luis asked him why he was silent, Janek shrugged.
'It's something I can't explain,' he said.
In March, Sue won the Department martial-arts competition in her weight class, 108 to 115 pounds. Special Squad attended and cheered her on.
Afterward Janek took everyone out to a celebration dinner at Peloponnesus.
That spring there would be rainy afternoons when the rain was soft, the sky iron-gray, and the droplets clung, large and crystalline, to every leaf and blade of grass. On those days Janek would sit in his office watching the water slide lazily down the panes. Then his thoughts would turn to Gelsey, seeking out her demons, wandering alone amid her father's mirrors-and then his eyes would fill with droplets, too.
We gave each other so much. If only we could have given more.
One night, he had a dream in which he walked alone' barefoot, through the deserted city-a city of rubble, a city of broken glass.
When he woke up he asked himself. Is that wreckage all that's left?
Late in April, Janek sought an interview with Joe Deforest to discuss his future in the Department. When he entered he peered around Kit's old office, then sat in the chair in front of the new chief's desk.
He told Deforest he'd been thinking about resigning, giving up the work, but he didn't see himself as a baitshop-and-charter type. When Deforest asked him how he did see himself, Janek said he wanted to go back into the ranks.
Deforest studied him curiously. 'What do you mean?'
'I mean put on a uniform and walk a beat.'
'You can't do that! You're a detective-lieutenant, for Christ's sake!'
'I want to give up the shield and the lieutenancy. I want to be an ordinary cop.'
'I never heard of such a thing! You must be out of your fuckin' mind!'
'That's what I want.'
'How old are you, Frank? Forty-four? Too old to walk a beat.'
'There're cops ten years older doing it.'
'Yeah, the walking dead. Give yourself a break. Take a sabbatical.
Apply to a university, get a master's or a law degree. We don't waste resources here. You could position yourself for a high command.'
Janek shook his head. 'I've served this division well. It's time to give me something back.' 'Yeah, well, I'll look into it,' Deforest said. He quickly ushered Janek out.
On the first of July, Janek, dressed in a blue uniform bearing a silver shield, formed up with the ranks in the basement of the Ninth Precinct house. He was assigned a twenty-four-year-old partner, handed the keys to a car, then sent out on his first street patrol in twenty years.
