“I had this little basement apartment when I was in Cincy,” I said. “I took it by the month because I
didn?t think I?d be there that long. There weren?t even any pictures on the wall. Finally I went out and
bought some used books and a couple of cheap prints to try and doll the place up but it didn?t work. It
always seemed like I was visiting somebody else when I came home.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “It?s been like that since Nam. We?re disconnected.”
That was the perfect word for it. Disconnected. For years I had worked with other partners but always
at arm?s length, like two people bumping each other in a crowd. I didn?t know whether they were
married, divorced; whether they had kids or hobbies. All I knew was whether they were good or bad
cops and that we all suffered from the same anger, frustration, boredom, and loneliness.
“Don?t you ever wonder why in hell you picked this lousy job?” I asked him.
“That?s your trouble right there, lake, you think too much. You get in trouble when you think too
much.”
“No shit?”
“No shit. Thinking can get you killed. You didn?t make it through Nam thinking about it. Nob.ody
did. The thinkers are still over there, doing their thinking on Boot Hill.”
There was a lot of truth in what he said. I was thinking too much. There was this thing about Cisco
telling me to forget murder unless it was relevant. That bothered me. Hell, I was a cop and murder is
murder, and part of the job, like it or not, is to keep people alive, like them or not, and keeping them
alive meant finding the killer, no matter what Cisco said. It was all part of the territory. And there was
the lie about Teddy which I hadn?t thought about for years, because I had stuffed it down deep, along
with the rest of my memories. I had walked away from the past, or thought I had. I had even stopped
dreaming, though dreams are an occupational hazard for anyone who has seen combat. Now the
dreams had started again. You can?t escape dreams. They sneak up on you in the quiet of the night,
shadow and smoke, reminding you of what has been. You don?t dream about the war, you dream
about things that are far worse. You dream about what might have been.
“Hell, it?s very complicated, Stick,” I said finally. “I don?t think I?ve got it sorted out enough to talk
about. Sometimes I feel like I?m juggling with more balls than I can handle.”
“Then throw a couple away.”
“I don?t know which ones to throw.”
“That?s what life?s all about,” he said. “A process of elimination.?
“I thought I had it all worked out before I got here,” I said. “It was very simple. Very uncomplicated,”
“That?s the trap,” he replied. “Didn?t Nam teach you anything, Jake? Life is full of incoming mail.
You get comfortable, you get dead.”
