'Well, there's no rush. You're not sober all that long, you don't have to be in a hurry.'
'I guess.'
'There's a lot of people will tell you that the steps are a load of crap, anyway. 'Don't drink and go to meetings and all the rest is conversation.' You've heard people say that.'
'Oh, sure. 'If you don't drink you can't get drunk.' I remember the first time I heard somebody say that. I thought it was the most brilliant remark I ever heard in my life.'
'You can't fault it for truth.'
He started to say something, but stopped when a woman stepped out of a doorway into our path. She was a haggard, wild-eyed thing, all wrapped in a shawl, her hair stringy and matted. She was holding an infant in one arm, and she had a small child standing next to her, clutching her shawl. She extended one hand, palm up, wordless.
She looked as though she belonged inCalcutta , notNew York . I'd seen her before during the past few weeks, and each time I'd given her money. I gave her a dollar now, and she drew back wordlessly into the shadows.
He said, 'You hate to see a woman on the street like that. And when she's got her kids with her, Jesus, that's a hell of a thing to see.'
'I know.'
'Matt, did you ever do it? Take the fifth step?'
'I did, yes.'
'You didn't hold nothing back?'
'I tried not to. I said everything I could think of.'
He thought about it. 'Of course you were a cop,' he said. 'You couldn't of done anything that bad.'
'Oh, come on,' I said. 'I did a lot of things I'm not proud of, and some of them were acts a person could go to jail for. I was on the force for a lot of years and I took money almost from the beginning. I never lived on what I drew as salary.'
'Everybody does that.'
'No,' I said, 'everybody doesn't. Some cops are clean and some are dirty, and I was dirty. I always told myself I felt all right about it, and I justified it with the argument that it was clean dirt. I didn't actually shake people down and I didn't overlook homicides, but I took money, and that's not what they hired me to do. I was illegal. It was crooked.'
'I suppose.'
'And I did other things. For Christ's sake, I was a thief. I stole. One time I was investigating a break-in and there was a cigar box next to the cash register that the burglar had somehow missed, and there was close to a thousand dollars in it. I took it and put it in my pocket. I figured the owner'd be covered by insurance, or else it was money he was skimming, in which case I was just stealing from a thief. I had it rationalized, but you can't get around the fact that I was taking money that wasn't mine.'
'Cops do that kind of shit all the time.'
'They rob the dead, too, and I did that for years. Say you come on a stiff in an SRO hotel or an apartment, and he's got fifty or a hundred dollars on him, and you and your partner divide it up before you zip him into the body bag. What the hell, otherwise it just gets lost in the bureaucratic mill. Even if there's an heir it'll most likely never get to him, and why not just save time and trouble and put it in your pocket?
Except that it's stealing.'
He started to say something but I wasn't done yet. 'And I did other things. I got guys sent away for things they didn't do. I don't mean I framed any choirboys. Anybody I ever hung anything on was bad to start with. I'd know a guy did a certain job, and I'd know I couldn't touch him for it, but then I might find some eyewitnesses suggestible enough to ID
him for something he hadn't done, and that was enough to put him away.
Case closed.'
'There's a lot of guys in the joint who didn't do what they went away for,' he allowed. 'Not all of them. I mean, three out of four cons'll swear they were innocent of what they're doing time for, but you can't believe 'em. Cons'll con you. I mean, they lie.' He shrugged. 'But sometimes it's the truth.'
'I know,' I said. 'I'm not sure I regret putting the right people away for the wrong reason. It got them off the street, and they were people who didn't do the street a whole lot of good. But that didn't necessarily make it the right thing for me to do, so I figured it belonged in my fifth step.'
'So you told somebody about it.'
'And more. Things that weren't against the law, but that bothered me more than other things that were.
Like running around on my wife while I was married. Like not having time for my kids, like walking out on them around the time I left the department. Like not being there for people in general. One time an aunt of mine was dying of thyroid cancer. She was my mother's younger sister, she was all the family I had left, and I kept promising myself I would go and see her in the hospital, and I kept putting it off and putting it off, and the woman died. I felt so bad about not getting to the hospital that I didn't get to the funeral, either. I sent flowers, though, and I went to some fucking church and lit a fucking candle, all of which must have been a hell of a comfort to the dead woman.'
We walked in silence for a few minutes, heading west on one of the streets in the low Fifties, then taking a left onTenth Avenue . We passed a lowdown saloon with the door open and that stale beer smell rolled out at us, sickening and inviting all at once. He asked if I'd ever been in the place.
'Not lately,' I said.
'It's a real bucket of blood,' he said. 'Matt? You ever kill anybody?'
