“This is not to say that a life you have to take is worth nothing. Every life is worth something. But we follow a code: that we will never kill anyone who has not taken the life of another. Someone who has taken the life of another is no longer a man or a woman, but a monster. And we do more than just hunt monsters: we see if they can become human again. Or we prevent them from causing more pain if they cannot be brought back.”
“That seems like an extreme perspective to have, commissioner, especially in your position.”
“Yeah, well, you develop some interesting perspectives if you stay in the lower city long enough …”
Thousands of thoughts were running through Allen’s brain. The alcohol made it easier to sort through which ones were worth listening to. “I just find it odd that we are sanctioned to kill in order to prevent others from killing. It feels oddly backward and self-destructive. What discerns us from the ‘monsters,’ as you call them, if we do what they do? Is there a guarantee that we will always be good and they will always be evil?”
Robins stood up and looked out the window at the fountain outside his office. He let out a long sigh. “There’s no guarantee, Allen. We can’t know for sure that no one will switch sides, as you’ve seen from this case. But I suppose the best thing I can say is that police work isn’t shades of grey.”
“It is shades of red. Though death is an inevitability, we kill only when absolutely necessary. Spilling blood to save lives.”
Robins grinned, his shoulders relaxing as he returned to the chair. “I’m glad Elias has taught you as much as you’ve tried to teach him.”
“It was a difficult situation when we first became partners, but we’ve worked past our immediate differences. At least for the moment.”
“Excellent, excellent.” Robins sat back in his chair and sipped his brandy.
“But to my original point, I do understand the reasoning behind the methods. There is no doubt in my mind as to why killing may be necessary. But the fact is, I just cannot accept these methods. I’m not built for this work. I can’t see myself becoming accustomed to this sickly feeling of —”
“Allen, stop.” Robins didn’t let him finish. “This is the way to look at it: you’re now at a crossroads. You can either move on and fight like hell to never let it happen again. Or you can let it haunt you, and become a nervous wreck of a man … er, machine. Sorry. You killed a man, and that’s hard for anyone, even me. I’ve been doing this for more than thirty years — first in the War, now down here — and I still hate the feeling of having to pull the trigger. So, use this as a way to remind yourself to be the good cop. But know that if push comes to shove, you can handle the aftermath of having to play bad cop. Now, I swear, if you mention quitting again, I’ll slap you myself.”
“I … I understand, Commissioner.” Allen grabbed the glass and sipped again, letting the liquid churn inside him. He reclined into the chair.
Robins was the first to break the silence. “What else is on your mind, Allen?”
“There is something, though I feel it is more difficult to express than my own issues. I’m curious about Roche’s past, specifically his past career as a police officer.”
“That’s quite a big topic. Anything more specific?”
“He told me briefly that he’d had more than ten ‘partners’ since he left the Force in 1928. That is quite a few. I suspect you gave him these so-called partners to try to keep him in check, but I was hoping to learn the reason for the large turnover rate and why I seem to have succeeded where others have failed in remaining his partner. He also mentioned someone named James …”
Robins sighed, cradling his head in his hands for a moment before getting up and closing his office door. He sat back down and dropped his voice to a low whisper. “James was Elias’s partner between ’27 and ’28. They ran nearly every op together, regardless if it was a hit-and-run investigation or a full-blown raid. He was Elias’s second partner, after Sinclair went solo to finish his advanced Rotorbird training. James and Elias ran together for almost two years, until they looked into the botched investigation of a missing business magnate.
“They found the kidnappers and tried to subdue them, but … well, James was killed in the crossfire. It devastated Elias. Put him out of commission for a while. He did some digging and found out that the kidnappers were working for Murder, Inc., which at the time was run by Morello and Luciano. I’m not sure which one coordinated the kidnapping, but Roche didn’t really care. In his mind, both of them were responsible, and so he took the lead on the investigation, coordinated the raid on Morello’s personal compound in one of SoHo’s speakeasies, and the rest is history.”
“I can’t imagine the pain he must have gone through, losing a friend like that.”
“James was one of the only things Elias gave a shit about — more than his own reputation or his life, even. What was done to James before it was killed was far worse than being shot, but Morello finishing it off was the nail in the coffin.”
“Before it was killed?” Allen looked confused.
The commissioner didn’t seem keen to explain, but he continued, nonetheless.
