This is a load of horse shit. I’m being given an ultimatum of becoming a false hero and a payoff, or be branded as a traitor; both are equally bad, but the payoff is the lesser of two evils I guess. Funny, in the end, I thought I would lose the case to the FBI. I never expected MI6, and the US Army would be the ones to do it.
“You don’t give me much choice, do you? But what about Jason? His family was killed by Drake and Conroy, and the Mayor is riding the department’s ass about the capture of Drake?”
“We’ll find a corpse and doctor it up to look like David Drake. After it’s all said and done with, you, the hero cop will have killed him in self-defense upon attempting to make an arrest. As for the Mayor and Chief of Police, they’re the ones who agreed to cooperate with us.
“What was their price for selling out?”
She smirks. “The Mayor wanted to look good for campaign season and be reelected. Your chief wanted some dirt on her to disappear. So relax it is all being taken care of. The only thing you need to concern yourself with is smiling for the cameras. Play your role.”
“Just out of curiosity, what are you doing with Drake?”
“He’s being sent back to England to continue fighting the war.”
“So that’s how it is, huh? Justice isn’t’ served all because he’s England’s golden boy for the War on Terrorism.” Two of the soldiers step into the room, waiting to escort me off the base.
“Staff Sergeant, we’ve arranged a taxi to pick you up and take you back to your vehicle. You solved the case, congrats.” I stand up. “Sergeant, don’t you screw me over on this because I am not kidding, I will fuck your life up. Understood?”
“It’s Detective! I’m not a soldier anymore. That life is over for me, thank god. Especially since I see the Army hasn’t changed.”
She glares at me. “The press will be at your station. So, lose the salty bitch act and put on a smile for the cameras.” Barret beams a toothy grin. “You’re a hero.” All I can picture is my fist busting out every one of her pearly whites.
I scowl at her. “You’re a fucking disgrace to that uniform and this country. If you had any shred of honor left, you would take your sidearm and vent your skull. Officers like you are the reason I don’t miss a single day in the CID,” I say, storming out of her office. The MPs escort me out to the cab, and I give the cabbie the address of where I left my car. “Hey, man. You gotta smoke, I can bum from you?”
“Nah, just quit smoking last week. You should quit those things will kill you.”
I glower at him. “You can get killed just walking your doggie too.”
Clean living douche bag. Oh well, I got more cigarettes at the station in my desk drawer. I hate being on camera listening to all those journalists swarmed around me, probing me with questions. It makes me feel like I’m dealing with a kid asking me the same question twenty different ways till I feel on the verge of strangling them.
***
I finally arrive at my car an hour later. I pay the clean living douche his fair, and head to my car. Slamming the door, I exhale in frustration. I glare at my flask sitting in the cup-holder waiting for me. I snatch it up and take a big swig and lay my head back, shaking my head in disbelief at the level of bullshit that just occurred.
Cranking the car, my grip tightens on the steering wheel. I punch the steering wheel several times till my knuckles throb it with pain. “Goddamn it!”
Cruising down the long bridge across the bay back to Tampa, things race through my mind: Will I be able to live with my self being a false hero. Will I be able to look Jason in the face every day knowing the real killer will never be caught, leaving his family with no justice? It’s a pill I have to choke down if I care about my career or freedom. But, if I see Drake and Conroy again, I won’t arrest them, I won’t even say freeze I won’t say a damn word; I will just draw my service weapon and put two in the back of their heads and keep on walking. Looking down at the clock as I take another sip from my flask. It’s only 1am on the radio. It feels much later, but bullshit always makes time drag.
***
The pain in my ribs returns as I park the car in the parking garage. Twisting the cap off the bottle, I toss an Oxy down my throat and chase it with the nectar of gods.
Strolling down a breezeway bridge that’s connected to the station from the parking garage. Pushing through the doors, I’m greeted by people clapping and cheering. All this is a slug to the gut. The bile churns in my gut. I want to scream stop clapping, stop cheering, it’s all bullshit the Moonlight Killer is still at large. The law doesn’t count for shit anymore, but I just put on a façade and bask in the glory. I arrive at my desk, where I am ambushed by more clapping and cheering.
Jason smiles and extends his hand. “Thank you for keeping your promise.”
Forcing a smile, I shake his hand. “Yeah, I told
