I hadn't given in to the bottle in a long while. The fact that I was doing so now was made that much worse by everything that had transpired over the past couple of weeks. Of course, all of that, I'd have done well to forget, but at the same time…I scowled down at the bottle in my hands, glad that no one else was around…at least, no one that I knew. I'd opened up a can of worms with this one…it would be a while before any of the other guys I'd known as a kid would want to talk to me again.
I couldn't say I blamed them. I didn't want to talk to me, either, but I didn't have a choice other than to be stuck with myself, because I couldn't be anyone else, as much as I wanted to be. It hadn't even been a few hours since I'd left the prison, and I was already on my way to becoming too drunk to stand. I wondered why, but at the same time, I didn't, because I already knew. I wanted to forget, but at the same time, I didn't, really.
Every now and then we'd hear a story about some cop committing suicide, and while it hit us because in theory, we were all brothers, we still went on. Most of the time, we didn't even really know who it was that had eaten their gun. But this time, I had known, and it hurt, because unlike other stories I'd heard, this one had been a friend. The strange thing about our lives, however, was that fate had always had the habit of throwing a wrench into everything.
This had been one of those times. I wondered what that man, if we could even really call him one, was thinking as he sat in that prison cell that he'd be in for a good long time. I wondered if he regretted what he'd done to us all, and hoped that sooner or later, he'd come to do so, whether by his own conscience, or someone else's hand.
"Hope you aren't planning on going anywhere like that." said a voice. A low sigh escaped me when it finally registered with me as to whose voice it was.
"What are you doing here, Lennie?" I asked in reply, without turning to look at him.
"I came to see what my partner's gotten himself into this time," said Lennie, dryly, taking the empty place beside me. "Give me your keys, Logan."
I did, without thinking twice about it. For once, I wasn't going to argue the point with him. "I could've taken a gun to him, easy."
It was the first time I'd actually made this admission to anyone other than myself, and hearing it out loud scared the hell at me. Was this what I had become? Over the years, was this what I had turned into? It wasn't the first time that I had scared myself, but this time…this time, I wondered if I had momentarily lost it. Lennie looked at me for a long moment and nodded slowly.
"I could've, too," he said. "After finding out what he did…He deserves more than he got."
Nice to know I wasn't the only one who wanted Krolinsky dead. Or rather, nice to know that I wasn't the only other cop who wanted him dead, because I wouldn't have been too surprised to find that the other guys from my so-called childhood wanted him gone, too.
"You ever wonder what makes people do that?" I asked, quietly, still staring at my bottle, rather than at Lennie, who said nothing after his initial remark. "What makes them think that it doesn't really hurt whoever they're doing it to?"
"This is why I could never work sex crimes. I wouldn't be able to handle it. They see more kid victims than you and I do…it's worse for them," said Lennie.
I'd almost expected some sarcastic remark from him. It was almost a comfort to know that for once, his sarcasm would, for the most part, remain out of the conversation. This was one instance in which I'd have probably snapped at him for any sarcasm he had to throw at me. I didn't, usually, but there were some times where I really didn't want to hear it.
"I should've told someone," I said, almost inaudibly, given the other noises surrounding the two of us. "I should've said something."
"Most child victims don't," said Lennie, and I finally looked at him, wondering how he knew this. He must've read whatever look had crossed my face, because he went on. "I might not work sex crimes, but I got friends over there."
I wondered what he meant, but decided not to ask him, because that wasn't somewhere I wanted to go at the moment. The bottle in front of me was empty, but I no longer wanted another.
"You think that's why I'm so screwed up?" I asked, finally. Lennie looked over at me with raised eyebrows, but shook his head.
"I think we all got our own issues," he said. "Some more than others. But I also think that a lot of us manage to rise above 'em."
"If I never hear something like that from you again, I swear I'll never go into another bar," I said dryly. Lennie snorted.
"I should live to see the day," he said. "Life's not that easy that you can go making promises like that."
I knew this as well as he did, but chose not to say anything else about it, instead, continuing on with our conversation at hand. "D'you think we'll ever get over it?" I asked. "The ones he actually did stuff to, I mean."
Lennie sighed. As if work wasn't bad enough, now we were getting into one of those soul-searching discussions that made us think too hard.
"I think it'll always be there, in the back of your mind," he said. "In that one place where you think about it, but you don't. You know what I mean?"
I did, and I didn't. But rather than admitting to this, I nodded. "So, we'll get over it, but we won't. That what you're saying?"
"In a nutshell," said Lennie. "Like I said, lot of things are gonna mess us up; the key to it is figuring out how to get out of it without getting hurt."
"And if you can't?" I asked. "If you've already been hurt, way before you figure out how to handle it, then what? Then what are you supposed to do?"
"Talk," came the reply, an obvious answer, because that was exactly what we were doing now. I rolled my eyes.
"Some help you are," I said dryly. He laughed.
"What else are partners for, other than to take your keys when you're drunk and talk some sense into you when nothing else in the world seems to make sense?"
This time, I laughed. "Well, at least one good thing came out of this," I said, and Lennie looked over at me, startled.
"What's that?" he asked, slowly, and I could tell he wasn't too sure he wanted to hear the answer. I smirked.
"Closing this case only helps our solve rate go up," I pointed out, and then, "Actually, two things came from this. One, we've proved ourselves able detectives, yet again, and two, we've managed to take a sick freak who never should've been around kids in the first place off the streets."
Lennie shook his head. "Hell, maybe we should've gone into sex crimes," he said. "Can you imagine that?"
Another bottle had mysteriously appeared in front of me, though the place before him remained conspicuously empty, not that I was really surprised by it, given the fact that he'd taken my keys.
"No," I said, and meant it. "I couldn't. I think it'd scare me off having kids forever."
Lennie gave me an amused look. "There something you wanna tell me?" he asked. I rolled my eyes at him.
"What makes you think I'd tell you even if there was?" I asked, and then, "If you're asking if I've thought about kids, then yeah. I have."
"There's a shocker."
"Shut up, Lennie."
There was silence, for a few seconds, and then both of us laughed. I shook my head and reached for the bottle, taking the top off and taking a sip before speaking again.
"Guess I can't exactly ask you if you've ever thought about it; you've already got two of 'em," I said. "You ever wonder what you'd do if something like this happened to one of them?"
"No," said Lennie. "If something like that had ever happened to one of my girls and we found out who it was, you'd be arresting me for murder."
Figured. I wasn't surprised that that was the answer I'd gotten out of him. He and I might've been screwed up in more ways than one, but at least we had our priorities somewhat straight.
"Life is too complicated sometimes," I remarked finally, shaking my head. Lennie gave me an amused look.
"You ever wonder what the sidewalks are there for?" he asked. I looked at him with raised eyebrows.
"Sidewalks? You going senile on me, old man?" I asked.
"Who're you calling old?" Lennie asked in reply, mock-scowling at me, but the look disappeared as quickly as it had come. "No, I'm serious. You ever wonder what they're for?"
"To keep people from running in the middle of the street?"
"No. Well, yeah, but that's not what I'm getting at. They're there so you know where you're going."
"So we know where we're going. You know, I'm gonna tell the lieu to keep a closer eye on you, Lennie, I think you're starting to lose it."
"Shut up, Mike, I ain't losing it. If anyone is, it's you. I'm serious. They're there so you know where you're going. One direction or the other. Up or down, east or west…"
"North or south, the Bronx or Queens…Come on, Lennie, what're you trying to get at?"
"In a nutshell? That some of us are still on the sidewalks, and others of us aren't."
"So in other words, half the population doesn't know what they're doing, because they can't fit onto the sidewalks."
"I didn't mean city sidewalks. Well…I did, but not exactly. I meant the ones that are supposedly there to guide you through life."
"Here we go, again with the philosophical stuff. You're lucky you came when you did, otherwise I'd be too drunk to understand you."
"It's fine, I don't expect you to understand anyway."
"Don't make me deck you."
There was silence for a long moment as I downed what was left in the bottle I held. Once I put it down, Lennie spoke again.
"Like I said," he went on, "Some people manage to stay on theirs, others don't, but somehow, they always find a way back, even if it's not the easiest way in the world."
"And those who don't?"
"They've already fallen too far for anyone to save 'em. The only way they can go back is to save themselves, but not everyone's willing to admit they've screwed themselves up."
"So, what about you and I then?"
Another silence. I could tell Lennie was actually thinking about this one, and it served him right, too, seeing as he was the one who'd gotten us into this conversation in the first place. After a moment, he continued.
"I think we've both fallen too many times to count," he said, slowly, "And I think that being cops doesn't exactly help, but we've got to make a living somehow." A pause, and then, "I think at this point, I'm a bit farther from mine than I want to be. What about you?"
"Me?" Startled by the question, if only because I hadn't really expected him to turn it on me, I hesitated for a moment, and then shook my head, before staring down at the glossy surface of the bar we were sitting in as I went on.
"I think at this point, I'm too far away from mine."