A regular routine wasn't part of a police man's life, at least not for the kind of individual in Mike's position.
There were no guaranteed days off, just as they were no 8-5 work days. Their schedule depended entirely on the homicidal tendencies of the public they served, their lives so interwoven into the pulse of San Francisco that one could argue they were part of the city's core itself, clandestinely protecting the fragile balance of good versus evil with the power bestowed upon them by the badge in their pockets.
It was a job that could pull on one's heartstrings sometimes; wearing the weight of the world on one's shoulders, quietly accepting a warm thank you from a bystander and hearing an upset witness call them every vile name under the sun, all in a days' worth.
Not many could survive in that position for long, for it required a strict moral compass, resolute determination and a level of compassion not many people could find within themselves.
Even more reason to be proud of the group of people Mike had gathered in his bullpen, a hand-picked assortment of Sergeants and Inspectors that worked like a fine-tuned piano to keep crime at bay in a city that saw so much tourism, industry and culture as San Francisco- and with it, the expected clash of mentalities and ideals that often times ended in homicide.
This is a different ballgame altogether, Rudy Olsen had told him many years ago; Homicide is a monster that eats away at your soul. You gotta feed it constantly, or it will consume you after a while.
Well, what do I feed it, he'd asked sheepishly.
You feed it the bad guys that you put behind bars. And the cases you close. You feed it the tear of gratitude that rolls down a family member's cheek as you provide them with closure. Or the nightshift you take on to stop a killer and bring justice to this town. You feed it those sleepless nights and straight shoulders, those hugs you offer to the grieving relatives and the resilience with which you protect that badge you carry. But if you ever get tired of all that, if you run out of food and you feel that monster taking over too much of what makes you who you are…well, then it's time to hand in that badge before it's too late.
They were wise words he'd remembered throughout his time on the 4th floor, especially during those really bad nights, much like the one they'd experienced the previous day.
Mike could sense that monster lurking in the shadows as he stood at that nightclub, watching body after body being removed, wondering about what kind of evil it took to commit mass murder at such a frighteningly large scale and, most importantly, what one person could do to stop something like that from happening in the future.
It made him feel insignificant, his efforts miniscule at best, reduced by the magnitude of bloodshed they had inadvertently stepped into. It even made him question any difference he could make from hereon out.
Thankfully, that dreaded feeling disappeared once he'd gotten a couple hours of sleep, giving his taxed mind a sorely-needed reprieve for the morning.
As he sat in his reclining chair, enjoying another cup of coffee with extra cream and sugar, Mike let his eyes drift over the couch and out the alcove window overlooking parts of the city, wondering about the kind of mayhem currently going on at both, police headquarters and the Hall of Justice Building in light of last night's events.
Even if he forced himself for the umpteenth time to get that thought out of his shell-shocked mind and move on to something more soothing for a few precious hours, the effort was in vain. No matter how often Mike tried to leave the issue alone, it still bugged him, even more so knowing that they had had no choice but to hand the investigation over.
Worse yet, with the gunman dead, there was nobody left to indict.
A brief glance at his wristwatch revealed that it was going on 10am.
Ironically, Mike hadn't changed out of his pajamas yet, having just put them on a mere four hours ago. Perhaps, that was all part of a job that made them work when others slept, and rest while everyone else was at work.
For a moment, he considered calling up Steve, seeing how his partner was holding up. He knew that the shooting had worn on the caring young man just as much, each horrific case slowly eating away at the cheery disposition with which he faced life.
But he clung onto the faint hope that his partner would be able to get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, something Mike wasn't going to ruin with a phone call. Even though it seemed like an eternity away, they'd see each other again tonight, allowing for the opportunity to share some thoughts while trying to move on from the events of the past day.
Enjoying another sip of hot coffee, Mike shook his head, struggling with the thought of just how much manpower would be required to notify all the next of kin, not to mention facing the frequently asked questions about the how's and why's nobody would be able to answer.
What a nightmare it had been. And they still were no closer to finding their eyewitness, the sole reason they happened to be in the neighborhood in the first place.
As luck would have it, his deep brooding was interrupted when the phone rang.
Secretly hoping that it would be his partner on the other end, Mike wasn't prepared for the bad news awaiting him just a few moments later.