After he had left work Friday night, he had gone to a nearby bar named Sully's Blue Heaven. It was dark, so it must have been after 9:00 or so. Sully's had been in business about ten years, since shortly after Michael Sullivan, the owner, had retired after about thirty years in the NYPD. Jack went there once or twice per month, usually after a bad day. He liked the ambience. It reminded him of home. Sully's was an unabashed cop bar; others could come in, but everyone knew it was run by and for cops. As an ADA, Jack was accepted on sufferance. Many of the cops that frequented Sully's knew him, and had testified at his trials. They mostly considered him one of the good guys, a friend. They were probably the closest friends he had, male ones anyway.

Just inside the door at Sully's was a small partition. Dead center on the partition was a shooting range target shaped like a man. It had about three hundred holes of various different sizes, some bigger than a thumb, through it. A small sign just below a huge concentration of holes at groin level said, "The Last Perp Who Came In Here." Next to the target were three framed signs. The first advised, "We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone...especially members of the Rat Squad or Defense Attorneys." The second informed, "Occupancy of these premises by more than 850 persons is prohibited by order of the fire marshal." The third announced, "Yes! We Have A No Smoking Section - Turn Around and Go Out The Door." Jack, smiling, went around the partition and into the bar.

As always, it seemed packed, although there were no more than about forty people there. Jack headed for the bar and found a seat near "the cell." This was the centerpiece of Sully's Blue Heaven. It was a regulation size NYPD holding cell. The grimy old bars had come from one of the older precincts when its station was remodeled. Inside the cell was a little steel bench about five feet long. Sitting on this bench were two mannequins. Each one was dressed in a wrinkled, ill-fitting suit, and each was handcuffed. The one on the right was wearing dark Ray-Ban style sunglasses. He had a exaggeratedly large replica NYPD gold shield which had the words "RAT SQUAD" on it. He had a large stuffed rat on his left shoulder. The mannequin on the left had a wig styled in a tight perm. He also wore glasses; they were tinted pink. There were wads of money sticking out of several of his pockets. He was wearing an exaggeratedly large ID badge identifying him as "DEFENSE ATTORNEY & CO-CONSPIRITOR." They had been in there for years and were covered with cobwebs.

Jack sat at the bar and looked expectantly at Sully, who came right over. "Hiya, counselor," he said, "the usual OK for you?"

"That would be fine."

Jack looked on while Sully poured out a double scotch, which he put directly in front of Jack, who lifted the glass to the mannequins then drained it one gulp. "The same again, basically," he said, "And keep them coming."

"Here you go." Sully placed the second glass in front of Jack, who had picked up an abandoned Times Sports section from the bar and was glancing at the articles disinterestedly. Jack also chugged the second drink and returned to the article about the upcoming NFL season. He didn't care about football but it was something to read. He began to feel the light buzz in his head and flush across his face that told him the drinks were hitting their mark. Relief was but minutes away. Jack held the paper to one side and looked at the bar. There directly in front of him, was a third double scotch. Sully was the best.

"...I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot the deputy..."

Jack glanced to his right. A couple of guys were at the jukebox. Jack drained the third scotch and returned to his sports section, looking for an article about the Knicks. He didn't find any; basketball season was still two months in the future. He did find an article about famous Major League Baseball mascots. Maybe the article would shed some light on why grown men would seek out careers dancing and capering outdoors during the worst heat of summer while wearing eight foot tall, fuzzy, unventilated costumes. He overheard a voice almost directly behind him.

"...so the dude was just be-boppin' along when he sees the squad car, then he takes off like a scalded ass ape and, get this, runs into the alley where those Rottweilers were. Ha. Snap snap! I bet those dogs were eager eaters!"

Jack smiled to himself. He was really feeling the scotch now. The buzzing sensation had intensified sharply and was now accompanied by a sense of light-headedness. The room was rocking very gently. The faces of Arthur and Serena, Squarehead and Bearded Rage Guy were all beginning to fade into the background. His attention returned to the sports section. Unfortunately, the print seemed to have suddenly gotten smaller and a little blurry. He blinked, which didn't help much. Jack looked at the TV behind the bar near him. It was a baseball game. Someone had just struck out. He was bored with the game already, so he turned his attention to the other TV, which was down the bar near the front door.

This TV always showed sort of a 'cops greatest hits.' This was continuous footage of car chases, doors kicked in, arrests, shootouts, and the occasional clubbing with a nightstick. Cop porn, Jack called it to himself. He had watched it constantly one night. In three hours, nothing repeated. Also none of the suspects' faces had those blurry little circles over them. He had asked Sully where this footage had come from. Sully's son had a high position in the news department of one of the major networks. He had access to raw news feeds from all over the country. He had selected the best cop scenes, edited them together, and made several DVD's, each about three hours long. This he had given to Sully as a Christmas gift a while back. Sully had told Jack once that it was his favorite Christmas gift ever. Jack continued to watch for a few minutes.

"...hit that perp so hard with his flashlight that the damn thing bent double. After that he could shine a light around a corner..."

"A real hard head, like that judge's," Jack mused to himself thinking of Squarehead. His thoughts turned fleetingly but fuzzily toward his work. He drained his glass. Then aloud Jack asked, "Sully. Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure. Go ahead," Sully replied, as he put another double scotch in front of Jack.

"Did you ever know anyone who never blinked?"

Sully looked at Jack for a minute nonplussed, then replied, "No. I never met anyone that drunk."

"OK," Jack considered this for a minute, then asked, "Did you ever have a boss that looked like a fish?"

"Yeah," Sully responded, laughing, " I've had quite a few bosses who smelled like fish."

Sully then found something to do down at the other end of the bar. Jack looked after him briefly, then picked up his scotch, looked at it for a minute, looked at the inmates in the cell, lifted his glass to them again and said, "Gentlemen, to your continued incarceration," then drank it in one gulp.

Some time passed. Jack wasn't quite sure how much. He looked at his watch. It seemed to have developed a couple of extra hands and a dozen or so extra numbers, all of which made determining the exact time problematic. He looked at the empty glasses in front of him and attempted to count them. They were moving from side to side, individual glasses splitting into two; pairs of glasses coalescing into one. He tried to count using his index finger. He was startled to see that he had grown some extra index fingers at some point during the evening. They didn't help him with his counting. He gave up. He'd had a lot. He hiccupped, then picked up the latest double.

"...I fought the law but the law won..."

Ah, there was a song he could get behind. He glanced at the jukebox. This song was a favorite of his. He considered it to be the lament of perps everywhere. He grinned unevenly.

"...I fought the law but the law won..."


He was glad he was sitting, though the bar stool was beginning to sway gently from side to side.. Maybe he'd be safer lying down, but there was nowhere to do this. His brain felt like it was covered in a fuzzy blanket. He downed the scotch he was holding and added the empty glass to the group of empty glasses in front of him. "Time to settle in for the long haul, baby," he thought to himself.