"No way! That was a one in a million shot. You'll never be able to redo it."
The friendly banter had been going on since they left Randolph's residence amidst a flood of black and whites rushing to the rescue. With their suspect in custody and having admitted to the two murders, there was little left to do besides briefing the brass for the upcoming press conference, and follow up on the APB on Marietti, who was still at large.
Barely two hours after leaving the bullpen, they'd returned, their steps decidedly lighter, their expression that of relief mixed with undisguised joy of having one another to rely on.
"You just can't handle the fact that my extra hours on the range are paying off. I raised the bar so high now, you better pick it up a notch."
Grinning broadly, Steve took off his beige overcoat and collapsed into the chair by his desk with a pained groan, peeking over the missed calls and notes for a moment, then running a tired hand across his face.
Mike could emphasize, feeling the exact same way after a long day that may have yielded an arrest which would bring closure to some of the affected parties, but somehow, for the sake of their two murder victims, he couldn't shake a certain sense of somberness.
"I am scheduling a rematch at the range next Friday. You win, I owe you dinner. I win…I get to watch you cook me dinner."
With a facetious smile, he squeezed Steve's shoulder, never waiting for a response, as he headed for his office for a much-needed checkup, sighing quietly when a couple new notes had appeared in his inbox since they left.
Shedding out of his overcoat and fedora, Mike reached for the first piece of paper, nodding subconsciously at the court notice for an upcoming trial. The other one, a handwritten note on yellow stationary paper was a note about a missed phone call. He recognized Pam Hendrick's number by heart, and instantly felt his stomach twist at the worry of what the call might have entailed.
Deciding to make her his first priority, Mike circled his desk again to head for the coffee table, giving himself a precious few minutes to mentally prepare for the sadness and despair awaiting him on the other end of the line; when his eyes fell onto the glass -walled vestibule, and the man walking through it toward his office.
"Well, I'll be damned!"
His words caused Steve to glance up from his crouched over position by the desk, the flash of surprise flooding his features when he recognized Marietti heading their way.
"Hell of a way to greet people.", the farmer protested in feign anger and put a bag he was carrying on Steve's desk, "Heard you two were looking for me. I was up north hunting and had a couple kids watch the place for a while. Did you catch your killer yet or am I still your suspect?"
Unable to hide a relieved smile, Mike gestured toward his office.
"We've got our killer. Come on in, Al. I'll fill you in."
"So glad to hear that, LT. I was beginning to doubt myself…hold on a minute though.", with a wily smile, Marietti reached into the bag and brought out two cardboard boxes, carefully placing them on Steve's desk, "Here you go, Kid. There're a couple dozen eggs in here for you. That'll put some muscles on that scrawny body of yours. Consider it a payment for doing a pretty good job for a city boy. And if you ever want to escape the city and put in a couple hours' worth of honest work to clear your soul, you got my number, son."
Accepting the kind gesture with a warm smile, Steve stayed behind as the two men congregated in Mike's office, closing the door behind them.
"It was one of the guys on Sullenger's set, wasn't it? From production?"
Marietti's innocent question was followed by a knowing grimace, as he sat down in Mike's office chair, crossing one leg over the other.
"How did you know? We haven't released any information on our suspect yet."
"Aw come on now, Lieutenant. Let's not play that game. I told you I didn't kill him from the beginning, so you can lay off the cop talk. You want to know why I came up with that? Because it made too much sense. If he truly had such a good TV show and was getting ready to call it quits, then everybody who earns a living off his fame would have ample motive to kill him."
With his lips pursed, Mike nodded slowly, not ready to sit down as he put his hands in the pockets of his dress pants and briefly overlooked the city from his 4th story window.
"I guess you are right. In the end, two people died because of nothing more than greed."
His words sounded a lot bitterer than he'd intended and Marietti picked up on it immediately. Running a hand across his bald head, the farmer grunted, before shoving his thumbs back into the chest straps of his overalls.
"Two people? Who else was killed? The girl he was seeing up at my place?"
"Mhm hm."
"That's too bad. I liked her. She had some great techniques to help people find peace. I supposed in the end it's all how you define greed, Lieutenant. A strong desire, a pathological compulsion…people kill because of a need for power, or economic independence, or self-defense even."
"This city isn't a war zone, Marietti.", Mike returned sharply and spun around to face the other man, "I won't allow for excuses like that to justify homicide."
"You can curse it all you want, Lieutenant, but in the end, you can't stop it from happening. It's human nature. Look at the impressive roster of guys you got sitting out there in that office. One guy's build like a damn file cabinet, a couple of them look like Vice characters, you got some ethnicity going on, you got the kid, then there's you…you've got every socio-economical angle covered that would normally allow you to penetrate each layer of society in this city, get in on the action…and yet, you can't prevent murders from happening, no matter how honorable your intentions are. Whether you want to admit it or not, this city out there…it's still a war zone. But it's not us versus Charley anymore. It's society against itself, against morals and against those brave enough to uphold the law. The war may have changed for you, but it never stopped."
"That's what keeps me wondering if it's worth fighting."
Mike didn't know why he'd said that.
The startling candidness of the conversation felt scary, downright overwhelming, and yet it seemed as though Marietti could read his thoughts perfectly clear.
"It absolutely is, Lieutenant. You don't throw in the towel midway through the war. Too many brave people have given their lives, too many civilians have been saved, too many thugs killed or put away. You can't stop now. You owe it to them, and you owe it to that kid out there who's looking up at you and needs somebody with a lot of street smarts to keep him safe. And lastly, you owe it to yourself to keep on going. It's in your nature, and you can't deny it no matter how hard you try. You need to be out on those streets and you need to keep changing lives. It's your destiny. It always has been."
Looking back out of his window at the city he loved and cursed all at the same time, Mike drew in a deep breath, as the last burden of doubt finally fell off his shoulders.