remaining years in prison.” Jackson sat back.
“So that’s what you think it’s all about? Beautiful, brainy babe turns
veteran agent to mush?” Jackson didn’t respond, but the answer was
clearly painted on his face. “Old, divorced fart wants to jump in her
panties, Ray? And I can’t do that if she’s guilty. Is that what the
hell you think?” Sawyer’s voice was rising.
“Why don’t you tell me, Lee?”
“Maybe I should throw your ass through that window over there instead.”
“Maybe you should goddamn try,” Jackson shot back.
“You sonofabitch.” Sawyer’s voice shook.
Jackson reached across and grabbed his shoulder. “I want you to get
your head on right. You want to sleep with her, fine. Wait until after
the case is over and she’s proved not guilty!” Jackson shouted at him.
“How dare you!” Sawyer shouted back, ripping Jackson’s hand away. Sawyer
then jumped up and cocked a very large fist, a fist that stopped in
midair as Sawyer realized what he was about to do. Several of the other
restaurant patrons stared in shock at the scene.
Sawyer’s and Jackson’s eyes remained locked until finally Sawyer, his
chest heaving, his bottom lip trembling, lowered his fist and sat back
down.
Neither of them spoke for several minutes. Finally Sawyer looked
embarrassed and sighed. “Shit, I knew I was going to regret giving up
the smokes one day.” He closed his eyes. When he reopened them, he was
looking squarely at Jackson.
“Lee, I’m sorry. I’m just worried about–” Jackson abruptly stopped as
Sawyer held up his hand.
Sawyer began speaking slowly and softly. “You know, Ray, I’ve been with
the bureau half my life. When I first started out, it was easy to tell
the good guys from the bad. Back then, kids didn’t go around killing
people like they were yesterday’s lunch. And you didn’t have
smooth-running drug empires worth hundreds of billions of dollars,
enough money that just about anybody will do just about anything.
They had revolvers, we had revolvers. Pretty soon they’ll be toting
surface-to-air missiles as standard equipment.
“While I’m at the grocery trying to decide what lousy TV dinner to eat
and looking for which beef is on sale, about twenty new corpses are
created for no better reason than somebody turning down the wrong street
or a bunch of unemployed kids going at each other over a block-long
piece of drug turf with more firepower than an Army battalion used to
carry around. We play catch-up every day, but we never gain any
ground.”
“Come on, Lee, the thin blue line is still around. As long as there are
bad guys.”
“That thin blue line is a lot like the ozone layer, Ray. It’s got
mountain-size holes punched all through it. I’ve been walking that line
for a long time. What do I have to show for it? I’m divorced.
My kids think I’m a lousy father because I was out running down a plane
bomber, or hauling in some slick-smiling butcher who likes to line his
trophy case with human specimens, instead of helping them blow out
candles on their birthday cakes. You know what? They were right. I
was a lousy dad. Especially to Meggie. I worked ungodly hours, never
around, and when I was, I was either sleeping or so zoned out on a case
I probably never heard half of what they were trying to tell me. Now I
live all alone in a crummy apartment and most of my paycheck I don’t
even see. My stomach feels like it’s got a bunch of meat cleavers stuck
in it and while I’m sure that’s just my imagination, I do happen to have
several pieces of real lead permanently embedded in me. On top of that,
lately I find it real hard to go to sleep unless I’ve had a six-pack of
beer.”
“Jesus, Lee, you’re always the rock at work. Everyone respects the hell
out of you. You go into an investigation and see stuff I never do.
Wrap the whole picture together while I’m still getting my notebook out.
You’ve got the best instincts of any one I’ve ever seen.”
“Good thing, Ray. Considering it’s really the only thing I have left.