two perps start to argue about what to take first and whether they have
time to take everything. One of them makes a comment about the other
one’s old lady, and the next thing you know, they shoot each other.”
“Jesus.”
“So a little time passes, and a customer walks in on this. Four dead
people plus a half-conscious perp sprawled on the floor, wounded so bad
he can’t even crawl out of the place and try to get away. The customer
stands there, shocked by the blood, which is splattered all to hell
over. He’s just paralyzed by the sight of this mess. The wounded perp
waits for the customer to do something, and when the guy just stands
there, gaping, frozen, the perp says, For the love of God, mister, call
an ambulance!”
“For the love of God,” Jack said.
” For the love of God.” When the paramedics show up, first thing he
asks them for is a Bible.”
Jack rolled his head back and forth on the pillow in disbelief. “Nice
to know not all the scum out there are godless scum, isn’t it?”
“Warms my heart,” Crawford said.
Jack was the only patient in the room. His most recent roommate, a
fifty-year-old estate-planning specialist, in residence for three days,
had died the previous day of complications from routine gallbladder
surgery.
Crawford sat on the edge of the vacant bed. “I got some good news for
you.”
“I can use it.”
“Internal Affairs submitted its final report on the shootings, and
you’re cleared across the board. Better yet, both the chief and the
commission are going to accept it as definitive.”
“Why don’t I feel like dancing?”
“We both know the whole demand for a special investigation was
bullshit. But we also both know … once they open that door, they
don’t always close it again without slamming it on some poor innocent
bastard’s fingers. So we’ll count our blessings.”
“They clear Luther too?”
“Yes, of course.”
“All right.”
Crawford said, “I put your name in for a commendation–Luther too,
posthumously. Both are going to be approved.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“Deserved.”
“I don’t give a damn about the dickheads on the commission, and the
chief can take a hike to hell too, for all I care. But it means
something to me because it was you put in our names.”
Lowering his gaze to his brown cap, which he turned around and around
in his brown hands, Crawford said, “I appreciate that.”
They were both silent awhile.
Jack was remembering Luther. He figured Crawford was too.
Finally Crawford looked up from his cap and said, “Now for the bad
news.”
“Always has to be some.”
“Not actively bad, just irritating. You hear about the Anson Oliver
movie?”
“Which one? There were three.”
“So you haven’t heard. His parents and his pregnant fiancee made a
deal with Warner Brothers.”
“Deal?”
“Sold the rights to Anson Oliver’s life story for one million
dollars?”
Jack was speechless.
Crawford said, “The way they tell it, they made the deal for two
reasons.
First, they want to provide for Oliver’s unborn son, make sure the
kid’s future is secure.”
“What about my kid’s future?” Jack asked angrily.
Crawford cocked his head. “You really pissed?”
“Yes !”
“Hell, Jack, since when did our kids ever matter to people like
them?”
“Since never.”
“Exactly. You and me and our kids, we’re here to applaud them when
they do something artistic or high minded–and clean up after them when
they make a mess.”
“It isn’t fair,” Jack said. He laughed at his own words, as if any
experienced cop could still expect life to be fair, virtue to be
rewarded, and villainy to be punished. “Ah, hell.”
“You can’t hate them for that. It’s just the way they are, the way
they think.
They’ll never change. Might as well hate lightning, hate ice being
cold and fire being hot.”
Jack sighed, still angry but only smoldering. “You said they had two
reasons for making the deal. What’s number two?”
“To make a movie that will be a monument to the genius of Anson
Oliver,”
” Crawford said. “That’s how the father put it. A monument