It rained Christmas
day.
Rick originally
had the day off. So had Keir, but the resigning and then unresigning had cost
him his place on the holiday roster, so Rick gave up his spot too. At least
that way they could share the misery.
And it was miserable.
It started out
mildly miserable, dragging their weary asses out of bed and into the station.
The final day of four twelve-hour shifts. But things cheered up a little there.
Some of the guys and gals had brought in cookies and cakes and fudge. There was
decent coffee for once. And Santa gag gifts. Rick got a mug that said Good Cop.
Keir winked at Rick and whispered, “Does that mean I can be Bad Cop tonight?”
Keir got a T-shirt
that read Undercover Cop. Rick had murmured, “Under covers duty, huh?”
It was all talk
anyway. They knew they were both going to be too tired to do more than fall
into bed and kiss each other goodnight.
So much for the
good times. The day turned seriously miserable with a domestic dispute that
deteriorated into a homicide. Deke Johnson, 45, violated his restraining order
and shot his ex-wife Harriet, 40, before their three kids and the family dog — right
in front of the Christmas tree, no less.
The sad truth was,
in addition to a rise in traffic accidents, family disputes and child custody
battles, violent crime spiked around the holidays. Not just robberies and home
invasions, but good old-fashioned homicide. Add a little melancholy and a lot
of booze to the seasonal punch, and you had a recipe for one hellish witch’s
brew. And the City of Angels
Johnson didn’t
deny murdering his wife, and he didn’t seem to care about being arrested. He
did try twice to break free so he could explain to his hysterical kids why he’d
had to shoot Mommy. The second time, Rick, who was royally pissed off at the
idea of some self-centered asshole killing his ex in front of his own kids,
knocked him down, and Keir leaped to intervene. The uniforms pretended not to see
anything, and Keir hustled Rick outside.
The night was cold
and smelled of smog and rain and eucalyptus. They walked past the crowd of
neighbors and sightseers and crime scene technicians, around the side of the
house, stepping over the dog bowls and tricycles.
Rick leaned back
against the dripping siding and drew a couple of deep breaths.
Keir kept one eye
on Rick and one eye on the wet, shining walkway, to make sure they were not
disturbed. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Rick knew exactly what he
was thinking, and he knew exactly how Rick felt.
“Sorry,” Rick said
finally.
Keir shrugged.
“It’s a fucked up night. Even if it is Christmas.”
“Sometimes it
feels like we’re just garbage men. We’re just here to clean up the mess.”
It was startling
to hear that from Rick. Keir was usually the one the job got to. He said
firmly, “No way. We’re the guardians at the gate. We’re keeping the wild things
out tonight.” Not all the wild things, but they were only human. They did what
they could. He hooked his arm around Rick’s neck and brought their heads close
together. Their warm breath mingled. Keir said softly, “And tomorrow we start
three days off.”
Rick nodded.
The rest of their
shift was mostly uneventful. It was
Every time Keir
looked across the table, Rick’s gaze met his, and they smiled tiredly at each
other. Not the best Christmas ever. But they were together and somehow that
went a long way toward keeping it from being the worst Christmas ever.
Rick broke open
his fortune cookie, read the little piece of paper, and laughed. He nudged
Keir’s foot under the table.
Not the best
Christmas ever. But looking good for the best day after Christmas ever.
