addressed Brinna. “Hey, your partner was in an apartment talking to neighbors.”
“Wasn’t he listening to his radio?” Klein said. “I heard Brinna ask for help.”
Nugent shrugged. “Here he comes. Ask him.”
Klein stopped Brinna with a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll handle this.” Then to Jack, “O’Reilly, I need to talk to you.”
Brinna watched the sergeant take Jack aside.
“What’s up with that?” Nugent asked. “Isn’t that O’Reilly, the guy from homicide?”
“Yeah, tonight’s his first night back in patrol.”
“I’d heard they were sending him back. I didn’t think they’d give him to you. Where’s your dog?”
“Long story, and not something I want to get into right now. As soon as the sarge is done, we’ll head back to the station and file a follow-up for you.”
Nugent shook his head. “No hurry. I’ll be out here awhile. Homicide wants to check out the scene. My rook is slower than molasses filing paper. We’ll be tied up on this till tomorrow.”
Brinna chuckled mirthlessly. “I wonder how fast my rook files paper.”
* * *
It wasn’t until Jack saw Sergeant Klein on scene and the sergeant called him out that he realized he must’ve missed something.
“I haven’t even been in the field for an hour yet. What have I done?” Jack asked.
The sergeant launched into a lecture on listening to the radio. “Your partner needed you,” he said, then proceeded to dress Jack down as if he were a first-month rookie.
Jack felt his face flush and hooked his thumbs in his Sam Browne to keep his fists from clenching.
“I had my radio turned down,” he explained to the obviously irritated Klein, “so I could talk to people. I figured the primary unit would have already cleared the apartment anyway.”
Klein blew out a breath. “Are you all here, O’Reilly?”
“What do you mean?”
Klein stepped so close Jack could smell his cinnamon gum. The sergeant almost whispered. “You know what I mean. It’s no shame to quit if you can’t handle the job. Why do you want to hang in here and maybe get yourself or someone else hurt?”
Jack stiffened, the word quit a trigger. Vicki hated quitters.
“I’m not a quitter. I don’t know what your problem is with me. This is my first night out after six years. Why are you on my case about not hearing the radio? Caruso wasn’t in danger.”
“I’m on your case because I think you’re a burnout who needs to hang it up. I don’t care what the shrink says.” Klein backed off and held up an index finger. “You’re on notice. One screwup, one complaint from Caruso and I’m yanking you. Got it?”
Jack glared at the sergeant. Six years ago no one would have ever accused him of being a screwup. “I got it.”
Klein nodded curtly and stalked away, leaving Jack standing on the sidewalk.
Quitter. Screwup. Jack felt his mind clear somewhat. The sergeant thought he was finished as a cop, and even though he’d felt like that himself, it infuriated him to hear it from someone else.
He sighed and glanced at the courtyard. Paramedics, in their haste to stabilize the patient, had left trash scattered about. Jack considered the victim, his partner, and the suspect —and the harshness of Klein’s reaction.
A domestic violence call. Cops got killed on DV calls all the time. That punk in the tub could have just as easily triedto shoot it out as kill himself. The reality of being back on the front lines hit Jack like the business end of a baton. Out here, people would want to kill him just because he wore a blue uniform.
Something stirred deep inside as he slowly walked to the black-and-white where his partner waited.
He’d floundered whenever he tried to think of life past the sentencing. He’d considered trying to end Bridges’s life and then ending his own. Now another solution occurred. He wouldn’t have to pull the trigger or force another cop to do it. Someone else could do it for him. Patrol might just be the
“Wasn’t he listening to his radio?” Klein said. “I heard Brinna ask for help.”
Nugent shrugged. “Here he comes. Ask him.”
Klein stopped Brinna with a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll handle this.” Then to Jack, “O’Reilly, I need to talk to you.”
Brinna watched the sergeant take Jack aside.
“What’s up with that?” Nugent asked. “Isn’t that O’Reilly, the guy from homicide?”
“Yeah, tonight’s his first night back in patrol.”
“I’d heard they were sending him back. I didn’t think they’d give him to you. Where’s your dog?”
“Long story, and not something I want to get into right now. As soon as the sarge is done, we’ll head back to the station and file a follow-up for you.”
Nugent shook his head. “No hurry. I’ll be out here awhile. Homicide wants to check out the scene. My rook is slower than molasses filing paper. We’ll be tied up on this till tomorrow.”
Brinna chuckled mirthlessly. “I wonder how fast my rook files paper.”
* * *
It wasn’t until Jack saw Sergeant Klein on scene and the sergeant called him out that he realized he must’ve missed something.
“I haven’t even been in the field for an hour yet. What have I done?” Jack asked.
The sergeant launched into a lecture on listening to the radio. “Your partner needed you,” he said, then proceeded to dress Jack down as if he were a first-month rookie.
Jack felt his face flush and hooked his thumbs in his Sam Browne to keep his fists from clenching.
“I had my radio turned down,” he explained to the obviously irritated Klein, “so I could talk to people. I figured the primary unit would have already cleared the apartment anyway.”
Klein blew out a breath. “Are you all here, O’Reilly?”
“What do you mean?”
Klein stepped so close Jack could smell his cinnamon gum. The sergeant almost whispered. “You know what I mean. It’s no shame to quit if you can’t handle the job. Why do you want to hang in here and maybe get yourself or someone else hurt?”
Jack stiffened, the word quit a trigger. Vicki hated quitters.
“I’m not a quitter. I don’t know what your problem is with me. This is my first night out after six years. Why are you on my case about not hearing the radio? Caruso wasn’t in danger.”
“I’m on your case because I think you’re a burnout who needs to hang it up. I don’t care what the shrink says.” Klein backed off and held up an index finger. “You’re on notice. One screwup, one complaint from Caruso and I’m yanking you. Got it?”
Jack glared at the sergeant. Six years ago no one would have ever accused him of being a screwup. “I got it.”
Klein nodded curtly and stalked away, leaving Jack standing on the sidewalk.
Quitter. Screwup. Jack felt his mind clear somewhat. The sergeant thought he was finished as a cop, and even though he’d felt like that himself, it infuriated him to hear it from someone else.
He sighed and glanced at the courtyard. Paramedics, in their haste to stabilize the patient, had left trash scattered about. Jack considered the victim, his partner, and the suspect —and the harshness of Klein’s reaction.
A domestic violence call. Cops got killed on DV calls all the time. That punk in the tub could have just as easily triedto shoot it out as kill himself. The reality of being back on the front lines hit Jack like the business end of a baton. Out here, people would want to kill him just because he wore a blue uniform.
Something stirred deep inside as he slowly walked to the black-and-white where his partner waited.
He’d floundered whenever he tried to think of life past the sentencing. He’d considered trying to end Bridges’s life and then ending his own. Now another solution occurred. He wouldn’t have to pull the trigger or force another cop to do it. Someone else could do it for him. Patrol might just be the
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