Chapter Two

Morning in the district office was too early for Don to get called in to see the Sergeant. Victor Miller sifted through folders of paperwork at his desk when Don Thatcher walked in. The only seniority for both men nearing retirement was in their rank, yet Don did not give off an air of a pliable subordinate.

“Hey Sarge,” he started. “You wanted to see me?”

“Have a seat,” Victor said without moving his eyes from the papers. Don fell down into the chair positioned across the desk. He was all too relaxed, which made the ensuing silence between them even more awkward. Victor continued shuffling pages around, preoccupied with balancing his reading glasses against his drooping posture. He finally took his glasses off and set them aside.

“Don, you’re being suspended.”

Don sat up in shock. “Suspended? What did I do?”

Victor was unamused by his reply. “In the last week, you didn’t break any protocol?” Victor responded. Don thought it over for a moment. “No,” he said. Victor hoisted a crooked brow at his answer. There was clearly something he knew that Don seemed to forget.

The only thing Don could think of was what happened a week ago. He was at the apartment of Junior Wyatt, a Hispanic informant with a somewhat stand-offish personality. Don arrived in the middle of the day and knocked on the door. He could hear the George Lopez show and smell the cigarette smoke through the door.

He knocked again, aggravating the tenant enough to stomp up to the peephole.

“Come on, Junior,” Don called. “I know you’re in there. Your pretty little car is still parked.” He turned to the parking lot where a lone old school Chevy stood out among the cracked cement and busted curb. “Speaking of which,” he muttered to himself. He gave up on the door temporarily and headed for the parking lot.

Inside, Junior watched Don walk away before he went back to sit on the couch. That gave Don plenty of distance to do his own work. He went to the trunk of his car and took out a bat. The Chevy window shattered instantly at his test swing. The noise was enough for Junior to get up again. He was accustomed to hearing things break and people shout and tires squeal at all hours outside his window, but it never happened quite so close. “Coño.”

Junior ran out the door and down the stairs where Don was waiting for him, bat still in hand. “Yo, what the fuck are you doing!?” Junior exclaimed.

“See, I knew you were home,” Don said. Junior ignored him and circled the car looking for any additional damage. The bits of broken glass crunched under his flip-flops. “I tried talking to you like a civilized person but you didn’t answer the door.”

“So fucking up my car was your second option?”

Don shrugged. “I could do much worse.” He approached Junior, who stood his ground.

“You’re doing all this because I didn’t testify?”

“Yeah,” Don said, tapping the bat against his hand. “You made me look like a dumbass in that courtroom Junior. I trusted you.”

“And doing this to my car, helps you in what way?”

“Well, I feel better.” Don answered.

Junior stabbed his finger in the air just in front of Don’s face. “I’m suing your whole department for this shit.” “Hopefully you win the lawsuit,” Don said with a smirk. “You’ll be able to fix this shit.” He went to return the bat to his trunk while Junior hounded over him from behind.

“And you’ll lose your fucking job Detective Don. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Oh,” Don said. “Now you wanna be an informant. It’s kinda too late for that buddy. The bad guy already got away, asshole.” Don brushed past Junior, bumped his shoulder, to get into his car.

“FUCK YOU DETECTIVE DON,” Junior shouted over the sound of the engine turning over. He stomped after Don’s car as he backed all the way out of the parking lot, unable to run due to his rubber sandals one quick tear away from breaking. Don caught him throwing his arms up in the air in the rearview mirror.

It was all standard practice to him. Remembering the whole scene made him pucker his lips. He took out a pack of cigarettes and tapped one out. “You’re talking about Junior, the uninformative informant. He deserved it. Can I smoke?”

“No,” Victor said. Don put the cigarette in his mouth and struck a light. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. You don’t take orders from anybody. Not even me, your sergeant. Listen Don, the last 20 years of dealing with you, it’s been the same cycle. You fuck up... we suspend you. Now granted, with more suspended leaves than anyone in this state, somehow you’ve managed to solve more cases than everybody put together. Maybe that’s why the city’s been so lenient towards you.”

Don took one slow, long breath during Victor’s teardown. He let out a slow trail of smoke and aimed it casually at the vent in the corner.

Victor shrugged and shook his head almost in disbelief of his own words. “I don’t know. What do you want me to say? The guy is suing us for 2 million dollars.”

“That piece shit car cost about 10 grand.” Don implied.

“Well his emotions were damaged and they seem to be expensive Don.”

“Don’t stress it boss. It’s not your money. How long am I suspended?”

“Two months.” Victor answered.

Don took a sharp pull of the cigarette. He felt the heat from the lit end just at the tip of his lips. “Two months?” “Don, I’ve been fighting for you my whole career. That’s the best I could do.”

Don sat back in the chair. Another silence cut between them. He puffed down his cigarette and let the smoke do the thinking for him.

“You know what?” he said. He reached into his pocket and rummaged out a badge and a handgun, gripped awkwardly in his fingers. “Keep the gun and badge. I’m retiring.”

“What?” Don got up and turned for the door. “That’s how you’re going out?” Victor asked. Don had his hand on the doorknob and gripped it tight. “See you around, Sarge.” He made a quiet exit, leaving just a trail of silent smoke as he left the force for good.