When Sorry Doesn't Cut It

Fat Tuesday was a time of celebration for everyone. Kids got carnivals and cakes, adults got beads and boobs; this year was no different. Party-goers from the world over came to view the spectacular sights of a New Orleans Mardi Gras.

Cops never got time off during Mardi Gras. We didn’t see the festivities or the merry-making. We saw the dirty and gritty; we kept the dangerous element from partiers so that they could have all the fun they wanted. Most days I was ok with that.

Today wasn’t one of them.

Not as I stood with my partner’s blood on my hands, his bullet riddled body leaking like a sieve on the stretcher. I’d known shit had hit the fan when the gang-banger pulled out a pistol, but I didn’t think … yeah, you never think that this would be the last one. Like a good boy, Nathan had worn his armor and it had done its job admirably, saving him from three hits in the chest, but the damn things didn’t cover enough. He’d been hit twice in the arm and once in the neck. The neck was what got him.

Things had happened so fast, or maybe it just seemed to happen fast. The thug had aimed at Nathan before my firearm was free of the holster. The shots from the thug and myself had echoed around the street as the two men fell. My partner’s eyes had been glassed over before I’d gotten to him. His last view was of a clear, starry sky with the Big Easy dressed to impress.

“Do you want come in the truck?” the white haired EMT asked.

“No.” I looked down at Nathan’s body. Simultaneously, my blood burned for vengeance and I wept for what would never be again. “There’s nothing I can do for Nathan now. I’m going to go pick up Lindsey and Jack and bring them to the hospital; she shouldn’t be driving in the state she’ll be in.” I spouted off the names of Nathan’s family like he would know who I meant. He didn’t.

A hand on my shoulder brought my eyes up from what was left of my partner. The weathered EMT’s dried-leaf colored eyes held the truth: this was bad, but there’s worse out there. Apparently, he’d seen it. I didn’t give a damn about his experiences right now. On my list of ‘Bad Shit’ this had hit number one.

“Hang in there.” Was all he said.

I sat in the squad-car for a few minutes trying to collect what few thoughts were managing to run around my horror-numbed mind. Mostly I just felt hollow. There was something missing and it would be from now on.  As I started the car, our chief came to bang on the window.

“Get out of there right now, Sergeant!” He bellowed at me. “I know what you feel, but you can’t run off, son.”

He didn’t know what I was feeling. And I wasn't running off.

“Think of procedure.” He said.

I put the car into gear; fuck procedure.

Nathan hadn’t wanted to live in New Orleans. He didn’t play where he worked and the only time I’d catch him in the city center was for our shifts. He’d gotten a cabin on the bayous about half an hour drive from the precinct. Jack, his nine year old son, always had mud on his clothes and a grin on his face. Lindsey liked the school system, though Jack thought his teacher was evil. 

I called my wife from the road. Samantha and Evelyn, our daughter, were close friends with Nathan’s family and I thought they deserved to know.

“Hey babe!” She said, perky and happy.

“Nathan’s dead.” There was a sharp intake of breath. “I’m heading out to Lindsey’s to take her to the hospital. I…”

“Oh, Chase.” She consoled.

“I’m fine.” I reassured her. “Not a scratch. I just wanted to… Fuck, I don’t know.”

“I understand.” That was my woman, always understanding. “Let me know if she needs anything.”

“I will, Sam.” I said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” We hung up after that.

As I drove down their dirt driveway, I couldn’t keep the tears at bay.  I pulled over and listened to the wind-driven, leaves ghost across the top of the Crown Vic. After a few minutes, I kept driving. I saw Jake in the back window waving at the fluttering garden vegetables, a smile on his face. I parked the car in front and got out, the gravel crunched underfoot as I walked to the door.

Lindsey opened the door before I could ring the bell and her smile faded once she saw the blood I was covered in. Her hand fell from the door and she backpedaled, “No” a broken record on her lips, and gripping the edges of her pregnancy-rounded, baking-stained apron.

Nothing I could say, nothing I could do, plain old nothing would make this any better, so I spoke the truth. I said the only thing that came to mind and the only offering of solace I could give.

“I’m sorry, Lindsey. I couldn’t save him.” I dropped to my knees on her doorstep, the scent of biscuits and Kingcake wafted around me. Looking down at the dried blood on my hands, the tears poured forth. “I’m so sorry.”