The Second Coming

by J. Fritschi

“George, let me buy these guys a beer,” the suit proclaimed as he placed his hands on their shoulders. “It’s the least I can do for Oakland’s finest.”

  George looked at Mike and Big Pete with a grin through his wire-framed glasses.

  “Budweiser and a Jack neat please,” Mike said.

  “Just a Bud Light, please, George,” Big Pete replied.

  George hurried away.

  “Seriously guys, I really do appreciate your professionalism. It makes my job a lot easier.”

  “We gather the evidence and hand it off to you to wrap with a bow,” Mike replied.

  George placed their drinks in front of them.

  “I got this,” the suit said as he threw some bills on the bar. The men each grabbed a beer and touched the necks together with a clink. “To avenging those that can not avenge themselves.”

  Mike and Big Pete took swigs from their drinks and there was a moment of awkward silence. Mike was hoping he would get the message. It wasn’t that he didn’t like him, he just wasn’t in the mood to talk with anyone.

  “I better get back to my party. You guys let me know if there is ever anything I can do for you.”

  “Thanks for the drink,” Mike said as he shook his hand.

  “Thanks man,” Big Pete said and offered his hand.

  The Assistant States Attorney disappeared into the crowd as Mike and Big Pete sat down at the bar.

  “I get the feeling you don’t like Mr. Assistant State’s Attorney,” Mike said.

  “Was I that obvious?” Big Pete replied. “You telling me you do like him?”

  “He’s good at what he does, he’s a straight shooter and he’s necessary,” Mike told him. “Not only that, but I went to his house for a cocktail party and those mother-fuckers know how to party.”

  Big Pete frowned at him.

  “I kid you not. By the end of the night people were skinny dipping and fucking in the pool house. Mr. Assistant States Attorney was walking around in his boxers and a bathrobe wearing Elton John sunglasses with a scotch in one hand and a cigar in the other. He looked like Hunter S. Thompson. Funniest shit I’ve ever seen.”

  “No shit? That is classic.”

  After a few rounds of Bud’s with a Jack back, the warm, comforting rush of alcohol put Mike’s mind at ease. “Let’s shoot some stick,” he said as he grabbed his beer and Jack Daniels and strutted towards the pool table in the adjacent room.

  No one was in the room as Mike set his drinks down on the high top table in the corner. Big Pete sauntered in and set his pint glass of Stoli and soda on the table in the opposite corner.

  “What are we playing for?” Mike asked as he put the quarters in the slots and released the balls with a rolling crash.

  “Bragging rights,” Big Pete replied as he placed the rack on the table and started arranging the balls.

  Mike grabbed a stick from the rack on the wall and walked over to the opposite end of the table. “Fuck bragging rights,” he said as he chalked the tip of the pool cue. “I already own those. Tonight we play for our lives.”

  “Some times I really do think you have a death wish Mikey.”

  Mike stretched out over the table and cracked the cue ball into the rack of balls. “There’s a difference between a death wish and not being afraid to die. I didn’t want to die when I fought in Iraq and Afghanistan, but I wasn’t afraid to die for my convictions. I don’t want to die now because I want to catch this murdering son of a bitch, but I would give my life to protect the life of another innocent girl and keep her from having to go through the shear agony that girl experienced during the last minutes of her life.”

  “Yeah but you can’t do it all on your own Mikey.”

  “That wouldn’t stop me from jumping on a grenade to save my brothers life or taking a bullet if I could save your life. It’s instinct, just like when I played football. I was never afraid to sacrifice my body for the good of the team.”

  “Drinking the way you do isn’t a sacrifice. It’s slow suicide,” Big Pete told him as he rattled a shot in and out of the corner pocket. “Fuck me!”

  Mike stopped and looked at Big Pete. “Is that what we’re talking about here? Don’t judge me. You have no idea the hell that goes on in my head when I close my eyes at night. I can’t get the images out of my head. You try living with that.”

  “Come on Mike. You were drinking like this before all that happened.”

  “You try living under my dad’s expectations. Ever since I can remember, my best just wasn’t good enough.”

  “Excuses Mikey. All of them are excuses. You’ve got a fucking excuse for everything.”

  “Plus, life is boring unless I’m drinking,” Mike said followed by a deep burp. “There is no excitement or challenge in the mundane activities of a normal life. Every day is the same. When I’m drinking, everything seems better. It’s my reward for putting up with another day of bullshit.” The soft crack of the impact of the balls was followed by one of Mike’s balls slowly rolling to the side pocket and safely falling in. “Why do you think I joined the Navy and homicide?”

  “That’s just it Mikey. When will it end?”

  Mike paused and pondered the question. “I wish I knew. I keep waiting for something...I don’t know what, but something to satisfy me. I have this urge for something; I just don’t know what it is.”

  “It’s not in the bottle.”

  “Some times it is.”

  “There’s always therapy.”

  “Fuck that. Therapy is for pussies. Now shut the fuck up and take a shot.”

  Big Pete let out a sigh. “Alright Mikey. But it’s your shot.”

  Mike tossed his cue onto the table scattering the remaining balls. “Look, I appreciate what you’re doing, but I need to work through this my way, alright? I’ll figure it out eventually, but you need to give me space. I swear to fucking God, sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe.”

  Lacy strolled into the room with her long legs and shimmering blonde hair. “Hey Big Pete, hey Mike,” she said with fluttering eyelashes that masked her green eyes. “Can I get you boys something?”

  Mike turned and walked over to his bottle of Bud and Jack Daniels as Big Pete and Lacy chatted like old friends who hadn’t seen each other in years. Mike picked up his glass and took a long swallow and chased it with a swig of Bud as he leaned on the table like a cowpoke. He watched her flirting with Big Pete and became irritated.

  Lacy touched Big Pete’s arm and sauntered over to Mike with tempting eyes. She was so damn fine it made his heart hurt, but he knew they were nothing but trouble together.

  “Hey darling, what can I get you?” she asked.

  Mike took a swig of his beer and the only thing he could think about was getting her into bed. “Nothing I haven’t already had,” he kidded her. This is what always happened when he was around her; he would tell himself that he was going to resist her, but he didn’t have the willpower. The more he tried to stay away, the more he wanted her. He couldn’t help himself and God damn it, that made him angry.

  “Is that right? Anything you’d like to try again?”

  “I was hoping you would ask. Watching you shake your thing, all I can think about is…a Budweiser and a Jack back.”

  Lacy slapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll regret that later tough guy,” she replied as she walked away.

  “Make it neat please,” Mike shouted to her as he watched her tight ass and pony tail sway in alternate directions.

  “I don’t understand why you two don’t get together,” Big Pete said confused.

  “Getting together isn’t the problem. It’s what happens when we’re together that is the problem.”

  “I don’t see how anyone could have a problem with her.”

  “All we do is fuck and party.”

  “And you have a problem with that?”

  Mike chuckled. “We’re too much alike. I need someone who I can settle down with. Someone that all I can think about is making passionate love
to. All I think about with Lacy is good, hard core sex.”

  “I will never understand you Mikey. You are an enigma.”

  “Plus, there has to be something wrong with any woman who likes me that much.”

  chapter 16

  BIG PETE PEERED through the haze of cigarette smoke that hovered overhead trying to locate Mike. People would joke about smoking inside The Precinct saying, “What are they going to do? Call the cops?”

  “He’s in the back corner,” Lacy said as she motioned to Mike standing under a lighted beer sign with a cigar clenched in his teeth. He had a look of concentration in his eyes as he listened to a young man talking to him earnestly.

  “Who’s the new guy?” Big Pete asked.

  “He’s a rookie. His name is Axelrode,” she told him as she latched onto his right arm.

  “Oh shit. The poor guy has no idea what he is in for.”

  It was tradition for Mike to take the latest rookie to his favorite watering holes and get him fucked up. It was a kind of initiation and the closest thing to hanging out with a celebrity. Initiation nights had taken on legendary status. Most people didn’t have the tolerance to keep up with Mike because he seemed to get stronger as the night went on. One of the rookies nick named Mike ‘The Terminator’ after watching him consume everything in his path.

  When a new graduate from the academy came into The Precinct for the first time, Lacy would tell the cocky young buck who Mike was explaining that it was tradition that all rookies buy Mike a shot their first time in.

  Mike would then give the poor kid the same lecture he gave every other new swinging dick that came through the door and the next thing the kid knew he was on an all night bender with the legend. Depending on how the kid handled himself, he would either earn Mike’s respect or be embarrassed every time he walked into The Precinct thereafter, trying to make up for his blunder, but never being able to. It was like a little brother trying to get his older brothers respect.

  Few were able to keep up with him and earn his admiration, but after one night with Mike, all the rookies wanted his respect. That’s why everyone who was with the Oakland Police Department knew who Mike was. They had been on the other end of a story that for Mike was no big deal but, for the young cop, it was a night they would never forget.

  It was a badge of courage to make it through the night with Mike and be able to tell your story the next time you were in The Precinct. The young cops would tell their stories with glowing pride and revelry each one embellishing their heroics from their night out with him.

  Most of the young cops were just pretenders trying to make it through a night with Mike without getting into too much trouble so they could brag about it, but every once in a while one would come through that truly enjoyed Mike’s late hours of partying and could actually keep up with him. Those were the guys that became part of Mike’s inner circle, but there were few and far between.

  The pretenders could never figure out why they didn’t receive the same adulation after their night with Mike. They tried so hard to impress him and were careful not to do anything stupid which was exactly the problem. Mike didn’t want some punk fawning over him. He would always be cordial to them but they knew instantly that they did not make the cut.

  “I take it he bought Mike a shot,” Big Pete said with a shit-eating grin.

  “He already got the speech and everything,” she confirmed.

  “What’s his story?”

  “He used to be with Army Special Forces. I think he might be able to handle himself.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Lacy let out a sigh. “I wish I could get him to let me in Big Pete. I don’t know what I have to do to get him to take me seriously.”

  Big Pete looked down at Lacy with sympathetic eyes. “It’s not you Lacy. It’s him. Mike doesn’t know what he wants. He’s confused and afraid.”

  Mike was toking on his cigar, listening to Axe, as he was now calling him, tell him about some battle in Afghanistan. Mike glanced up and saw Big Pete and Lacy standing by the doorway and smiled at them. Lacy looked so tiny standing next to Big Pete and Mike felt a twinge of affection for her. She was a great gal and he knew any man would be lucky to have her, but he just didn’t love her in that way. He didn’t know why. He wished he felt stronger for her. It would make everything so easy. He tried, but it just wasn’t meant to be.

  Mike held his hand out of Axe’s view and made like an alligator opening and shutting its mouth, indicating that he was stuck listening to the young man, even though that wasn’t really the case. Mike was enjoying trading war stories with Axe. He just didn’t want Big Pete and Lacy to think he was ignoring them.

  Big Pete motioned with his thumb to the doorway. Mike shook him off and gave him the thumbs up. He could tell Big Pete was ready to leave, but he knew his night was just getting underway so he gave him the OK sign and waved good bye. He watched with an unexplainable feeling of melancholy as Big Pete leaned down and gave Lacy a polite kiss on the cheek as she stood on her toes and held his shoulders for support.

  Axe stopped talking when he noticed Mike was distracted. “Everything alright?” he asked as he spun around to see if he could ascertain what was distracting him.

  “Fuck yeah. I was just saying good bye to my partner.”

  “Are you leaving?”

  “I’ll tell you what, let’s finish our drinks and I’ll take you to a couple of places you’ve never been before.”

  “That sounds like a good plan.”

  “Bad news is your driving.”

  “Shit, God Damn! I’m trained for high speed driving. Crash and Bang are my middle names.”

  Mike chuckled. So far he liked this kid, but he had yet to prove himself. Now it was time to test his merit.

  chapter 17

  ON THE DRIVE back to his house, Mike had Axe stop at a few of his favorite bars and introduced him to some of his drinking buddies. By the time they got to Mike’s house, they were past the point of no return. Mike was on a roll and nothing could stop him, not even him.

  Axe sat on a stool at the granite counter between the kitchen and living room. The living room had an L shaped leather couch and a rich hutch, with a flat screen TV.

  Mike poured two glasses of Bourbon and placed a glass in front of Axe with a clank. “Salute,” he said as he raised his glass and took a swallow. “Wait here,” he disappeared into the darkness of the hallway.

  When he returned, he was carrying a wood humidor with the Navy SEAL trident on the top of it. It was a gift from Gunnery Sergeant Baker. Mike sat kitty corner to Axe and set the box down like it held a great unspoken treasure. He silently lifted the lid and produced a rather large zip lock bag of white powder.

  “What’s that?”

  “Grade-A-shit my friend.”

  “Heroine?”

  “Fuck no,” Mike said firmly. “That shit will kill you. This here is pure Bolivian cocaine. Nothing quite like it in the world. It’s sure to make your toes curl.”

  “I didn’t take you as a drug user.”

  “Recreational use,” Mike retorted as he poured a small pile onto the counter and striped up two short lines. “Everything in moderation.”

  “That’s not the word on the street,” Axe chuckled as Mike pulled out a thin, silver straw.

  Mike glanced at Axe with bloodshot eyes. “What is the word on the street?” He asked as he handed him the straw.

  “Word is you are hardcore and not to be fucked with,” he said as he snorted one of the lines and handed the straw back to Mike.

  Mike held the straw to his nostril with a grin as he vacuumed up the other line. “They’re all a bunch of judgers,” he uttered as he pinched his nose and inhaled hard, sending the bitter flavor cascading down the back of his throat. God he loved that numbing feeling. He ran his forefinger over the remnants on the counter and rubbed it onto his gums. “They don’t know shit but they think they have me figured out,” he told him and then took a sip of his bourbon, the co
caine already causing his heart to race.

  Axe dipped his finger into his bourbon and stuck it up his nose as he snorted his nostril clean and then, to Mike’s delight, stuck it in his mouth and sucked it clean.

  Mike pulled out two Robusto-sized cigars and snipped the ends off, handing one to Axe as he placed the other one in his mouth. He clicked the torch-like lighter and it hissed as he applied the blue flame to the cigar until it was a brilliant orange ember.

  He handed the lighter to Axe who repeated the process until billows of smoke hung magically in the canned lights over the counter.

  “Why did you leave Delta Force?” Mike grumbled between clenched teeth.

  Axe glared at Mike. He wasn’t supposed to know he was in Delta Force. That was classified information, but there was no point in trying to deny it now. “After 911, my roommate and I wanted to do something to help fight terrorism besides just talking about killing terrorists, so we enlisted in the Army,” Axe explained with a reflective gaze. “Before we went to basic training, Tom asked his high school sweetheart to marry him. When we were deployed to Afghanistan he told me that Denise was pregnant and made me promise that if anything happened to him that I would take care of them. We were both just kids and I didn’t think anything was going to happen to us so of course I agreed that I would take care of them if he would name his child after me.”

  “So what happened?” Mike asked assuming that he knew the answer.

  “Denise miscarried,” Axe explained remorsefully.

  “Oh shit, that sucks.”

  “Yeah, it was really hard on them being that far apart, but a couple of years ago Denise became pregnant again and this time she had carried the baby for about seven months so they were really excited.”

  Mike took a sip of his bourbon as he prepared for the worst.

  “Tom was getting ready to go on leave and was being extra careful to keep himself out of harm’s way when his vehicle hit an IED. It blew his legs off,” Axe said in a raspy voice as he choked back tears. “When I got to the vehicle it was too late. He had lost a lot of blood. The last thing he told me was to take care of his girls.”