Last Shot

by Jay Nadal

  The torrent was raging out of him now like a river in a storm. The resentment. The grief. Not just at the death of a rookie but everything. The world that had failed Clinton Reeves and turned an innocent child into a time bomb. He felt dampness on his cheeks and realized he had been crying.

  “She was one of the best in her class at the academy. She graduated. She was ready to be a cop. It’s unfair. It’s unjust, but she got the guy who killed her. He got what was coming to him, and that’s the end of it. It will be for you, too, once you’ve been to see Carmichael.”

  He stepped back, straightening his uniform.

  “Like I said. It’s an order, and your return is dependent on Dr. Carmichael’s sign-off, so do yourself a favor and engage. I’ve got to get back. I’ll be checking in on you at the end of my shift, though.”

  Cruz left. Cade squeezed his fists tight. Rivera was dead because of him. She had been terrified, and he had been responsible for her. Her face came back to him. It brought a stab of pain with it. He could picture the mask of sweaty terror.

  He tried to remember her when she had been laughing as they had talked. But the image wouldn’t hold. All he could see was her fear. Her eyes locked on his, desperate for guidance.

  And he had failed her.

  He had put her in harm’s way.

  8

  “Uh, Tommy. You have another visitor here. Shall I give you a minute, maybe?” That was the nurse who had so cheerily fixed his displaced IV line.

  “No, no.” Cade scrubbed at his face with the heel of his hand. “Who is it?”

  “It’s a Clarissa Fontaine?” the nurse told him.

  “Okay, send her in.”

  Of course it was. When did Rissa ever miss out on a scoop? And this time, she had a personal relationship with one of the survivors.

  A slim woman entered the room with a beaming smile. Her long, dark hair was pulled tight into a ponytail. Rather than making her face harsh, it just accentuated the delicacy of her Korean features. She wore jeans and a jacket that clung so closely they could have been sprayed on.

  “Hey, Tommy,” she said.

  “No comment, and it’s Officer Cade,” he returned flatly.

  She looked hurt. Cade wasn’t convinced. “I’m not hunting for a story. I just wanted to see how you were. This is the first time they’ve let anyone in but cops.” Her accent was west coast, which went with her breezy attitude. He barely noticed it anymore, but he remembered how it had jarred among the Texas drawls he was used to when he had first met her.

  She grabbed a seat, placing the laptop carrier that was a permanent accessory for her on the floor. She scanned her phone before putting that on the bed beside him.

  “So, you’re here purely out of concern for me? Not to get an exclusive on the liquor store shooting?” he asked.

  “Hey, that was how many days ago? Ancient history. I’d be a laughing stock if I tried to make news out of that now.”

  “Good, because I ain’t in the mood to be dishing out exclusives.”

  She smiled. “So what else is new? I’ve known you for five years, and in that time, I’ve never seen you take so much as a scratch. You were like super-cop to me. Now you’re in the hospital with a bullet in you. Come on, man. Of course I’m concerned.”

  Cade looked her in the eye. She returned his gaze steadily until finally Cade laughed. “Damn, girl, you should be in Hollywood.”

  “I can’t believe you.” She lightly slapped at his leg, turning his laugh into a sudden moan of pain. “You deserve it. Calling me a liar to my face.”

  “I spend my life being lied to, Rissa. I can tell. You hide it well, but a cop can tell,” he said.

  “I literally cannot believe you. Hero cop and everything. I should just walk out of here and not come back.”

  He nodded. “Sure should.”

  “But I’m not going to give you the satisfaction, Mr. Craggy Cowboy Texas Lawman. You’re a good friend.”

  “And a good source,” he fired back.

  “Yeah, okay, okay. You are a good source. I know I can trust you. But, seriously, the news stations were all over that shooting a few days ago. No one’s interested now. If I wanted to milk you for an exclusive, I would have been here on day one. I would’ve been in the OR with you, FFS.”

  Cade couldn’t help smiling. Rissa had this effect on him. Her refusal to swear was just one of many quirks; her utterly mercenary attitude when she was on the scent of a story was another. She shared that attitude with every other reporter who ever came sniffing after a byline, but there was honesty to her ruthlessness that he had found himself warming to.

  “So, the news said there was a hostage situation. What happened?” she asked.

  He reached out and checked her phone, swiping down the display screen to check there was no recorder app active. She folded her arms and crossed her legs, kicking her foot against the side of the bed.

  “Satisfied?” she said from a thin-lipped mouth.

  “Sure am,” he replied smugly. “It was a junkie. He was out of his mind. Tried a half-assed attempt at a robbery. We showed up, and things went bad. He shot one of the hostages and my partner.” Cade felt some satisfaction that he didn’t stumble over those last words.

  Rissa appeared stunned. She must have known a police officer had died and would have known who it was. But she clearly hadn’t realized the connection to Cade.

  “Tommy, I’m so sorry. I thought you were partnered with Grillo. She had the makings of a good cop. She didn’t deserve that, and she couldn’t have been in safer hands.” Her voice was soft, and her eyes sought his to offer compassion.

  “Cruz switched us so I could show the rookie the ropes,” he said, immediately feeling the hatred for that decision.

  Her eyes widened in response. “In Sunnyside? JC, Tommy. That’s a pretty steep learning curve for a rookie.”

  His brow lifted, but he managed to keep the rest of his opinion out of his expression. “Talk to Cruz.”

  “Hmmm” was the only reply. She glanced at her phone, her hand momentarily twitching toward it before she folded her arms again.

  “So, who was this guy?”

  “Just a junkie. From the state he was in, he was heavy into whatever he was on. Probably PCP. Probably in combination with other stuff, booze included. If Rivera hadn’t shot him, he would have been dead within the year anyway.”

  “Rivera shot him before he shot her?” she asked.

  “So I’m told. He got me at the same time. I didn’t see her get it. He got what was coming to him, though.” Cade’s face darkened.

  He felt the lightness that Rissa had brought into the room dissolving. Anger swelled inside him like deepwater currents. He’d done everything right—everything—and still, he’d ended up in a goddamn mess.

  The guilt sat, not on his chest, but inside his mind, and it gnawed away at his sanity like a hungry termite in a decaying tree. What he’d done, he couldn’t undo. And that was a feeling that didn’t sit comfortably with him.

  “That doesn’t sound like you,” she offered.

  “I keep thinking to myself that guy was just as much a victim. That he didn’t start out his life as a junkie. Someone made him that way. But what if they didn’t? What if he just chose drugs because…because he wanted to. Didn’t he make a choice?”

  “Not necessarily. Come on, Tommy. How many choices do people like that have? There’s only so much you can take. Is it any wonder so many turn to drugs?”

  “But not all of them do. Some choose, and some don’t. He chose to destroy himself and then to drag innocent people down into his misery.” His voice was getting harder. His stomach twisted and knotted as his emotions ran riot.

  “And who are you to judge that? Cannot believe you, really can’t. He may have made a choice to give in, to take the drugs, but did he make any rational choices from then on? Or did the drugs make his decisions for him? Come on, Tommy. You’re my beat cop with a heart of gold. Don’t go all radical on me.” />
  “Don’t give me any of those trendy labels, Rissa. This is real life we’re talking about.”

  “I know. Believe me, what he did makes him a total SOB, but are you telling me now that being a cop is about taking revenge rather than trying to make things better?”

  “Being a cop is about upholding the law,” he said.

  “Being a lawyer is about upholding the law. Being a cop is about more than that, and you know it. Why else have you been walking a beat all these years? Unbelievable.”

  Rissa sounded outraged. The door opened, and a nurse put her head into the room.

  “Could you keep it down in here, please? Your visitor will have to leave if you’re going to argue with her, Mr. Cade.”

  Rissa tossed her head, turning away from Cade. Her cheeks were tinged with color, and her lips were pressed together in a white line.

  “Sorry, nurse. We’ll keep it down,” Cade said.

  There was a silence for a moment. “You’re going to get me thrown out of here,” he told her.

  She tried to keep the offended look for a moment longer, and then the laugh exploded out of her.

  “Sorry, Tommy. But that just wasn’t like you,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Been a tough week. I’ll get over it.”

  “I hope so. I don’t like to think of you turning into one of those redneck bozos who votes for anything that’s flavor of the month.”

  “I’m apolitical,” he told her.

  “Yeah, and that’s an argument for another day.” Rissa took his hand and squeezed it. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay. And I’m sorry you lost your partner. But please, don’t let it change you.”

  “Thanks, Rissa. You’d have to groom a brand new source, otherwise,” he deadpanned.

  She shook her head. “Literally can’t believe you.”

  She left, kissing his cheek and promising to visit again in the next few days. He lay in his bed after she’d gone. She was too late. He was changing. He couldn’t get away from that liquor store. From Clinton Reeves.

  Every time his thoughts dragged him back to that place, the anger flared. Every time he saw that haggard face, that wreck of a human being, a fire ignited in him. He wanted the chance to go back there. Wanted the chance to lay hands on Clinton Reeves.

  Reeves had chosen self-destruction, but had also chosen to spread his all-consuming misery and take others along with him.

  Cade felt like he had wandered a long way from the views he had held, what seemed like years ago. The views that had driven him onto the streets every day, turning down promotions and keeping him on the beat. Now he could only see the selfishness, the callousness. Life was cheap for these people. So why should he care about them?

  He turned his head, staring out at the blue Houston sky through the gaps in the blinds. It had never looked harder.

  9

  It seemed incongruous that the sun shone so brightly. The people gathered about the open grave. All of them seemed bowed beneath the weight of the blue sky overhead. There were cops, dozens of them. The entire Sunnyside precinct had turned out for Alexa Rivera’s funeral.

  Cade stood amongst them. Like the rest, he was in his dress uniform, his white-gloved hands clutching his crutches. The police contingent stood on one side of the grave, letting the family stand together on the other.

  Cade could see Alexa’s face in her younger sister and her mother. The resemblance was uncanny, and it sent a jolt of pain through him. Her father stood straight, supporting his wife. Two other men stood either side of the sister, the resemblance to their father strong.

  Cade found himself trying to remember what Alexa had told him about her siblings’ professions. It was a fog. He could usually remember conversations pretty well, almost verbatim if he had to. It was a skill every cop cultivated. It bothered him that he couldn’t remember something so basic.

  The family was Catholic, and the ceremony had been long. Cade could feel the sweat coating his back under the thick dress jacket and under the rim of his cap. He endured it, as did all of the officers present. It was their tribute to a fallen comrade.

  When the burial was over, Cade stood for a while as the mourners dispersed gradually. The family remained. The father hunkered down and laid a hand on the edge of the grave, staring into the hole. The mother wept into a handkerchief, supported by one of her sons. The other son walked slowly away, his arm around a younger sister.

  Cade found himself wanting to talk to them, but he couldn’t bring himself to intrude on their grief. He glanced away, unable even to observe it. It wasn’t grief that he felt now. The anger was still there. It had simmered in him during his recuperation, occasionally flaring into blazing rage. There were holes in the walls of his apartment where he had thrown things against the drywall or simply punched it.

  The father stood, brushing dirt off his pants as he glanced across the grave at Cade and began to walk around toward him.

  “Officer Cade?” he asked diffidently.

  Cade nodded, taking the proffered hand.

  “I’m told you were my daughter’s partner on her last day.”

  Cade nodded again.

  “Thank you, Officer Cade. I know you did everything you could to protect Alexa. I understand you went into that liquor store unarmed to try and talk down that…that man.” His voice broke at that point, and for a moment, staring into his eyes, Cade saw a mirror of the rage he felt. He felt a feeling of kinship for the man.

  “I did. There was no backup available—a major accident on the South Loop. I had to do something, or more civilians would have been at risk.”

  The father nodded, understanding in his eyes. “Captain Martens explained it to me. He was full of praise for your courage. He was adamant that we understand you were in no way to blame.”

  “I was responsible for her, and I failed in that responsibility.” Cade’s voice shook as his breath sat trapped in his throat.

  “You acted correctly. She chose this profession so that she could…protect the public? I don’t pretend to understand. I didn’t approve, but then…I sometimes think if we hadn’t been so persistent for her to succeed like her brothers… Did we drive her to choose her profession?”

  He looked up. Cade realized the man wanted him to answer, wanted to be reassured that he wasn’t in some way responsible for his own daughter’s death. Cade’s anger flared hot and bright.

  “No. Cops choose this life because it’s something in them.” Cade was stumbling over his words, choking on them. The anger was making his arms shake. “It isn’t your fault, Mr. Rivera. The man who shot your daughter is to blame. I shouldn’t have given up my gun. I should have shot him dead first chance I got.”

  “And then you would be the villain, no? Such is the world we live in. But, that man. I have to remind myself that he is the product of the world, no?”

  “He made choices…”

  “But what choices do any of us have when it matters most? I teach, you see. I see these kids and the backgrounds they come from. They don’t choose…badness. They don’t choose that. There is always a reason behind their behaviour, and…” His shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to preach.”

  Cade studied the man as he turned back to his daughter’s grave. He had seen the anger in him, but now he wondered at the views the man had expressed, so close to what he himself had believed once. The feeling of kinship disappeared. There was a gulf between them, which Cade couldn’t even begin to know how to cross.

  “Have you been offered counseling, Officer Cade?”

  The question surprised Cade, and it took him a moment to answer. “Yes. It’s a departmental requirement.”

  “Embrace it. Don’t let anger eat away at you. It will kill you in the end.”

  The man suddenly clasped him in a tight embrace. Cade found he couldn’t lift his arms to return it.

  “You’re a good man, I can see it. Hold on to that,” Mr. Rivera said.

  He painfully walked around the grave and
back to his wife and son.

  10

  “Miss Chiara Johnson?” Cade asked.

  The young woman who had answered the door nodded. She had coffee-colored skin and a delicate face. Her eyes skipped over his face and back to the floor. Her hair was cut short and close to her scalp.

  A man appeared behind her. He topped her by a foot and rested broad hands protectively on her shoulders. The screen door stood between Cade and the couple. It had holes in it and the paint was flaking away from the frame. The house was a typical Sunnyside bungalow, in a typical Sunnyside neighborhood.

  The grass of the lawn was growing wild and tall. A collection of old, broken furniture cluttered the front of the house. Somewhere in the backyard, a dog was barking wildly. Cade’s five-year-old Ford pickup wasn’t the cleanest or in the best state of repair, but in this driveway, it looked like a Cadillac.

  “I’m a police officer.” He held up his ID. “I’m off duty at the moment.”

  “What can we do for you, Officer?” the man asked, his tone polite but defensive.

  “My name is Cade. I was the first officer on the scene at the Wheeler’s Discount Liquor store.”

  “Where the man who killed my mom and dad was killed?” Miss Johnson asked, searching for confirmation. Her eyes were large now and wet. Her face twisted into an expression that appeared alien on such fine features.

  He nodded. “Yes. It was my partner who shot Clinton Reeves. She was killed by him, too.”

  There was a moment of understanding that passed between them. “Come in, please. Come in,” the woman offered.

  The big man, boyfriend, or whatever he was, started to speak, but she came alive and turned toward him.

  “No, Jermaine, I wanna talk about this,” she snapped.

  Jermaine shot Cade a flat stare and backed away.

  Cade waited for Chiara to open the screen door, and he followed her inside. The linoleum in the hallway was scrubbed clean of its pattern in spots, though it was peeling back in other places. A pleasant smell of lemon hung in the air.