The Boy [mxb]

22

People are lined up for miles in a procession, starting from the precinct and stretching out into the streets.

The doors open and the desk sergeant exits with Tony's wife and daughter in tow. They're carrying boxes of his stuff, after emptying his desk out.

"Atteeeention!" The sergeant cries out.

The muscles in my face are so taut they hurt.

"Preseeeeent - arms!"

Hands snap to foreheads in a somber salute.

There's a black car waiting behind me. The door is opened for Tamika and her daughter.

"Thanks for everything, Dare," she sniffles. "Tony would be so touched..."

"We take care of our own, Tami," I manage around the lump in my throat.

She hugs me briefly before they enter the car.

I resume my position. Hand to my forehead, jaw clenched and eyes burning but dry - because what the fuck good is snivelling like a little fucking bitch gonna do for him now.

"Order - arms!"

The car pulls away slowly.

It's another funeral for a fallen cop. But this one's different - because Tony was my friend, and he took a bullet that was meant for me. I feel lower than dirt. I shouldn't be alive, and there's nothing I can do to make it up to him now. We'll be lucky if we can have the funeral in peace, without bombs or other...The-Dark-Knight-style surprises.

Officers arrayed in uniform get into patrol cars and motorcycles, lights flashing, to begin the procession to the cemetery.

Amazing Grace is played on bagpipes, twenty-one shots fire into the sky, the American flag is draped over the casket, a crisp folded version handed to the widow and children he left behind. But there will be nothing we can offer to fill the void in their lives.

And then they lower him into the ground.

And that's it.

And still my eyes are dry. Ken and I just look askance at each other with pained expressions. Too numb, too hollow to shed a tear. I've long ago forgotten what crying feels like.

I touch my fingers to his tombstone, heart feeling like it's gone through a meat grinder. I don't try to stop the cases we worked together, the fun we had, from playing on a loop in my head. I've just gotta say goodbye and then keep going. Fuck the pain, I guess.

We'll take it from here, man.

•••

On my first day of the job as a detective, I drive in to work with Ken in the passenger's seat. The underground parking is filled with a wide assortment of vehicles, including sports cars. I've got a sweet ride for a work car: my own. Sleek, blacked-out Ferrari 488 GTB with lots of engine. Affectionately dubbed my Bat Mobile. But now it's equipped with a radio full stack and lighting controls for very well-concealed blue lights - boss' orders if I want to use it while on the job.