Thanks For The Ride

We sat at the dark varnished table, an ashtray, a bottle of scotch, two glasses and a thousand unsaid words between us. I picked at the leather lining on my seat. Reached for my glass and took a sip. Was bitterly disappointed when nothing but air reached my lips.

I poured another.

"Anything you wanna say about the whole subject?"

Kaufmanns low growl made my stomach wrench. I didn't want to talk at all. Not about the weather, the traffic on the street or even to exchange pleasantries with the neighbor in the hall. And I especially didn't want to talk about "the whole subject" as he put it.

There wasn't a thing that could be said from any saints mouth that could put right the wrong I'd done.

And I had done wrong. No matter what Kaufmann tried to say to relieve my guilt, there it sat, solid in my throat because I deserved it. No matter what he tried to say, he wasn't there. He didn't know. Didn't know the full story. The man hadn't left this dusty office in over a decade, how could he possibly know?

Another sip of scotch.

That was my response to him and he passed me another cigarette over the desk in reply.

"Listen, I've seen good men like you drive themselves mad over these kinds of things. But the blame ain't yours. Ain't mine neither. Not even Carson's. Ain't no one to blame here. These things happen in the field. You know that, so did Carson."

But Carson wasn't prepared. He didn't know he would be risking his life the night he went out on the stake with me.

It was meant to be a night of keeping our eyes trained on the restaurant door, blinking sleep and neon lights out of our eyes and drinking bad coffee gone cold.

I'd told Carson to stay home that night. I told him it would be boring. He'd be better off getting a good nights kip and use his energy for something useful the day after. But he'd wanted to come along. Wanted to get a swing of the ropes. That's what he said. I never heard that expression before.

"Daniels? I can see you spinning off in front of me son."

I dragged my gaze from the floor and to his kind aging expression. His brows that were usually so tangled together in concentration now came undone and sat above his sickeningly pitying eyes.

The only form of comfort this man knew was sympathy, and I hated it.

"I'm sorry, Sir. Just thinking was all."

Kaufmann looked at me for a moment longer and my eyes met his blankly. He sighed, and then downed his scotch.

I did the same.

He opened his mouth to stay something. No doubt more hollow dribble about where to place blame. But I beat him to it.

"I'd better be going. Thank you very much for your time, Sir. May I take this with me?" I waved the cigarette.

"Yes of course, I'll be in touch at the end of the week. Might be nice to get out of the city for a while."

I stood and pulled my coat over my shoulders. Donned my hat. Tipped the brim to Kaufmann in a gesture of goodbye and reached for the door handle.

"Oh, and Daniels?"

I turned back to him.

He smiled uncomfortably.

"Try not to be by yourself too much."

I nodded at him. Tried to match his awkward smile, but my face was paralyzed. I closed the door behind me and marched down the hall.

It was late enough that all the other officers had gone home, thank god. I was exhausted. And not the kind that can be cured by sleep or coffee.

I left the lights on for Kaufmann on the way out, and then stepped into the rain streaked street. I could get a taxi home. I would get soaked on the walk, but that only made it more appealing, somehow.

My shoes slapped against the wet concrete as I felt the cigarette warm my chest. I couldn't even raise my head to see where I was going. Just stuck looking two feet in front of me at the dirty reflected road.

My mind didn't wander back to Carson. It was stuck there permanently. Like a broken record replaying the same tune over and over again. Only instead of a note from a favorite song repeating, it was the image of Carson's body being pinned down by bullets in the passenger seat next to me.

And Daniels, you coward. Slid down into the footwell and waited until the shooting was done. You had a gun you bastard. Even if you knew Carson was dead the least you could've done was fired a few bullets in his memory. Gone down with him like a true partner. That would've been better than this. Getting gunned down during a stake out was better than this.

I turned left.

Down the alley that stank of trash and greasy take aways.

I was nearly home, had I been walking for that long already?

The cigarette butt was damp in between my fingers. I'd forgotten about it a long time ago.

Something in the air changed then.

I stopped in my tracks.

The rain trickled down the back of my neck and off the brim of my hat, but I stood there, still as stone.

Slowly, slowly as I dared, I looked ahead.

My knee's locked before they could buckle. In my mind's eye I'd already turned and fled down the street, but my body didn't move an inch.

There he stood, almost sagged in front of me. As if there were a single thread suspending him in mid-air.

Carson.

With the widest grin on his face I had ever seen. The kind of grin that made you wonder if the corners of his lips weren't just working to tear and rip apart.

My mouth creaked opened, and I wanted to call out to him.

But he was the first to make a sound.

A deep, maniac laugh that rattled in a hollow rib cage.

I cried out then. No words, just a desperate ring of fear and confusion.

"Thanks For The Ride!" he cried.

Then he flew towards me, as if propelled by some giant explosion, and my world reeled back in fear.