Authors: Keith Gilman
“Can I ask you something, Dad?”
“Sure.”
“Was it all worth it? Not just now, but the whole time you were a cop, as far back as I can remember, trying to help people and having it seem to backfire all the time. I used to think it was something that I did or something that Mom did that was making you angry. Then, I figured it was something that might have happened on the job, something you might have done. I thought about it a lot after the divorce. I started to think of it as a kind of dark cloud that followed you around for so long it’d become a part of you. The crazy thing is, I think I’ve inherited it.”
“I’m not sure I understood it any more than you did. When I first became a cop, I thought the worst thing that could happen was to have to kill somebody or getting killed yourself. Both were a distinct possibility. But then I learned there was something worse. Losing someone you loved, someone you cared about more than life, more than yourself. There’s nothing worse than that. And if it took me this long to learn it, then yes, it was worth it.”
The waiter brought over two fortune cookies on a small white plate. They looked like a couple of dried out seashells, whose occupants had moved out and crawled away a long time ago. Out of the mouth of each of them hung a small white strip of paper with black lettering. They stared blankly at the cookies as if inside them was the verdict they’d been waiting for, the decision of a jury sequestered for so long they’d forgotten the facts of the case.
“You go first.”
“Not me.”
“Why not?”
“I’m superstitious.”
“We’re better off with a couple of lottery tickets. At least we could win some money.”
“Let’s leave them.”
They both took a last sip of tea. The waiter brought the check. Lou paid it while Maggie used the rest room. When they stepped outside, a cop was standing behind Lou’s car, copying the license plate number onto a yellow parking ticket. He was a real old-timer, his belly hanging over his belt, the heels on his boots worn thin. He wore his hat low over his wrinkled forehead and his neck was bright red. His face was ruddy but clean-shaven. Specks of dandruff dotted his jacket across the shoulders. His clip-on tie was askew, hanging off the top of his unbuttoned shirt. His red-rimmed eyes were cloudy.
He snapped the ticket under the wiper blade and watched Lou and Maggie come toward him from across the street. Dusk had given way tonight and the street lights overhead flickered on. Lou already had a cigarette in his mouth. He hadn’t lit it yet.
“This your car, buddy?”
“Yes sir, it is.”
“Well, get it out of here. This is a no parking zone. Can’t you read?”
“Sorry, I didn’t see the sign.”
“Yeah, sure. You got ten days to respond to the ticket or a warrant could be issued for your arrest. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly.”
“And give those damned things up. They’ll kill you.”
Lou looked at the cigarette in his hand. He flipped it into the street and watched the wind carry it away. He took Maggie by the hand and walked to the car.