Why do you even want to do it anymore?That question hit harder than I expected.
Last shift I worked, I stopped for a homeless woman who was drunk and wandering into traffic on Hastings Street, thumping on car windows with her hands, asking for help. I tried to talk her down, asked her if she could go somewhere and sleep it off, but she broke away and staggered into the road again, almost falling. The breathalyzer confirmed she was drunk, not medical. Detaining her was for everyone’s safety.
But she begged me to let her go, because what would happen to her stuff, herotherstuff, not what was in her pockets. Hergoodstuff. She pointed at a shopping cart with some bags and a blanket. And all I could tell her was to ask a friend to watch it for her. There were other homeless folks, huddled along the sidewalk. She laughed and said she had no friends, and they’d steal it.
We drove away and left her belonging sitting there against a wall. I’d told her she could have me bring one bag, and she just broke into wild laughter, so I’d picked one at random. The one on top. I hoped it had stuff she needed. But I didn’t release her.
She offered to blow me in a dead tone of voice, slurring every syllable, and I wondered if that had worked for her before, if she felt she had to. She was half my size, and older than me. Then she raged at me, and then she cried. I wondered how long she’d been on the streets. Vancouver Detox was full, again, so I took her in for Section 81(1) hold, no arrest, no fines, just in the lockup until she was sober.
But an officer coming out of the lockup as I was going in, half-carrying her, said, “Trash detail, huh?” in passing. And when I cruised back to where we left her stuff, to see if I could give a storekeeper twenty bucks to hold it for her, the shopping cart was already gone.
So did I help her? I guess, because she didn’t die in the road, right then. But she’d no doubt come out of the lockup worse off than she went in.
Was I really doing much good as a cop?Do I even want to do it anymore?
Someone needed to police the city. I’d seen a lot of evil shit, people who would happily murder their grandmother if the price was right. Folks like that would keep on hurting and using others until they were stopped. But did I have to be the one to do it?
Except what else would I do? I was good at the job.
I was silent long enough that Jos snapped, “I knew you wouldn’t care,” whirled around, and stomped out. I heard him clatter up the stairs. Maybe I should’ve gone up and talked to him some more, but I wasn’t sure what use that would be, since I didn’t have any answers to his questions.
The front door opened, then Callum appeared in the kitchen doorway in his running gear. “Oh, hey, I was going to get something to drink.”
“You look like you need it.” We were having a warm, humid day for early March. Not really hot, but Callum had stripped down to a T-shirt with his sweatpants and the cotton stuck to his muscular torso, damp with sweat. His hair was glued to his forehead, and a flush coloured his cheeks and neck.He looks like that after he comes.I pushed that thought away and opened the fridge for him.
Callum reached in, came out with a Gatorade, and sucked down half of it, his throat working as he swallowed. A blue trickle ran down his chin, and his lips were wet as he set the bottle aside and wiped his face with the back of one hand. I wanted to lick his mouth. Wanted to press my face to his sweaty neck and inhale the male scent of his skin.
I shut the fridge. “Good run?”
“Yeah. Was fine. Met a cute dog.” He looked around. “Hey, you ever think about getting Jos a dog? Might help.”
“The poor kid’s allergic. Dogs, cats, rabbits, pretty much anything with fur. We had a cat when he was little and he kept getting sick, so Krystal had him tested and yeah, allergic to animals and molds. Not pollens, thank God, given what Vancouver’s like in spring. Or at least, he wasn’t then.” I should probably review Jos’s medical history. One more thing I’d failed to do as his guardian.
“What happened to your cat?”
“A friend of Dad’s adopted her for his kids. She was super sweet.”
Callum stepped closer. I got a whiff of his musky scent. “So you had to give away your pet? That sucks.”
“Well, I didn’t want my baby brother to be sick. It was fine. I was going to college in a few years anyway.” But in this moment of clusterfucking up my duties, a sudden pang hit my chest. It hadn’t been fine. I’d cried, and offered to keep Tilly in my room, and vacuum every day. Dad had said no… I turned away from Callum to stare out the window and blinked hard.
“Hey.” Callum laid a hand on my arm. “You okay?”
“I don’t even know anymore.”
“I’m all gross and sweaty, or I’d hug you.”
Like I cared. I turned and grabbed him, and after an instant of hesitation, he hugged me back, murmuring, “Hey, it’s okay. You’re making it work.”
I took the comfort for a moment, pressing my face against his shoulder like I’d wanted to, letting his strength seep into me. Then I stepped back and rubbed my eyes. “Fuck.”
“What’s the problem?”
“I’m screwing this up so bad. Jos hates my job. I don’t know, maybe he hates me—” I broke off because there was Jos, standing in the doorway.
He stared at me, then pivoted and slammed his way out the door. I ran after him, but he jumped on his bike without his helmet and ignored me when I called his name. Standing on the pedals, pumping hard, Jos disappeared down the road.
“Well, fuck.”
