First Chance, Last Chance

By: M.J. Garrett

 

Introduction:

 

Look at them.  The self-serving; self-righteous pricks.  Sitting there in their pristine uniforms with badges and medals, gold stripes and bars on their collars, they never smile.  As they sit at the horseshoe table with small microphones in front of them, each one listens as an officer from Internal Affairs reads off the charges from my past and present transgressions.  Sitting to the left of the table, with a solemn face and tone, the officer keeps reading.   One by one, ghosts from the past resurface like bad memories.  He pauses for a moment; with a quick shameful glance, he bows his head and he continues to read. 

 

Senior Corporal Bodie, the man reading, brought me through my police training.  For 15 weeks he showed me the ins and outs of this department.  15 years later, one by one, he’s driving the nails in my career coffin.  I can see what looks to be disappointment, but I know Bodie.  What appears to be disappointment is actually fear.  Calmly and void of emotion, I look at him.  He keeps reading.

 

Glancing to my right, I can see my sergeant.  Sergeant Cranston sits there in silence and lowers his head toward the table and pulls the corners of his mouth back behind his large mustache.  I’m sure the he was aware of my past.  Any good sergeant would know their troops, but through his obvious disappointment, I’m positive that he was not fully aware of what he was sitting in on during this particular board meeting.  Cranston and Bodie were partners about 25 years ago.  Each one of them guarding their secrets like an impenetrable vault, sits there listening and reading.   

 

Sitting directly in front of me is Chief Bale.  With his head slightly bowed, he peers at me with distain.  His sharp eyes cut through the dimly lit room and peek from behind his thick white eyebrows.  There is no smile on his face today; not like there was yesterday when he announced to the media that I would be sitting in front of this particular disciplinary board today.  Even though his smile is hidden in the dark, I can see the corners of his mouth twitch as we make eye contact.

 

Bodie finishes off his list and the room falls silent.  I sit there in my black pinstriped suit and yellow tie.  With my hands folded together on the table, I move closer to the small microphone, ready to speak.  Chief Bale, leans back in his black leather chair and tilts his head slightly to the left and takes a deep breath.  “Officer Chance Baily, we both know that your extensive history is not just a reflection of your undeniable desire to break the rules, but it’s also a reflection of your personal integrity and lack of ethics.  Can we both agree on that?”  He cracks a slight grin that only I seem to recognize.  “Are you willing to admit that?”

 

Clearing my throat, I move closer to the microphone and politely ask him to clarify his question.  His grin disappears as he moves forward and rest his elbows on the table.  “Officer Baily, in 15 years, I have had the privilege of sitting at this desk and getting to know who and what you are really about.  Did you understand all of what Senior Corporal Bodie was reading?  Fifteen years on this department and eleven different investigations.  Again, I ask you, is this not a reflection of your personal integrity and lack of ethics?”

 

For a moment, I sit there.  Thinking the question through, I softly grin and glance at Cranston and then Bodie.  Each one of them closing their eyes and waiting for the next words to escape lungs.

 

Chapter 1

 

The weather in Texas this time of year was always a tricky thing to predict.  The mornings always seemed to be filled with a light fog and slight drizzle.  It was never really freezing cold, but always cold enough to matter.  The afternoon and evenings never really called for a jacket of sorts, but sometimes you would regret not having one.  The sun always seemed to peek its warm glow through the crowded clouds.  The good thing about days like this, the air conditioning never really needed to be utilized.

 

As a self-proclaimed night owl, most of my days were spent sleeping in an unfurnished bedroom.  Stacked blankets and not-so-comfortable drool stained pillows made sleeping a lot harder now that I’m not as young and uncaring.  Backaches and popping joints were common place when waking up in the early afternoons.

           

You could argue that sleeping on the floor wasn’t near as comfortable as the couch, but when you throw the distraction of television and the temptation of porn, sleeping on the floor in the lonely bedroom was the only way to get any sleep.  The empty walls found ways to close in the room.  It seemed like every day they inched closer and closer to where the room was now the size of a small closet; a prison cell if you prefer.  The light from the window was stifled by the thick maroon bed sheet that was held up with small nails and thumb tacks.  It was a lazy and cheap remedy, but the sheet served its purpose valiantly.

           

Days filled with routine seemed to be the only way to keep any sort of sanity these days.  No one knew where I lived as of late.  Moving around, changing appearances, changing names.  It takes a toll on a person, but the peace of my present day silence made the decision to go off the beaten path well worth it.  The only break in the silence was the sound of the heavy set couple walking up and down the stairs.  They lived a couple doors down from me, but I’ve only seen them as I sneaked a peak at them as they waddled past my window.  The shaking of the walls and windows were a dead giveaway of their presence. 

           

Lazily dragging my pitiful presence down the hallway to the restroom, I close my eyes as I flip the light on.  It’s a shame how being 35 years old feels like what I thought 65 years would.  My thick black wavy hair had its rare unwelcome gray visitors, but at this point in my life, I could care less what color my hair was; just as long as it wasn’t falling out. 

 

Opening up a drawer in the bathroom was one of the only times I felt a smile creep on my tired weary face.  There’s just something about knowing that everything was where it was supposed to be.  The bottom of the drawer was covered by a single folded paper towel.  My toothbrush lay up against the left side of the drawer; pushed snug in the front corner.  About an inch away was the spare toothbrush that usually served the purpose of a quick brush to remove tobacco from my teeth. 

 

Just an inch to the right of the spare toothbrush was the tube of toothpaste.  With the paste pushed to the top of the tube, the bottom was flat and squeezed shut.  I never was a fan of rolling the bottom of the tube; I found it annoying and an eyesore to look at.  Next to the toothpaste was my razor; still capped and stowed in the holder that it was bought in.  This drawer represented the only part of my life that seemed to have any order.  It’s pathetic the more I think about it.

 

The bathroom counter top held nothing but a soap dispenser.  It was just a blank white granite slate used to rest my hands on as I leaned over the sink to spit the paste or rinse the razor.  Everything in this room was immaculate.  The towel was perfectly folded and hung on the metal towel rack for drying my hands and face, the toilet was cleaned and scrubbed daily, and the black shower curtain remained closed and pulled tight because that’s the way I like it.  The bathroom is a happy place for me.  It’s quiet and clean.

 

The rest of the house was clean and organized, but you’ll find a lot of stuff out of place.  Mainly because I just didn’t bother with the small things that the rest of the world had access to.  I think it’s more of a mental disorder.  Maybe some sort of closet perfectionist? 

 

I always wondered how the hell I got here; this place of solitude and loneliness.  The apartment is filled with black leather furniture, a modern motif that used to symbolize the fact that I gave a shit.  Now, it’s more of an inconvenience and a reminder of how stupid I used to be.  Not that anyone would ever see the inside of my apartment, but if they did, they would probably be impressed.  Me, I could care less.  I have my bed made of fluffy expensive mink blankets, cheap pillows, and I have my spotless bathroom.  It’s the small things that matter.

 

*

 

I would be inclined to say that if your name isn’t in my list of phone contacts, I’m not going to answer the phone.  You are probably just another insignificant person or bill collector that was going to have to hunt me down.  Good luck with that!  My trail is as cold as the leather couch in my living room.  For some reason, maybe out of the delusion of the dream I was having, I reached over and silenced the phone as it vibrated on the floor beside my pillow.  As I rolled over to find that comfortable sweet spot that reduced all the discomfort of my body on the floor, with the exception of my back, shoulder, knee, and neck; I could hear the faint voice coming from the small speaker of the phone.

 

“Chance?  Are you there?  Hello?”

 

At first I thought I was dreaming.  Her sweet voice was calling me from our newly renovated kitchen.  The smell of homemade biscuits, bacon, eggs, topped with the delicious aroma of her amazing chocolate gravy filled my nose to the point that I could taste it.  She walked to the kitchen table and began to fill our plates with her delectable rendition of what her mother used to make.  She dressed herself in a very elegant, red, silk nightgown that was held up by two small spaghetti straps, which one always seemed to fall off her shoulder to reveal her smooth pale skin of her shoulder that brought back the smell of her skin.  With her hair pulled tight in a ponytail, loose strands hung in her face and in front of her black framed eyeglasses that she needed while her contacts were left soaking in their little plastic holder on the kitchen counter top.

 

“Chance, I know you’re there.  I can hear you snoring.  Please pick up the phone.”

 

I could see her long skinny shadow grace the living room as she paced by the kitchen door.  I could hear dishes being sat on the table and the clanking of silverware as she gathered them to put them in their assigned places.  I loved breakfast.

 

“Chance, please wake up!  I need you, Chance.” 

 

I smiled as she entered the living room to tell me that breakfast was ready to be devoured.  She smiled as she pulled her loose bangs from her face and gingerly placed them behind her ear.  Walking over to me, her green eyes smiled just as much as her thin pink painted lips.  She reached her hand out towards me and harshly whispered, “Chance, wake the fuck up.”

 

Confused by the sternness of her tone, I lowered my eyebrows.  With her hand reached out and placed on my shoulder, she peered into my eyes with the most beautiful smile.  “Chance!  I know you are there!  Wake up, God damn it!”

 

My eyes crack open and the blank white walls of the bedroom stare back at me.  Blinking my eyes to allow them to focus, I could hear the small speaker on my phone.  “Chance!  Come on and pick up the phone!”

 

With my voice deep and full of air, cracking from the dust that settled in my throat while I slept, I grabbed the phone and placed it to my ear.  “Hello?”

 

“Chance, I need you.” 

 

“Lucy?” I rubbed my eyes and gathered my senses, “What the fuck do you want?”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2           

 

I used to spend hours riding around the country side, dragging a knee into the sharp desolate paved curves of the only road worth riding on.  Bugs ricocheting off the face shield and the hum of bike’s 599cc engine would drown out any thoughts that didn’t have to do with staying alive.  I used to ride scared, now I just ride to push the limits of both me and the bike.  I was as safe as you could be when digging 90 mph turns that heated my knee, as sparks flew from the peg as it scraped the pavement.  It was a freedom that was rare these days; especially when you sell the bike just to keep from being visible.  A bright blue Yamaha R6 wasn’t rare, but when it had as many gadgets and features as mine did, it’s very hard to miss.

 

By now, I’m sure some 19 year old biker boy is either showing it off to his 17 year old girlfriend sitting on the back of it, or it’s been shredded in some accident that wasn’t worth news coverage. Either way, it wasn’t a care of mine anymore; I had other things to worry about. 

 

Lucy, my lovely cheating whore of an ex-wife, sounded a little distraught when I talked to her this morning.  I don’t know why she wasted her time calling me; she and my old partner were bound to be keeping the neighbors up at night with the way she screamed in the bed.  It’s not like I had anything to offer her.  I didn’t have any answers.  All I had to give her was a middle finger, which she never took me up on that offer; even while we were married.

 

Surely she wasn’t in any trouble.  She may have been a whore who should have worn a cocksucker’s neck brace, but she was smart.  She always covered her tracks.  The only problem I could think of was Bodie. 

 

Bodie, my ex-partner, always had his hands in something.  In her case, it was more than just his hands, but let’s not argue semantics.  Bodie, was a good cop.  He could see the streets like no one could; not unless you grew up in them.  The strange thing, he grew up in Highland Park, one of the nicest parts of the city.  Sure, he had a class about him and all the ladies thought he was an angel, but I’ve seen him work.  He wasn’t as crude as I used to be, but he knew how to get people to talk.  He used to tell me that it was easier to understand a person when your pistol wasn’t in their mouth.   I could see his point, but they definitely understood mine.

 

She never called me about anything.  Usually, Bodie could handle anything.  Either he is in some shit or he is balls deep into some little piece of ass and she found out about it.  I guess it could be said that he was in some shit either way you looked at it.  I figured it was the latter of the two scenarios, so I just hung up the phone. 

 

I hated that she transitioned from me to him so effortlessly.  Listening to her try to explain to me the rigors of love was like listening to a rich kid complaining about being sent to his room where he could only play his XBOX or Play Station.  Sure, I loved her, but what she has now is something that I could never provide.  Soon enough, Bodie will realize that he can’t provide it either; but he didn’t really care.  It’s ironic in a way; she left me to be with another version of me…a richer, slightly younger, sexier version of me.

 

*

 

In my own way of making myself look presentable, I wet my hair and run the comb from front to back.  I used to be so particular.  I’d wear sweater vest and button up shirts; black or brown slacks; shiny brown or black shoes, all just to show the world that I was a beacon of civility.  Now, I throw on a shirt that I haven’t worn or washed in a week or so, slick my shaggy hair back, and throw on a leather blazer.  It’s kind of funny how that’s exactly what we do to not look like a cop, but all cops seem to dress like that.  The only thing that makes me appear not so cop-like is the fact that my beard and hair make me look homeless.  If I throw on the aviators, I look like a not-so-undercover narco.  I guess when you live the life; it’s hard to get rid of the remnants.

 

I’m supposed to meet a Lucy at Jiang’s Chinese and Japanese Cuisine at 2 pm.  I haven’t seen her in months and she insisted that today was of the utmost importance.  She didn’t have a clue where I was living now.  I’ve changed residents so often that it was hard for me to remember.  The good thing was that I lived two blocks away from Jiang’s.  A short walk from the apartment, but none the less it seemed like the longest walk ever.  I take it that most walks of shame felt this way.

 

The ringing of the bells hanging on the door gave me away as soon as I walked in.  Turning to look at me, I could see that she made a point to wear my favorite sun dress.  The one I bought her for her birthday last year.  Ironically, it’s the same dress that was on the floor of the bedroom when I walked in to see Bodie’s naked white ass bouncing in the air as Lucy screamed to be choked.  I was more than willing to oblige, but the fact that Bodie was still wearing his shoulder holster, with gun in tow, made me feel a little less obligated.

 

As she stood up and walked toward me, she quickly peeked to a table of men in the corner of the restaurant.  Normally, I wouldn’t think anything about it, but when she walked by like I was a stranger and whispered “It’s Bodie”; I felt the tug of her hand in my jacket pocket as she slid in a small folded note.  Obviously, this was meant to be read at a more convenient time, so I nonchalantly made my way to the bathroom.  As I walked into the bathroom, I quickly locked the door and began to hoist myself on the sink and pushed the bathroom window open.  As I crammed myself out of the window, I could hear the pushing and tugging on the door. 

 

Leaning up against the wall, I took my phone and aimed the camera inside.  The small video clip later revealed three men entering the bathroom with guns ready.  It’s a little hard to watch video or a live camera feed when the only thing for them to see was my ass and elbows running and turning the corner of the alleyway. 

 

Running through the alleys, from one street to the next, I figured that I had lost them.  I knew these streets better than most and while hunkered down with Richard and his dog beside their makeshift cardboard box house, I had hoped that Bodie wasn’t around. 

 

“What kind of trouble are you in now, Chance?” Richard asked me looking disappointed.  His weary bearded face was inches away from mine as we laid there covered in smelly blankets and dog hair.  “By the way, you wouldn’t happen to have a buck would you?”  Looking at his blank face for a moment, I shuttered to think about what all happened under this blanket when it was just him and the dog.

 

“Not now, Richard.”  I whispered to him.  His dog, looking as shaggy as Richard, pulled his head from its resting spot as his interest was peaked by movement from the end of the alley.  He slowly trotted a short distance with his growl, making himself known.  “Richard, what is it?  I can’t see.”  I asked him as my face was now completely covered by the nasty blanket.

 

“It’s nothing.  There is no one there.”  I uncovered my face and peeked through a hole in the cardboard wall.  As I moved my head around to catch every angle through the small hole, I watched as the three men stood there in confusion.  Holstering their weapons, they tried their best to not look so obvious and then walked off.

 

Laying my head back down on the blanket, a sigh of relief escaped my lungs.  Richard snapped his fingers and called his dog back to camp.  “You know, Chance, we have to stop meeting like this.”

 

Taking a deep breath, I sat up and looked at him.  His face holding a smile that probably represented “I told you so”, made me smile as I dug into my wallet for a dollar.  “Do you have change, Rich?” I asked him politely.

 

“Change?  Are you fucking kidding me?” he almost looked disgusted by my audacity.

 

“I’ll take that as a ‘No’.  Better luck next time then?”  I stood up and dusted the dirt and dog hair of my shirt and pants.  Richard, still holding a look of shock, quickly reminded me that my mother would be disappointed.  Maybe she wouldn’t be disappointed for the drastic measures I took to hide from the men, but to ask Richard to make change for a twenty dollar bill was a disgrace.  “Richard, all I have is a twenty and we both know that you’ll only use it to get booze.”

 

“What the hell is wrong with that?” he asked me surprisingly.

 

“You’re right; there is nothing wrong with that.  No money today though.  Do me a favor, find out who the hell those men were, and I’ll give you more than twenty bucks.”  I told him as I used my hands to slick my hair and beard down.

 

“Sure thing, Chance.  Oh, and while I’m at it, I have some investment tips for you.” He’s been homeless for 10 or 12 years, but he still had his sarcasm.

 

“One more thing, Rich, don’t you think it would be wise to get a dog that looks and acts like a dog?  This thing here isn’t going to keep you alive.”  I started to make my way toward the end of the alley when Richard pipes up again.

 

“It’s not about the size of the dog in the fight, Chance; it’s the size of…..”

 

“I know, I know, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Rich, it’s a fucking Pomeranian!”       

 

 

Chapter 3

 

Walking into my apartment, I throw the keys on the coffee table and I reach into my pocket to fetch the note given to me by Lucy, “Bodie, Baily, Bale, Villa, Rick-2am/Blue Bayou”.  I wondered what exactly she was trying to tell me.  Bodie, Baily, Bale; those names I know.  Villa and Rick; not so much.  Blue Bayou? 

 

Leaning back on the leather couch, I examine the video from my bathroom visitors.  I didn’t recognize any of the faces.  Bodie and I had history and as much as I knew at this point, what I did know wasn’t worth me dying over.  Confused for a moment, I closed my eyes.  Repeating the note over and over, I quickly call a friend of mine that I hope can help me out.

 

“Susan!”

“Chance?  What the fuck do you want?!” She harshly asked.  Susan Wychek was the District Attorney a couple of years ago.  However, after some questionable testimony from a possible dirty cop, she found herself packing her things into a small box and walking out of the office.

 

“Susan, I know you are still mad about the testimony I gave back then, but I really need you to help me out.”  I pleaded with her once before and I ended up walking home wearing nothing but a leather jacket and Chuck Taylor sneakers on.  Apparently, Susan wasn’t fond of my threesome idea with her and her sister.  Nor was she happy that I didn’t leave my then wife like I said I was going to.

 

“Chance, I told you that if I ever saw you again, I would cut your flaccid veiny dick off!  My sister?  For Christ’s sake, she was only 18!” After some choice words, I expressed my interest in the “Blue Bayou”.  I explained my run-in with Bodie and she finally relented the cursing.  “The Blue Bayou used to be a club downtown, but it’s been closed for several years now.  There is also a street called Blue Bayou, but it’s just outside of the city limits.  It’s just off of Highway 57, in the ‘deep’.”

 

“The Deep?” I questioned her aloud.  “There’s nothing but trailer parks and meth houses in the deep.” 

“Well, I don’t know what exactly you are looking for, Chance, but that’s all I can give you right now.”

“Thanks, Susan.”

“By the way, Chance, have you talked to Richard?  Apparently, he needs to speak with you about urgent matters.  He’s called me several times.”  She sounded concerned for Richard.

“Geez, Susan!  I owe him a fucking dollar!”

“You couldn’t just give him the $20?” Susan sighed, “…and your mom called too.  I’m invited to Christmas dinner again, even though you haven’t been in over five years.”

“What can I say, she liked you.”

“Well, your ex-wife is invited too.  You never said anything to her about us, did you?”  Her disappointment in me was almost visible.

“Gotta go…”

 

     

 

 

 

              

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 05.12.2011

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