A Bureaucratic Desire For Revenge - Andrew Davie

A Bureaucratic Desire For Revenge by Andrew Davie

Book excerpt

Sissy Fish

The Job

Wake up hungover, either alone, living in a motel as a result of an impending divorce/trial separa-tion (she kept the house), or next to a half-naked woman you’ve met/picked up/had sex with in the previous six hours (most, if not all, of which you can’t remember).

When the beeper goes off a second time, hurl it against the opposite wall; this follows for both scenarios. If alone, throw up in the toilet/sink and stare at your reflection in the mirror. Don’t say anything. Instead, display a fed-up grimace, the kind which exemplifies I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed. Change into work attire.

If alone, do a shnort of vodka (a mini bottle) before heading to the unmarked patrol car. If said half-naked woman is still asleep, suggest she can let herself out, and there’s (possibly) piz-za in the refrigerator. If half-naked woman is awake, listen to her make incredibly insightful re-marks about the out-of-control state of your life, while she covers herself with the newly pur-chased minimal thread count sheets, then brush it off by saying something like, “I didn’t know they were handing out Rhodes Scholarships with your tit job.” Then, suggest there’s pizza in the fridge. In this scenario, remove the mini bottle of vodka from the glove compartment, and shoot it on the way to, or upon arriving at, the crime scene.

The Dead Body

Walk into cordoned off apartment and greet officer Jones/Baxter (not Johnson, which would make him FBI, or Lynch which would make him CIA). Exchange pleasantries, accept coffee, and ask him who the lead detective is. Curse under your breath when you find out it’s McDou-gall. Pinch the bridge of your nose and make reference to how McDougall couldn't find Joe Fra-zier in a bowl of rice.

Finish the coffee, walk the perimeter, and examine the scene. Lift the sheet off the body. Feel the adrenalin course through. Notice the vacant look in the eyes, and the lingering aura of dread which still circles the now empty vessel. Do not notice the white knuckles of your hand.

Place the sheet back. Go over the mental checklist for later: interview witness accounts, go over DNA findings, and NCIC reports. Try to exclude wrath/vengeance on the list of things to do. Put the sheet back and nod to Baxter/Jones. Leave the house and take a deep breath. Note the paradox: if you could quit the job, you would, but it’s also the only thing keeping you going. Try and fail to block from your mind the fact the victim is around the same age as your son/daughter.

Old Habits are Like Bruce Willis

On the way home, deviate from the route. Pick up a baseball mitt/dress for son/daughter as a pal-try excuse for missing their dance recital/play. Walk to the front door of your former dwelling and ring the bell. Feel the anger begin to build as you fondle the key in your pocket.

The door opens. Get chastised by soon to be/current ex-wife which begins with her say-ing, “You’ve got some nerve.” Hold up the mitt/dress like a talisman, hoping it’ll melt her icy demeanor. She laughs and aims to close the door in your face; block it from shutting with your foot. Say something witty/charming/insulting with usual rapier-like delivery. Cut to rolling around on living room floor with soon to be/current ex-wife who says, “Keep it down, you can’t stay the night anymore; your son/daughter is getting confused.”

Have angry/explosive attempt to remain quiet during sex. Try to kiss her goodbye at the doorway, but she dodges it. Settle for a halfhearted embrace. Drink another vodka mini in the car.

Through the Looking Glass

Visit with junkie/scumbag/informant. Slap him/her around a little and remind him/her about being able to bust him/her on a parole violation. Listen to him/her ask for some leniency/quarter before relenting. Allow him/her to fire up a pipe/smoke/joint or do a line to soothe nerves. Commiserate about what constitutes a difficult life for the appropriate amount of time.

Ask each other about your respective kids. Listen to a surprisingly coherent rant about choices/regrets/soul-searching, and quotations from Aristotle/Gandhi/Malcolm X/Timothy Leary. Receive information about a suspect in the case you’re working. Give the inform-ant/junky/philosopher a ten/twenty and tell him/her to keep his/her finger on the pulse. Get into the car and pity him/her for being an addict. Search through the empties in the glove compart-ment for a shnort of vodka.

The Watering Hole

Order a shot of Jameson’s with a beer chaser. Tell the bartender to stick it he knows where when he says your tab is getting higher than a current/former rock star with drug problem/recent over-dose/rehab stint/death. Sit at the bar with Sgt. Jones/Baxter, clink shots together, and drink them. Kill the beer and order another round. Listen to “Revelations" by Iron Maiden on the Jukebox, which only has three working CDs: Journey’s Greatest Hits, Maiden, and Smooth Sounds of the Seventies, Volume 4.

Scope the bar for a potential sexual partner. Order another beer and feel the sensation of euphoria reach its apex. Scowl openly when McDougall walks into the bar. Mock his voice and mannerisms to Baxter/Jones, who suggests you're saying everything louder than you think you are, so you might want to keep it down. Ignore him and begin disparaging McDougall, who final-ly recognizes and grants you an audience. Exchange barbs with him until a group tries and fails to separate the two of you.

Go outside, shadowbox for a few seconds, almost fall down from being inebriated, but manage to play it off. Miss with the first two punches as McDougall says to go sleep it off. Get more angry at the fact he’s sober and condescending to you. Catch him with a leaping straight right. Watch as he transforms from playful/annoyed to murderous.

Absorb three punches and before going down, remember McDougall was a Gold Gloves boxer in his youth. Hear what sounds like Charlie Brown’s teacher lecture you on how you are a good cop but disappoint everyone. Get helped to your feet by Baxter/Jones, who agrees to drive you home.