Pulse

I woke up screaming, the gunshot echoing through my mind.  My mind was racing, unaware of my surroundings I slowly released the grip from my .45 and slid it back under my pillow.  I was in my room, surrounded by utter darkness except for the slit of light that crept through the windowsill.  I fucking hated that dream, the loud noise had plagued my nights for almost two years now.  I slipped the covers off of me. Sweat was dripping down my eyebrows into my eyes.  The bitter sweat burned, but I let it sit along my eyelid, embracing the annoyance.  I made my way to the porch. I went outside.  I lit a cigarette and let the cool night air and tobacco soak seep through my lungs.  I felt the familiar rush as I took another long drag.  How I hated these goddamn things.  Cancer sticks.  It wasn't her fault either. She had raised me good and proper, and I owed her more than my life for it.

I couldn't shake the gunshot from my ears, even the early morning droning of downtown didn't help. It usually helped, I liked the restlessness of this town. Then again I hated the bitch. People could come to this town and get lost in her in only an hour or so, I'd seen it happen before. Devilish town. Obnoxious and vile at times, work was often my bittersweet symphony that helped me stay on track. At one point in my life I remember when I loved her, the skyscrappers, the hole-in-the-wall joints with the good eats, the hustle and bustle as people flowed through her veiny streets, attempting to accomplish their arbitrary tasks. I loved her. But I loved my mother more, and the city had taken her from me. She was the only thing that mattered to me, the only one I could trust and rely on, and this bitch of a city took her from me...

The thought slowly eased from my mind and I took another long drag from the cigarette, slowly letting the smoke out of my lungs. Wind swept across the building front, as I watched the smoke quickly dissipate into the dark air.  It was late, too late to be smoking a cigarette. I flicked the still-lit smoke, watching it slowly dim as it slid into the darkness below. I went back inside, the gunshot still fresh in my mind as I restlessly got back into bed. Work was only three hours away. I hated Mondays.

            Morning. 7:30 am. I was starring at my half naked body in the bathroom mirror. I was never comfortable with my appearance, but people tended to think I was somewhat attractive. Funny. I was broad shouldered, thick and muscular, with a scrappy blonde beard. I liked my hair short, it helped my strong jaw be less obvious. I could look badass as hell if I needed to, and boy did I know it. Many a time I had pinned some fucker up against an ally wall and watched the look of fear explode into his eyes. I licked my lips, a little drier than usual, and ran my fingers across my chest. A scar protruded above my left breast that worked its way up towards my shoulder. I had gotten it working at the butcher shop, a large meat hook had caught me and dragged me four feet before I collapsed on the floor, balling like a baby. The butcher shop taught me more about the streets than anyplace ever could, and She knew it. Growing up, I never once thought about any other job other than detective. Grandpa and Her were both the cream of the crop in the field, together solving more cases than any other detective team in the regional district.  I had an interest in crime since birth, it's all I ever knew and it's all I'll ever know. I learned 'the talk', phrases crooks, cops, and the whole lot knew that normal people could never wrap their heads around. It'd been ingrained in my head since youth, and now, I was one of the most valuable members of the force.

I grabbed a new razor from outside the bathroom drawer and began to dry shave my face. It seemed so pointless, but every new week I'd shave the beard, only to have it regrow like a goddamn weed. I did it for Her, in memory of Her. She always liked me clean shaven, said I looked more adult. I slapped the razor twice against the sink, knocking out hundreds of little hairs than worked their way around the drain. I turned the water off and went back to the bedroom to get dressed. It had been a stressful time. It was Her two year anniversary today and I needed to go change the flowers. She liked white tulips the best.

            I was speeding in my Crown Royal at nearly fifty miles an hour as I made it through the city streets, swerving my way in and out of traffic. I never obeyed the traffic laws, even when I was little. People thought I was a wreck loose at driving, but I just didn't enjoy being treated like a goddamn drone. A voice came clear over the radio. “Goddamnit David was that you I just saw fly through that red on Jefferson and 116^th?” I picked up the receiver.

“Yeah sorry about that Marty.” Marty was once of the few lower level cops that I gave a shit about. His muffled voice sounded once again. “There was an old-woman only a few steps off that corner when you went flying by...”

I cut him off, “10-4 there Marty I'll slow it down a bit.”

Respecting the idea that I didn't want to nail a pedestrian going double the speed limit on a Monday morning, I eased my foot off the accelerator and began cruising at around thirty. Marty was one of the oldest cops on the force.

“Copy that, you headed out to Cornsworth yet?” he asked. He knew it was Her anniversary. He knew Her longer than just about anyone is this town.

“No, not just yet, I got a hot case and was thinking about heading over their around one or two, after lunch.”

“Well Margie and I went out at around five this morning. The plot is looking well trimmed, replaced the water on the flowers from last week...” Marty felt the similar discomfort that was associated with her death, you could tell it from his voice. Not as lively and crisp, more mournful.

“I appreciate that Marty. I really do.” And he knew it.

“10-4”.

Charlie strolled into my office, wearing thin black tights and a high-waisted skirt, her walk was a bit off-putting, but you couldn’t find a better assistant in the entire state. My eyes ran from her thighs to her face, scrunched up and worried. “I’ve got some news David.” Her voice sounded flat and far away. I was in shock. Charlie had addressed me as Mr. Sparks for nearly five years, and never had I ever heard her call me David. I starred into her deep hazel eyes, and noted the manila folder that she grasped with her left hand. It was twitching, the shaking of her hand was obvious. This was not good. She waited for a response, and started again, “David, it’s quite…”

“Urgent? Yes I can tell. Shut the door behind you please.”

She stepped inside the office, quietly shutting the door behind her. I work on the detective’s floor of the police department, the second loudest floor apart from homicide investigation. We don’t shut doors softly here. She timidly approached. Holding out the folder, her hand still shaking, she said, “It’s him.” My heart exploded from my chest. I knew it. Adrenaline started pumping through my system, I could feel it in my fingertips. I got up from my chair and made eye contact with her, she looked scarred.

“I’ll take it from here,” I said, nodding. She didn’t like my response. I paused, waiting for her to speak. I could see the unscrambling of thoughts in her head as she tried to find words. She began to stutter. I stepped forward, now leaning across the office table, her hand was soon clutched in mine. She began to sob. “David please, please don’t do anything crazy. I know you’ve been waiting for this moment for years, and it’s probably the most important thing in the world to you, but you’re a cop. We don’t make mistakes in this city anymore. People don’t believe the bull about guns misfiring or people suddenly disappearing. People have changed since way back when…” she paused, her breathing became rapid and sharp, tears were streaming down her face, leaving trails of black eyeliner. I attempted to interject, but she persisted.

“Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do David, you have worked so hard to get to where you are now, and I don’t want you going a-wall. I am one of the few people that could attest to your rage and your fury David, but don’t let your love and revenge for her get in the way.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. It wasn’t that I felt like I was being lectured, but she was right. I had waited two years to find the man that killed Her, and now I knew exactly where he was.

I walked around the desk and gave Charlie a long hug, an extended goodbye I knew might be one of the last times I saw her. I promised her I wouldn’t go crazy, and that as much as I loved Her, I would never jeopardize my occupation. She liked that, ate that shit right up. She gave me and affectionate kiss on the cheek as I stormed from the office. I knew there was no going back, the end was near.

__________

Sweat is pouring into my eyes, I blink a few times and refocus on the fat fucker in front of me. I lick my parched lips and blink once again, starring at the man that killed my mother right in the eye. Sweat is pouring off his bald head, he holds a fully loaded .22 at my chest. My right arm is extended, my .45  is pressed hard against his temple. Logically, people would say we were even. I had the upper hand. I slowly reached into my left pocket and pulled out my last cigarette. I slowly raised it to my lips and used my left hand again to go into my back left pocket to get my lighter. As I sparked it, I watched the fear seep into his eyes. It was so casual, he didn’t understand, but with a small brain like his, it wasn’t unexpected. I took two longs drags before I started talking. This was it.

“Boy, have I been lookin’ for you, you slimy sunuvabitch,” I chuckled, pushing the barrel harder into his temple. “You must know who I am, right?” I smiled.

Horrorified, he nodded back; his lips were shaking more violently than Charlie’s. I watched him carefully, noting each and every move he made.

“Who am I?” I questioned, smoking seeping from my mouth.

“Sparks,” he murmured, his eyes were shaking, unfocused and wild. As much as he had an even hand in the situation, his .22 was quivering.

“That’s right,” I mocked him. I smiled again, pausing to take another drag. I was playing it cool, he had no idea what was coming.

“And, remind me again mate, how do we know each other?” I asked casually.

I wasn’t prepared. “Ninth and Cuttingham, the second story of the east warehouse. We were being chased by four cops and a P.I...” he began to explain. I couldn’t take it. Images overwhelmed me, grief and rage consumed me.

“I know what you did you stupid motherfucker!” I screamed, unable to control the emotion rising and swelling in my chest with every breath. I pushed the .45 hard into his temple, his eye began to squint as pain shot through his body.

“Charlie was right,” I spat. Tears were now swelling in his eyes, his hand now violently shook as he held the .22 at my chest. “There’s no going back.”

It was a blur. My left arm rose quickly, forcefully grabbing his bicep, twisting vigorously, and a loud pop echoed around me. I heard a clatter as his gun fell, and a scream pierced the air. I had broken him at the elbow, his arm now twisted in agony, he wailed hysterically. It was far from over. As he crumpled to the floor, I drove the barrel of the .45 into his head, holding his head against the concrete. Curses and screams filled the air as I held my knee against his back. I moved the pistol only for a moment to grab a full head of hair and slam his face into the concrete. Again my hand rose and fell. Again. I stopped after fifteen seconds. Blood began to pool around him as his drenched face showed pure and agonizing pain. Boy did it feel good. I grabbed him by the collar and heaved him into the air, effectively throwing him against a concrete wall. He flew three feet and collapsed in a heap on the floor, his arm flailing like a ragdoll his body was limp. Anger continued to surge in my blood as I grabbed him by the throat. But I didn’t let go, I held his warm flesh in my hand and felt his heart rate begin to rise, already thumping away. The beat was a symphony. I felt as the rhythm rose, it swelled, his chest rose faster and faster. I closed my eyes and savored the sweet feel of revenge, so real and so close. Ecstasy overwhelmed me as the beat began to fade, slowly easing off. The crescendo was coming. I could feel the climax fast approaching… I was finished.