night.”
“Radical, dude! Well I gotta go, Dad. Love you.”
“Love you too, son,” said Robin as he watched his son rocket back up the street.
Robin walked up his driveway to the door of his house, a modest single story home in the Ahwatukee neighborhood of South Phoenix. The home had a white stucco exterior and a double car garage with desert landscaping in the front yard. Robin hated desert landscaping, but it made the yard easy to maintain. At least a large palo verde tree provided shade. When he reached the door his wife, Karen, opened it from the inside.
Robin's wife stood two inches shorter than him, with medium length auburn hair surrounding a creamy smooth face. Her deep green eyes projected an intensity accentuated by an expressive mouth with inviting lips. Robin perpetually believed those lips begged to be kissed, which he did. How I love this woman!
“Hi, babe,” he said. She hugged him tight. “What's the matter, honey?” Robin asked.
“What's the matter? You don't come home last night. I stay awake all night long worrying about you. Then you call me at seven in the morning and tell me you've been in another shootout and you ask me what the problem is.”
“I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to scare you.”
“Robin, this makes three shootings for your squad in five years. It makes five shootings for you since you've been a cop. How long do think you can keep this up before you get shot?”
“I can keep it up as long as we do as well as we did last night. Everybody did what they were supposed to do and none of us got hurt.”
“Damn it, Robin. I know your squad is good. The whole damn world knows it. But you have told me yourself that a lot of it is luck—and luck can run out.”
“So what do you want? Should we quit and just let the assholes have a free run?”
“Who is ‘we’? I'm talking about you. I'm not married to anybody else. You're a lawyer, for God's sake. You can be a prosecutor and fight the criminals that way. At least you won't have to get shot at.”
“I've told you before. The cases are made in the street. If the cops do it right, the case is good. If the cops fuck it up, then the case is fucked up and there's nothing a prosecutor can do about it. That's why I'm a cop.”
“You're a cop because you need the identity the badge gives you. There is something inside of you that needs the stupid, macho bullshit of being a cop.”
Robin fought to control his temper. He and Karen had been over this ground many times before. He knew she spoke partly out of fear. He also knew she meant what she said. Whenever they got into these arguments, nobody won.
“Karen, I don't want to argue with you. For now, being a cop is my job. I'm dead tired right now and need sleep. I'll end this conversation by just saying I love you.”
Robin kissed Karen on the cheek, feeling the stiffness in her body. He squeezed her hand and headed for the bedroom. Karen had already closed the blinds, turned on the ceiling fan, and turned Robin's side of the bed down. He took off his gun, handcuffs, and extra magazines and put them up on his closet shelf. He took off his clothes and let them drop in a pile at his feet. It felt so good to get them off.
As he climbed into bed, he heard Karen crying in the kitchen. He started to get up to go to her, but then thought better of it. He didn't want the fight to start again. Robin lay back in the bed. Wearily, his mind started to float
“Rob, honey, it's all right. You're having a nightmare.” Robin's mind struggled for consciousness as Karen's voice filtered through the terror gripping him. He breathed fast, his right hand closed tightly.
“Robin, wake up. You're having a nightmare.” Robin looked around him and realized he was in his bed, Karen shaking him. He put his hand on her arm to stop her. His body relaxed and he lay back down.
“What were you dreaming about?”
“These guys were coming at me, shooting. I tried to shoot back, but my gun
“Radical, dude! Well I gotta go, Dad. Love you.”
“Love you too, son,” said Robin as he watched his son rocket back up the street.
Robin walked up his driveway to the door of his house, a modest single story home in the Ahwatukee neighborhood of South Phoenix. The home had a white stucco exterior and a double car garage with desert landscaping in the front yard. Robin hated desert landscaping, but it made the yard easy to maintain. At least a large palo verde tree provided shade. When he reached the door his wife, Karen, opened it from the inside.
Robin's wife stood two inches shorter than him, with medium length auburn hair surrounding a creamy smooth face. Her deep green eyes projected an intensity accentuated by an expressive mouth with inviting lips. Robin perpetually believed those lips begged to be kissed, which he did. How I love this woman!
“Hi, babe,” he said. She hugged him tight. “What's the matter, honey?” Robin asked.
“What's the matter? You don't come home last night. I stay awake all night long worrying about you. Then you call me at seven in the morning and tell me you've been in another shootout and you ask me what the problem is.”
“I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to scare you.”
“Robin, this makes three shootings for your squad in five years. It makes five shootings for you since you've been a cop. How long do think you can keep this up before you get shot?”
“I can keep it up as long as we do as well as we did last night. Everybody did what they were supposed to do and none of us got hurt.”
“Damn it, Robin. I know your squad is good. The whole damn world knows it. But you have told me yourself that a lot of it is luck—and luck can run out.”
“So what do you want? Should we quit and just let the assholes have a free run?”
“Who is ‘we’? I'm talking about you. I'm not married to anybody else. You're a lawyer, for God's sake. You can be a prosecutor and fight the criminals that way. At least you won't have to get shot at.”
“I've told you before. The cases are made in the street. If the cops do it right, the case is good. If the cops fuck it up, then the case is fucked up and there's nothing a prosecutor can do about it. That's why I'm a cop.”
“You're a cop because you need the identity the badge gives you. There is something inside of you that needs the stupid, macho bullshit of being a cop.”
Robin fought to control his temper. He and Karen had been over this ground many times before. He knew she spoke partly out of fear. He also knew she meant what she said. Whenever they got into these arguments, nobody won.
“Karen, I don't want to argue with you. For now, being a cop is my job. I'm dead tired right now and need sleep. I'll end this conversation by just saying I love you.”
Robin kissed Karen on the cheek, feeling the stiffness in her body. He squeezed her hand and headed for the bedroom. Karen had already closed the blinds, turned on the ceiling fan, and turned Robin's side of the bed down. He took off his gun, handcuffs, and extra magazines and put them up on his closet shelf. He took off his clothes and let them drop in a pile at his feet. It felt so good to get them off.
As he climbed into bed, he heard Karen crying in the kitchen. He started to get up to go to her, but then thought better of it. He didn't want the fight to start again. Robin lay back in the bed. Wearily, his mind started to float
“Rob, honey, it's all right. You're having a nightmare.” Robin's mind struggled for consciousness as Karen's voice filtered through the terror gripping him. He breathed fast, his right hand closed tightly.
“Robin, wake up. You're having a nightmare.” Robin looked around him and realized he was in his bed, Karen shaking him. He put his hand on her arm to stop her. His body relaxed and he lay back down.
“What were you dreaming about?”
“These guys were coming at me, shooting. I tried to shoot back, but my gun
Similar Books
