carried away with their reckless abandonment.
By power drinking in the parking lot with liquor stashed in the trunk of a friend’s car, more than a few of them ended up with bouts of alcohol poisoning.
Many a time at the end of another long night I’d end up sweeping the broken glass from the floor of Charlie Friday’s, cleaning up the puke in the bathrooms, wondering to myself – should I be doing something else while I wait to become a cop?
Nevertheless, remembering the decent pay and the life experience I was accumulating, I decided it best to stay put.
I applied to the police academy for the last time during the fall of my twenty-second birthday. I took the Civil Service exam and then the Police Officer’s exam with hundreds of other hopefuls, had my fingerprints taken and submitted the information for my character check.
I took the psychological exam and attended an oral psychological exam the same day as my medical. I attended a physical fitness exam of continuous physical exertion and passed that demanding obstacle course in the required time.
I had done everything asked of a potential candidate.
Now I had to wait.
A few months later, I was sent notice, through the mail, that I was on the Police Officer’s list!
However, I couldn’t celebrate just yet…
The letter reminded me that it could be up to four years before they accepted me in training as a police officer—if I was selected at all.
Being on the eligibility list was not an offer or guarantee of employment. They also told me that roughly one out of every eight candidates on the Police Officer’s list actually became hired recruits.
Now, I had to sit back and wait for the call telling me I was the lucky one out of eight.
I had been bartending for just under two years and didn’t expect to hear back from them for some time.
As fate would have it, one day in April, just after my twenty-third birthday I checked my mail box at the post office and was surprised to find a letter from the police academy.
It was an acceptance letter, slating me for training in September of that year.
“It’s about fucking time,” I had said, to no one in particular and left the post office with my prize in hand.
I should have been more thrilled – and in a way, I was – but I was also frustrated with the long wait that I had endured.
At work that night, I told Charlie Friday the good news.
“Aww, we’re gonna miss you, kid.” The big bald proprietor gave me a brief hug. “Congratulations. When are you done here?”
“Not until September,” I told him.
“Great,” he laughed. “I can work you like a slave for half a year yet!”
“Gee, thanks.” I replied glumly, returning to my post behind the bar.
It was one of our quietest nights – a Tuesday – but I got the feeling that something was about to happen.
The Dark Thing was restless inside of me, to the point that it was making me feel anxious and jumpy, but I couldn’t make sense yet of what it wanted.
Lizabeth, one of our regulars, came up to the bar and sat down, right in front of me.
I had seen the bleached blond woman come into the bar many times, usually in the company of a sleazy-looking man in his early thirties.
I had never seen her wearing shades like this, at night.
I realized she wore the shades to cover her black eye.
Sleazy boyfriend. Black eye. Sunglasses.
It was quite the cliché.
“What can I get you?” I asked her, a sinking feeling in my stomach.
The Dark Thing’s hunger pulled at me intently.
It had a great thirst tonight.
A thirst it wanted to quench.
Who was tonight’s unfortunate soul?
It wasn’t Lizabeth… I could sense that much.
“Jack and Ginger,” she replied over the music, implying a Jack Daniels and Ginger Ale.
I prepared her the drink and dared to ask the question, “Liz, don’t you usually come in here with that guy, Jimmy?”
I remembered his name because the Dark Thing had taken
By power drinking in the parking lot with liquor stashed in the trunk of a friend’s car, more than a few of them ended up with bouts of alcohol poisoning.
Many a time at the end of another long night I’d end up sweeping the broken glass from the floor of Charlie Friday’s, cleaning up the puke in the bathrooms, wondering to myself – should I be doing something else while I wait to become a cop?
Nevertheless, remembering the decent pay and the life experience I was accumulating, I decided it best to stay put.
I applied to the police academy for the last time during the fall of my twenty-second birthday. I took the Civil Service exam and then the Police Officer’s exam with hundreds of other hopefuls, had my fingerprints taken and submitted the information for my character check.
I took the psychological exam and attended an oral psychological exam the same day as my medical. I attended a physical fitness exam of continuous physical exertion and passed that demanding obstacle course in the required time.
I had done everything asked of a potential candidate.
Now I had to wait.
A few months later, I was sent notice, through the mail, that I was on the Police Officer’s list!
However, I couldn’t celebrate just yet…
The letter reminded me that it could be up to four years before they accepted me in training as a police officer—if I was selected at all.
Being on the eligibility list was not an offer or guarantee of employment. They also told me that roughly one out of every eight candidates on the Police Officer’s list actually became hired recruits.
Now, I had to sit back and wait for the call telling me I was the lucky one out of eight.
I had been bartending for just under two years and didn’t expect to hear back from them for some time.
As fate would have it, one day in April, just after my twenty-third birthday I checked my mail box at the post office and was surprised to find a letter from the police academy.
It was an acceptance letter, slating me for training in September of that year.
“It’s about fucking time,” I had said, to no one in particular and left the post office with my prize in hand.
I should have been more thrilled – and in a way, I was – but I was also frustrated with the long wait that I had endured.
At work that night, I told Charlie Friday the good news.
“Aww, we’re gonna miss you, kid.” The big bald proprietor gave me a brief hug. “Congratulations. When are you done here?”
“Not until September,” I told him.
“Great,” he laughed. “I can work you like a slave for half a year yet!”
“Gee, thanks.” I replied glumly, returning to my post behind the bar.
It was one of our quietest nights – a Tuesday – but I got the feeling that something was about to happen.
The Dark Thing was restless inside of me, to the point that it was making me feel anxious and jumpy, but I couldn’t make sense yet of what it wanted.
Lizabeth, one of our regulars, came up to the bar and sat down, right in front of me.
I had seen the bleached blond woman come into the bar many times, usually in the company of a sleazy-looking man in his early thirties.
I had never seen her wearing shades like this, at night.
I realized she wore the shades to cover her black eye.
Sleazy boyfriend. Black eye. Sunglasses.
It was quite the cliché.
“What can I get you?” I asked her, a sinking feeling in my stomach.
The Dark Thing’s hunger pulled at me intently.
It had a great thirst tonight.
A thirst it wanted to quench.
Who was tonight’s unfortunate soul?
It wasn’t Lizabeth… I could sense that much.
“Jack and Ginger,” she replied over the music, implying a Jack Daniels and Ginger Ale.
I prepared her the drink and dared to ask the question, “Liz, don’t you usually come in here with that guy, Jimmy?”
I remembered his name because the Dark Thing had taken
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