Good Cop, Bad Cop

He was obviously dead. Gaping holes tend to make you feel that way about a person.

I hadn't known him well, nor had I ever wished to, but even still there was something about seeing him lifeless, strewn over a desk that made me wonder if I should have. I felt connected to his death. After all, I had known him.

It was several months ago when I was transferred to the East Precinct that I first met Detective Mulroney. He had a greasy sort of look about him, kinda like he used pig lard instead of gel to smooth his hair down. His eyes were so brown they may as well have been black and he stood with the sort of ponchy posture you'd expect from an overweight bull-terrier.

It took less than no time at all for us to realize that we would never be anything close to donut buddies, and he would spend most of his time trying to make my life a living hell.

I was just a beat cop at the time, and being a recent transfer, the newest, lowest guy on the totem pole. I think Detective Mulroney stayed up nights thinking of ways he could get me to quit, or at least have some sort of involuntary bodily function. He'd been doing this for years to all the greenies and he wasn't about to change things for me, a bright-eyed cop with morals and ideals from a different part of town that may as well have been another world.

It started with high-school-bully-prankster type stuff. One day I came in and opened my locker to find a bloody calf's foot hanging from the hook. There was a note taped to the inside of the door that said, "So glad you mooved here." Other than the mess, I actually thought it was pretty funny and had a huge smile on my face when later I passed Detective Mulroney in the hall. His sinister grin dropped into a snarling grimace. He was so mad he could've pissed himself.

Later, things started to get a little more serious. My wife answered the door one night to find a hooker holding my badge who said, "Sorry hunny. Your husband forgot this in the alley." I spent the next half hour explaining to my wife that I hadn't "lost" my badge, it had been stolen by another cop, and no I'd never met a girl named Pixie in my life, and no her pants didn't make her look fat.

Work itself was hell. All the worst jobs were given to me. If there was a dirty job to be done, I was the one that got it. A boring job? Mine also. A pointless job? Right again.

Detective Mulroney was nothing but a huge greasy smile after a few weeks. He was going to break me. His sick form of happiness depended on my misery, but it was really too bad because he was the fool.

What Detective Mulroney didn't know is that he couldn't break me. It's hard to re-break a bone in the same place it's been broken once before, and healed over. His was a futile cause. I was always a little stronger than he was meaner.