The Good Cop Read Online Free PDF Page A

maybe-gays.
    So, things were starting to settle down and I plodded along from ho-hum case to ho-hum case. I tried very hard, with marginal success, not to think about it, for whenever I did, my mind whispered Do the words ‘dead-end job’ ring a bell, Dickie-Boy? Of course that wasn’t really fair or accurate. I’d had several really interesting cases and knew perfectly well I’d have more. But an occasional bout of self-pity is good for the soul.
    Part of my problem was that while I considered myself to be adrift in a Sargasso Sea of non-progress, luckily my friends were doing quite well for themselves.
    Phil had signed a contract to be the official underwear model for Spartan Briefs, thus providing teenage and adult gay and closeted males across the nation with an endless supply of fantasy fodder.
    Jared had applied for a teaching position at, and been accepted by, Mountjoy College, a small but prestigious liberal arts college noted for the large number of its graduates who went on to government foreign service. I, like his other friends, was relieved that Mountjoy’s campus is only about an hour north of the city, so we’d still be able to see him regularly.
    And Tom had earned a citation for rescuing a fellow officer involved in a serious traffic accident in which the officer’s squad car had caught fire, trapping him inside. Tom had risked his life to pull the other cop to safety. He’d been on the force less than a year, and was rapidly becoming, as he had been in all other aspects of his life, their golden child.
    So it was with considerable pleasure that I picked up the ringing phone in my office to hear Tom’s voice.
    “Hi, stranger,” I said. “How’s our resident hero doing?”
    “ Please don’t do that ‘hero’ routine,” he said, not angrily but in a tone that said he meant it. “…like anybody else would just have stood there and watched Jake die.”
    “Sorry,” I said, mildly embarrassed. “You’re right, of course. But how are you doing?”
    The good humor had returned to his voice when he said: “I’ve got the weekend off! The whole weekend! Well, I’m on call, of course, but…and Lisa and Carol are going out of town—some mutual friend’s wedding—and the apartment’s just sitting here empty, and I was wondering if you’d like to come over and spend the weekend with me.”
    Gee, let me think that one over, I thought.
    “Sure! That sound’s great! You want to go to dinner Friday night as a weekend kickoff?”
    “Yeah, I’d like that.” There was a slight pause, and then: “It’s not like I don’t love my job, but I really do need to kick back for awhile and just be me.”
    “We’ll work on it. What time Friday, then?”
    He was quiet again for a second, apparently thinking, then said: “I get off at three; why don’t you come by around six or so? Will that give you time to swing by your place and pick up your toothbrush? But you probably won’t need to bring much in the line of clothes.”
    I got the message, and was sure he was right.
    *
    I left work around 4:30 Friday, went home, showered, changed clothes, and tossed a few things in an overnight bag. It wasn’t like I was going to Tibet, and I could always just walk home and get anything I needed. But I liked the whole idea of a “get-away weekend,” even though it was only a couple blocks.
    At two minutes to six, I was ringing the buzzer to apartment 6-G, overnight bag in hand. I rather hoped I wouldn’t run into any of Tom’s neighbors in the hallway. While the real reason why some guy was walking into Tom’s place with an overnight bag probably never would have occurred to them, it might have seemed a bit odd.
    Well, why didn’t you just pack everything in a pizza box and pretend you’re making a delivery?, my mind said sarcastically. What the hell are you worried about, anyway?
    Well, it had a point, and I guess I was just a tad…conflicted?…about this whole Tom and Lisa situation. It really