I got Denny in the house, a bowl of cereal, and a nudge towards the shower. When he was done I told him I’d be back at lunch and we could discuss our play and how we could best resolve the shit storm that was about to slam full force into our lives. But until then, he was to get some shut eye on the couch.

The morning was filled with a gargantuan struggle between two sides of justice as I fought to get as much time for Denny to rest and the Brass was jabbing back at me to bring him in. I knew that both Denny and I would do nothing unless it was by the book and he was no more of a flight risk as any of the interned at the cemetery. I just wanted to stretch the binding a little for my best friend.

Denny wouldn’t run, and I wouldn’t let him.

In the end, a deal was struck. I was to sneak Denny in after he had a solid lunch, then I had to leave for the day. We were to hold the press at bay for as long as possible. The Blue Shield was going into play, and It seemed the Brass wanted to protect Denny too; although for all the for the wrong reasons.

The trip home for lunch was filled with thoughts of Shawna and her smile, her hair, her touch, her soul. Before I pulled into the driveway I was thirsty as hell and wondered if I could sneak a pull on the bottle.

There was no way that was going to happen…

“Jack, we need to talk,” Denny was a lot calmer than he was a few hours ago. His eyes were clear and focused.

“About?”

I watched as Denny’s delay was punctuated by his looking at the empty bottles that were scattered about the living room. I mumbled in unison with him as he spoke clearly, “Your drinking is getting outta hand, pal.”

“But…”

“Now hold on, my friend. I knew you had been drinking pretty heavy since Shawna’s death, but I had no idea,” a deep sadness had attacked those clear eyes, “Jack, you gotta real problem and I’m hurt for you.”

In the face of the worst trouble Denny has ever been in, he was worried about me even more. Denny was like this for as long as I knew him. Empathetic, unselfish and totally giving to those close to him when they were in trouble.

Or, when he thought they were.

Sure, I had been drinking, and drinking heavy, but I really wasn’t in trouble. The drinking hadn’t bled its way into my police work. My judgments were still clear, which couldn’t be said about Denny, starting with the fact that he bought into the Bentley chick’s story hook, line, and sinker.

They locked her away in a padded cell, and it looks like my dear friend my end up in the one next to hers.

Even if he miraculously escapes the prospect of being committed, we had a bigger problem on our hands…

“Well Denny, my drinking problem wasn’t a problem when it was mine, but now that it is yours too, we got a real mess.”

“What the hell does that mean? Your problems are always mine and vice versa…”

“I know. But my drinking was the proverbial pink elephant in the room that no one wanted to believe was really there. But, now you’ve pointed it out and things will change.”

“Damn straight things are gonna change. We gotta get you healed, because if we don’t, at the rate you’ve been drinkin’, you’ll be dead soon.”

“Denny, don’t you get it? We are going to be off our game. Now that you have openly made this your problem too, it will be hanging over our heads every moment we are in the field. At our age, we can’t afford a distraction like this. This may cost one or both of us our life.”

“Jack, you’re delusional. Your downward spiral will cause you to fuck up. Maybe at a time we can’t afford it to, like in the middle of the night down in Murphy,” the force lost three Blues and a Shield down there last year, “We gotta get you fixed, man. I don’t want to lose you.”

Denny would be relentless. I saw how he hounded suspects until they caved and could only imagine what would be in store for me, his closest friend, if I didn’t submit. Time to put up a front.

“Okay Denny. I’ll clean up, but we both know I am to the point where I’ll need help, and I need your help more than anyone else’s. No one knows me any better than you do.”

I noticed the picture of Shawna hanging on the wall opposite the couch was crooked. I walked over to straighten it and for the first time in months thought about the time I came home to find Shawna painting the living room walls that god awful Smurf Blue.

Tears just about came as I remembered how we both laughed about the color of the walls and the spot of blue paint on her nose. We made passionate love under those walls that night.

“You gotta deal Jack,” to my back, “and I understand that we have to get me out of the bullshit charges first. But I ain’t lying about what I saw go down.”

Choking back the love I turned to face Denny.

“We can manage some way out of it, Denny,” knowing full well he wouldn’t lie and what that stellar trait was most likely going to cost him, “We always have.”

We sat down to a frozen pizza, soda, and conversation that touched everything but the problems we were facing. The entire time I was fighting off the tremors caused by needing a drink. I could feel my skin crawl as my psyche was craving.

Damn that crooked picture.

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© 2010, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

Years ago I started writing Flash Fiction for just the sheer enjoyment of writing, and now it has turned into a full blown addiction. I can't quit the horse, man! Another dirty little secret about me is my ability to write all kinds of web content. SEO content, articles, blog posts, manifests; you name it, I'll write it. Looking for some help? My gun hangs at r.alex.crabtree@gmail.com

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Tags: 55 word fiction, Building A Short Story, Fiction, flash, micro fiction, Series, Writing

This entry was posted on July 9, 2010 at 9:25 am and is filed under Building A Short Story, Featured, Series, Writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.