Mr. Midnight

“What’s it going to be, old man?” I ask myself.

“What’s it going to be?”

It’s cold, even for January.

I love the snow, can’t stand the cold. Something happens when you hit forty. Everything starts to crack and creak inside. And this cold cuts right through me.

I hate this. Waiting. Father always told me that I was never the patient one of the family and I was always quick to agree. That’s what my wife loves about me. I always agree. Always.

I’ve been standing under this lamppost for fifteen minutes. Where the hell is he. My watch tells me its fourteen past midnight. I’ve never met this guy but they tell me he’s the best and that he’s never late. Ever.

I flip my collar and shuffle to get comfortable. Five more minutes then I’m gone.

I look up at the sound of feet tromping through the snow towards me. A ghost in the grey snow makes its way my way. I slip my hand to my holster. Habit.

Twenty feet.

We make eye contact.

Fifteen feet.

He pulls out a cigarette.

Ten feet.

He lights it and takes a drag.

Five feet.

The light flares and I can make out some features, but nothing that stands out.

Two feet.

He passes by and keeps inhaling.

I breathe. Something sits unsettled in me, like an ember that I can’t extinguish. Always burning me but never enflaming.

“Are you Red?”

I turn and see him standing next to me. Damn. He’s quiet.

No footprints leading to where he is. How the…

“Are you Red?” Sounds a little annoyed.

I’m still eyeing this guy. All black clothes, pale scarred face, and haunting eyes. Those eyes have seen things I can’t even imagine, or want to. He was a shadow, and a damn good one.

“Yeah. I’m Red. Are you-“

“Yeah. I am.”

There is something in his words that strikes me as foreign, not an accent, but more subtle, more powerful in the absence of force but evident in his eloquence.

“You know that once I tell you what you want to know, I’m gone,” he snaps his fingers, ”and you’ll never find me.” It wasn’t a question. “You’re on the side of the law. I get to follow it and then some. You are held to uphold it and I am held to obey it. You, a detective want to know who based on why, and I a snitch, tell you where and how come.”

My badge suddenly became heavy under my coat. Twenty years and its never been so heavy. Makes you want to throw it off and see how far you can get away from the world, if that was such a thing.

“I know. Just tell me what you know and we’re done.”

“You seem nervous.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Silence. “Probably, but I’ve killed to remain hidden, so my hands are already stained. You can’t wash it off, you know. It never leaves.” He lifts his hands from his sides sacrilegiously.

I know all this. I’ve gone over this a dozen times. I can’t go back, not that I wanted to. I want to tag and bag this guy.

“I’m ok with that.” Am I?

Silence, again. He looks at me, as if trying to decide if I’m worthy to get the information he knows I desperately need. I hate this. Waiting.

“His name is Theodore ‘Cubs’ Flanney. He’ll be at 214 East Harrison between one and three am. He packs at all times. Nothing heavy, but enough to take care of himself. He’ll be in room…412.”

I feel my heart sigh. After all these months, I finally know how to get this bastard. I feel peace and fear at the same time. Am I allowed to do this? Can I? I shake my thoughts away and focus on one idea: he deserves the death he gave my daughter.

“Thank you.”

He just looks at me. Doesn’t smile, but gives me a look that hints at pity and disgust. I can’t tell and I don’t care. I have what I need and I know what I need to do.

“Be careful. This city can’t afford to lose a good man on the law.”

There was no irony in his voice, just sincerity. A strange, real sincerity.

“I went after the guy who burned my parents alive when I was 12. I’ll never forget it, the look in their eyes, how he made me watch as he raped my mom and beat my dad to a pulp. Then poured gasoline over their bodies and lit ‘em up.”

I feel his hurt as he says those words.

“What did you do?”

The question hangs in the air and I wonder if I really want to know the answer.

“I did what any good believer would do. I took it to God. Didn’t hear anything. So I took him to hell. And felt peace.”

He turns and starts to walk away.

I call out one last question.

“Does it ever go away? The peace?”

He stops and looks at the sky, searching for an answer.

“Stars don’t always stay in heaven, Red. You of all people should know that.”

And just like that, the ghost is gone, lost in the snow.

And just like that, I am left with my thoughts and a paper with a scribbled address.

This badge weighs heavily upon my heart. And I am thinking about revenge and peace. Which one am I willing to sacrifice? Which one can I live without with the least kick? They teach you how to fire a gun but never how to catch the bullets. And maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’ll get there and suddenly that prayer to God will be answered, but then again, He hasn’t exactly been in the answering kind of mood for some time. Not for me anyway.

I turn my collar up, pull my coat tighter around me, even though I know it won’t keep out the cold. Doesn’t matter, really. You never know when you’re going to get yours, only that you will. Little do we know, how little do we know.

Hell, I’m getting too old for this.

“What’s it going to be, old man?” I ask myself one last time.

“What’s it going to be?”