Fat Tuesday(134)

"Cowardice," he wheezed.

"You're no coward."

"The guy I shot. Remember?"

"Our rookie year?" Burke had a dull recollection of the incident.

"He was armed and went for his weapon when you tried to arrest him. It was a clear case of him or you."

Pat shook his head a fraction."It was a throw-down. I panicked, shot him too soon, covered it." He paused to take several gurgling breaths."He was Duvall's man. Duvall knew the guy used knives, not guns. He wouldn't have died with a pistol in his hand, and Duvall knew that. He's owned me ever since." A tear streaked through the white makeup."I was a good cop. I wanted to be chief."

"It never would have happened, Doug," Burke said sadly."If it hadn't been Mac, somebody else would have caught on to you."

"You."

"Yeah, me. Only I figured it out too late."

Pat let the pistol slip from his fingers and used most of his diminishing strength to grip Burke's loose pirate shirt."How'd ...

how'd ... you guess?"

"I didn't. You told me yourself."

Pat looked at him with confusion.

"After you shot Mac," Burke explained, "you told me that calls to drug dealers had been traced back to him, even the call that tipped them the night Kev was killed. That was a lie, and I knew it."

He bent nearer so that Pat wouldn't miss a single word."A drug dealer is scum. But a cop who plays their game is scum shit. The bad guys were beating us at every turn with the help of one of our own.

Internal Affairs didn't do shit because so many of them are dirty, too.

The D.A. was playing politics and taking his sweet time. I suppose the A.G."s team was working on it, but very covertly. It appeared that nothing was happening toward catching the son of a bitch who was selling us out to Duvall.

"How many raids had to go south before something was done? Ten?

Five?

Maybe only one. Maybe only one more failed bust would spur somebody to take action. Of course, who could guess that that one bust would cost Kev's life? I sure didn't.

"See, Doug," he continued in a quieter voice, "you lied to me that day in the shack when you told me that Mac had tipped the dealers that night. I knew it wasn't Mac. Because it was me."

Pat groaned. His head lolled to one side, but he didn't take his eyes off Burke.

"I tipped them, thinking that a failed raid, even on a chickenshit operation that wasn't very significant, might be enough to get an investigation underway. My brilliant plan backfired. I had no way of knowing Bardo was inside that warehouse. The one time I compromised my standards, the one time I played dirty, Kev Stuart was killed."

Moving nearer still to his dying friend, he whispered, "I've got to live the rest of my life with that on my conscience." He worked Pat's fingers from the cloth of his shirt and pushed his hand away.

"But you're gonna die with it on yours."

Pat whimpered.

Burke glanced at the clock."Two minutes until midnight, Doug. Fat Tuesday will be over, and you'll be dead." He cleared his throat and rubbed the tears from his eyes."Then, I'll atone."

"he's lovely, Burke."

"Yes, she is."

He and Nancy Stuart were sharing the glider on Dredd's galerie. It was a hot, still, humid Labor Day. They were resting in the shade while Dredd was giving the others fishing lessons at the end of his pier.

Burke wondered about the origin of the hunk of meat Dredd was using for bait. To his knowledge no one had investigated the disappearance of the two hit men Duvall had dispatched with Gregory James.

"What I mean is," Nancy said, "Remy's lovely on the inside."

"I know what you meant. That's what I meant, too."

She laughed, reminding him of the old days when Kev was alive and the three of them gathered in their kitchen for coffee and friendly teasing.

"All the same, it hasn't escaped your notice that your bride is gorgeous."

He smiled with guilty pride, like a little boy who'd just hit his first home run through the neighbor's window."No. That hasn't escaped my notice."

He watched as Remy listened intently to Dredd, followed his instructions with the determination of a neophyte, then smiled happily when he complimented her.

God, he loved her. He loved her so much it frightened him.

Sometimes it hurt. Each day eclipsed Duvall's influence a little more.

Soon it would be only a dark memory. Remy was evolving into a confident woman, secure in herself and in his love for her.

"She seems to enjoy her work at the gallery," Nancy remarked.

"She loves it. And she's good at it. Last week I attended a private showing. When she discussed the paintings with her clients, I didn't know what the hell she was talking about, but they were hanging onto every word."

"You're proud."

"Damn proud," he said earnestly. Just as sincerely, he added, "Thanks for being her friend, Nancy. Your friendship means a lot to Remy.

She's never had a friend before."

"It's not an obligation. I like her."

He leaned forward to set his empty soft-drink can on an upended barrel, and, in the process, knocked a collection of picture postcards to the plank flooring. He bent down to pick them up.