Page 69 of Eruca
“It’s something we haven’t done often, but it has worked every time so far.” Gelman seemed to brace himself for the backlash coming from them. “I will come to the precinct as an agent from IA, officially to get a feeling how the corps as a whole works. I’ll be nosing around, accompanying detectives on their cases, talking to people. There’s going to be a lot of talking. And during those talks, I’m trying to smooth things over. It works remarkably well, because as an outsider with a clear mission, nobody expects me to do something completely different instead.”
“And the catch is?” George asked.
“The catch is you have to agree to it because the complaint has come from you. If you say you don’t want to try it, you want to go official immediately, I have to do it.”
“What happens if what you’re proposing doesn’t work?” Andi thought George was rightfully suspicious.
“Then it becomes official. With the difference of an additional witness.” Gelman gestured at himself.
George looked at Andi. He was calm. The arthropods weren’t picking up any stress from him. He was leaving the decision to Andi, showing him without words that he was fine with whatever Andi decided. Andi thought about it for a moment. He usually liked to have things out of the way, but Gelman was right. There was more at stake than just their internal problem with Chief Norris. And he loved his work; he loved the police. Protecting it was more important than a triumph over the chief. He looked at Gelman.
“We try it your way. If it doesn’t work, I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so.’”
“Duly noted.” Gelman smiled and got up. “I’m leaving you to it, gentlemen. See you in the precinct soon.” He shook both their hands before George showed him out of the house. The moment the door closed, the arthropods quieted down, left Andi with just a soft hum at the back of his head.
He helped George clean up the living room and kitchen by eating the rest of the sandwiches and all the cookies. They didn’t talk until George had opened two bottles of beer and they were sitting in the recliners on the back porch, watching the sun making its slow descent behind the horizon. The arthropods of the dusk were waking, filling his senses with more than just what his human ears and eyes and nose could detect.
“I think we’re doing the right thing.” George clinked his bottle with Andi.
“I think so too. And what choice did we have, after he so politely put a gun to our heads?”
“He’s good at playing games, I give him that.” A smile appeared on George’s face. “It’s in our favor, I think. He’s not going to be fooled by Chief Norris.”
“Let’s drink to that.” They both took a swig before they stared into the darkening garden in companionable silence. After a while, George suddenly stated, “I don’t like it.”
Andi glanced at him, saw just enough of his expression to conclude he wasn’t talking about Gelman, which only left one other topic.
“That we couldn’t nail Gartner down?” he guessed.
“Yes.” George took another swig of his beer, his movement almost angry. “I know it doesn’t bother you as much, but I think he should pay for his crimes.” George didn’t sound confrontational, just resigned.
“You’re wrong. It does bother me. In a different way than you, obviously, but that’s because my view on justice is—” Andi hesitated, searching for a word he knew didn’t exist and settling for a poor substitute instead. “—blurred.”
George looked at him. “Blurred?”
“I can’t describe it better.” Andi lifted his bottle to his lips. “You are a good cop, George, a great detective. Your moral compass is very firmly set and maintained by a family who deals in law enforcement one way or another. Me, I know how lacking our law is. I see and feel and sense and, gods, sometimes even taste how lacking it is. I know justice is for a few select individuals, and I’m trying to raise their numbers, but it’s not even a drop in the ocean.” Andi closed his eyes for a moment, almost got tangled in the joy of a few moths fluttering around a porch light. “Three deaths for three ruined lives. It’s not ideal, it’s not how Iwantit to be, but it’s something I have no problem accepting.”
George stared at him for a long time. Then he reached over to Andi’s lounge and placed his right hand on Andi’s. It was warm and comforting and just what Andi needed. “You know what the worst is for me? How completely I get you. Also, I don’t want you to think you have to censor or justify yourself. I can live with us having differing opinions on the matter.” He grinned ruefully. “I admit it’s mostly because I know you’ll do your job anyway, but also because you help me gain perspective—as I hope I do to you.”
Andi sighed, enjoying the warmth seeping into his hand from where George’s fingers touched it. “I do respect your viewpoint. And I admire you for it. I guess I’m not a good enough man to feel compassion for victims who have been offenders all their lives. It’s good to have that kind of balance.”
George squeezed Andi’s hand lightly. “I wouldn’t call it compassion. Those three men were complete and utter assholes, no arguing that point. I simply want to believe that justice is free of any passion—because how can it be just otherwise?”
“Good question.” Andi looked at their joined hands, which were becoming blurs in the thickening darkness. “But how can there be justice if passion isn’t taken into account?”
George made a grunting sound and raised his bottle to look at it closely. “I think there’s something wrong with the beer. We’re being all philosophical and shit.”
Andi laughed. It felt good when George joined him, distracting from the seriousness of their conversation.
“I guess we better drink more of it. Next stage after philosophical is happy singing, I think.”
“Ugh. Thanks, I pass. Singing and me don’t mix well. And I assume you like your eardrums. Let’s have some ice cream instead. It’s supposed to cure all ailments, isn’t it?”
Andi slowly got up. Their fingers slid apart. “Let’s find out.”
