Better

"There's going to be an investigation." Jerry said. He looked down at his black shoes. He licked his finger and wiped off a smudge. "Suspended with pay."

Cato nodded and sat down putting a coffee cup in front of his friend.

Two days earlier, Jerry shot and killed a woman in a drug bust. The woman was unarmed.

When he came through the door of the suspect's house, she sat on the couch with her head in her hands, sobbing loudly and squealing. The suspect, Kelly "Geronimo" Gomez, stumbled to the back of the house. Jerry's partner Tommy followed. The woman reached under a couch cushion and Jerry, gun trained on her head, fired. Her brains and chunks of skull splattered the wall. The bullet knocked her head back. Her head came forward and her body slumped towards Jerry, falling off the couch.

"Fuck man." Cato said. "What was under the cushion?"

When Tommy came back in the room, holding Gomez by the collar, Jerry had his gun still trained on the couch. Geronimo called the woman's name, Selena, and wrestled free from the hand on his collar. Tommy yelled for Jerry to grab Gomez, but Jerry just stood and stared. Tommy fell on top of Gomez, handcuffing the thrashing man. Jerry blinked and hard and demanded to know what was under the cushion. What was she reaching for? Her inhaler probably muthafucka.

"They're supposed to keep their hands visible yeah?" Cato asked.

The two men sat for five minutes in silence. The coffeemaker gurgled out the last cup into the pot.

"Two years ago," Jerry looked up at the ceiling. "I got away with a fuck of a lot worse. A fuck of a lot."