Daily Flash Fiction Entry 03-31-2011

"How did that get here?"

I can remember Jack’s last words like they were his first.

I met Jack Weissman seventeen years ago, when we were cadets, eager to graduate and become State troopers. Memory can be a best friend or hell on earth.

Over the years we learned that a prudent man last longer in the field more often than not. Nothing ever shook us. Seen it all. Real veterans. Damn near alcoholics. Yeah, we prided ourselves on being as solid as the Chicago Bears defensive line back in the 80’s.

Now, I shake every time I hear a metallic switch snap closed, like the one that obliterated my best friend and partner.

Closed casket. Hell, there wasn’t enough of him to soak a Q-tip swab. The casket filled with weights from our workout room, so the public would hear the grunting as they passed.

Dammit, Jack. Why’d you have to turn hero. You knew the drill. You preached it your whole career. But, look who’s standing? I should say sitting. It’s hard to stand without legs. Why didn’t you wait for the bomb squad you big dummy? Why?

It was about a week later that while going through boxes of old files and letters sent to me from the office, I found several addressed to Jack; in a sealed folder.

Confused, I opened and read them. One was from some jerkwad at Internal Affairs questioning Jack’s finances and recent activities. The other from his Oncologist. Jack was dying, up on serious charges that could’ve dishonored his name and impoverished his family through loss of benefits.

Somebody knew, but chose to hide the truth.

Jack buried with full honors, his family, hurting, but not financially.

I raced back to that moment; Jack grinned. “How did that get here?"