The End of McDongal

It was cold. Cold like the wind coming off the soul of the Devil himself. A cold like that will break you, take you and make you its bitch like a hard-up dog. It eats at you. I was used to it. I've lived in this city long enough. Hell, sometimes I think I'm the only thing that has kept this city safe. Name's McDongal. I'm a dick.

I've worked as a detective on the force for over twenty years now, each year harder than the last, like old candy at the bottom of that dish your Granny used to keep out for guests. I've taken down hookers, pimps, druggies, thugs, smugglers and buggerers in my time, and now... now they want me to hang it up, call it a night, take the one-way train to Retirement City and set up shop there. Some life that would be. The final squawk of of a lamb as its taken out of the pen and told "It's gonna be alright. Billy here's gonna take good care of you." Bullshit, little lamb. Billy's gonna cut you down and serve you for dinner.

"McDongal! How's it hanging' you old cock?" That was Jonesey. Always thinkin' that the two of us is buddy-buddy when, truth is, I'd rather be lookin' at him from behind the business end of Trojan, my .45. If a man ever tells you that he gets better protection from his piece than I do from my Trojan, he's more full of shit than the septic tank of a rest home after Prune Day. I did my best to ignore Jonesey, but he's pushier than a preacher whose tithe box is empty. "McDongal! You always try to ignore me, you prick. Well, that's all about to end soon, ain't it? Word is the Chief's gonna can your ass if you don't--" Jonesey stopped talking real quick. Sucking on the business-end of Trojan will do that to a man.

"You tryin' to say somethin' Jonesey?" Trojan moved side to side along with his head. "I didn't think so." I slid Trojan back into my holster, kept walking. Part of me was shook, though. Why'd I snapped on Jonesey like that? I'm a big prick. Usually the little ones that run around here don't bother me. I'd just about made it to my desk when she stopped me.

Gwen was a shot of whiskey to start a rough night; seeing her always went down smooth.

"Chief wants to see you." Course he did. Seemed like there hadn't been a day of me bein' a detective on this force that the Chief didn't want to see me. Don't even know why I bothered trying to go to my own desk. Seemed like I always ended up in front of his.

"Thanks, Gwen."

"McDongal..." I stopped, turned toward her. "You take care of yourself, 'kay?" That's what she said to me every day. I always tried to listen to her, just so I'd have the chance to see her face when I came in. I almost turned around, just to take one more look. But I couldn't see the point. I saw her often enough in my dreams, I didn't even need my eyes for it any more. I walked to the Chief's door, knocked, waited.

"Get your ass in here." The Chief was always up front about what he wanted. I walked in, sat down on the rickety chair. "So..." The word hung in the air like a dead man swinging in his noose. "I've put up with your shit for a long time, McDongal. The only reason you've lasted as long as you have is because..."

"Because of my staying power?" My mouth came as close as it ever does to smiling.

"No, you fucking tool!" The Chief was on his feet, the vein in his forhead doing a dance that would make a gypsy whore jealous. "It's because, in spite of having to cover your ass every time too many people end up dead, I like seeing things get done." What was this horse shit? "McDongal... I'm going to miss having you around." Now this was new. I had gotten used to being yelled at by the Chief. In fact, it had become my morning cup of coffee; always woke me up right.

I sat there, not knowing what to say. Something wasn't right here, like like going to that old man's house to get candy on Halloween, but I couldn't put my finger on it. The Chief was never nice, especially not to an old bone like me. Didn't have to be; he was the Chief. It came with the job. I decided to stick what had gotten me here.

"That all?" I stood up to leave. I had one more loose end to tie up and then I could get my desk cleaned out.

"Not quite." The sound of the hammer being pulled back went in my ear like the cold tongue of a Russian hooker. "Moretti sends his regards." I pulled Trojan, turned, but the Chief was too fast. The gun went off and I dropped like a tin balloon.

Moretti. That one loose end always came back to haunt you if you let go too long. I knew the bar where he spent his downtime and I sure as hell wasn't going to end my days in some recliner, losing myself in a bottle. I was going to go down, find him, shoot my load, take him down... but he got to me first.

As the lights went out, all I could hear was the sound of the Chief explaining to the folks outside his office how I had gone for his gun and he had no choice. I thought I might have heard a sob; maybe it was Gwen. If it was her, she wouldn't cry for long; the world is better off with one less dick in it.