Amen Corner Read Free Page A

wanted to wish you good luck at the Masters,” Stensrud said, laboring up the concrete steps to the porch. He’d put on about thirty pounds since he and Sam had been partners.
    â€œYou could have sent flowers and balloons like everybody else.”
    Stensrud eased himself into the Adirondack chair next to Sam’s and wiped his damp forehead with the sleeve of his sport coat.
    â€œWeather’s finally warming up,” he said.
    Sam knew what was on Stensrud’s mind.
    â€œMight as well spill it, Doug.”
    â€œSam, it’s been almost two years since you got shot and took medical leave. Don’t you think that’s long enough?”
    â€œNo,” Sam said. “I still have things I want to do.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œClimb Mount Everest.”
    â€œYou’ve had time,” Stensrud said, looking at him out of the corner of his eye, without turning his shoulders. He returned his gaze to the sidewalk, where a mother pushed a stroller over the cracks in the concrete. “Look, we need you back. We’ve got eight unsolved homicides since the first of the year, and you know the gang killings are about to start piling up. Now, it’s great that you’re getting a chance to play in the Masters. We’re all thrilled beyond words. But I gotta tell you, your odds of making it on the pro tour are between zero and dick.”
    Sam laughed. Nobody knew better than he did that this was not only his first major championship, but his last.
    â€œI’m not turning pro, Doug.”
    â€œThen it’s time for you to get serious about your job. I’d like you to come back to work after Augusta.”
    A passenger jet rumbled overhead, low to the South Minneapolis rooftops in its landing pattern. Sam waited till the noise abated. He wasn’t sure if Stensrud was asking or ordering. Technically, his leave of absence was good for one year. The department could extend it if he asked, but they didn’t have to.
    â€œWhat if I don’t?” he finally asked.
    Stensrud now shifted around in his wooden chair to stare at Sam.
    â€œWe want you, but we need a body,” Stensrud said. “You’re one of the best detectives I’ve ever worked with, but you’re useless to me if you’re not working. I’ve got cases to clear. If you don’t come in after next week, I’ll hire somebody else. I’ve got a stack of resumes to choose from. Some of them look pretty good.”
    Sam was surprised to feel a brief pang of concern. It was like seeing another guy dating the woman you broke up with.
    â€œI’m not ready,” Sam said.
    â€œSam, I know it sucks to get shot. I’ve become a fucking blimp since I took that one in the hip ten years ago. But I went back to the streets. I had to—I’m a cop. And cops get shot sometimes.”
    Sam had gone through all of that with the department psychologist that Stensrud had insisted he see. He’d told the doctor that he wasn’t worried about getting shot again—although he also wanted to ask the condescending prick if he’d ever taken a bullet. He just didn’t feel the same way about the job that he did when he first made detective. He was tired of chasing scumbags, tired of working for civil servant wages, and tired of taking shit from the good people of Minneapolis for doing the work they wanted done but were too lazy, scared, or morally superior to do themselves.
    The months away from the job had been the most stress-free time he’d had since college. He wanted more of it. In fact, Sam wanted to tell Stensrud he would turn in his badge and his gun as soon as he got back from Augusta. But he couldn’t do it. He’d gone through his savings and needed to start cashing paychecks again. Maybe it would have to be cop paychecks.
    â€œI told you I’d make a decision after the Masters, Doug.”
    â€œI need your answer a week from Monday,”