Once Were Cops Read Free

Kebar.
    Did he care? Not so’s you’d notice. He didn’t do
    friends, so what the fuck did he care.
    Sometimes though, he longed to go have a few
    brews with the guys, shoot the shit, chill. He
    adored country music, that sheer sentimentality
    was a large part of his nature and he kept it hidden.
    His fellow officers, they went to the bar, got a few
    put away, then played country and western till the
    early hours.
    He loved Loretta Lynn, Of Hank of course, and
    then Gretchen Peters, Emmylou Harris, Iris
    DeMent, Luanda Williams, they were his guilty
    pleasures. All that heartache, it was like they knew
    him.
    His partners in the prowl car rarely lasted long, he
    took so many chances, they either got hurt real fast
    or transferred.
    And now, you fucking believe it?
    They were giving him some snot-nosed kid.

    O’Brien, his commanding officer, a Mick, those
    guys, they still got the top jobs, had summoned him.
    Anyone tell you the Micks were a thing of the past
    in the force … take a look at the roll call.
    You think they were letting that lucrative line of
    not so equal opportunity slip away?
    O’Brien didn’t like Kebar, knew the guy was
    unhinged, but he sure got results and like O’Brien,
    he adhered to the old idea:
    Justice was dispensed in alleys, not courtrooms.
    He said to Kebar,
    “Have a seat.” “I’ll stand, sir.” Naturally. O’Brien
    wondered if the guy ever eased up, said, “Suit
    yourself.” He took a good look at Kebar. The guy
    was all muscle, rage and bile. Perfect cop for the
    times.
    His face was a mess of broken nose, busted veins
    (he liked his vodka, straight), a scar over his left
    eye: he looked like a pit bull in uniform. O’Brien
    said, “Got you a new partner.” Kebar growled,
    “Don’t need no partner.” O’Brien smiled.
    This is where it was good to be chief, flex that
    muscle, asked,
    “I ask you what you needed? … Did you hear me
    do that? Yeah, it’s not what you need, mister, it’s
    what I tell you you’re getting. We have a
    reciprocal arrangement with the Irish goverment to
    take twenty of theirs and twenty of ours go over
    there.”
    Kebar had heard all this crap before … yada yada,
    he sighed, asked,
    “Who am I getting?”
    O’Brien was looking forward to this, opened a
    file, took out his glasses, all to annoy the shit out of
    Kebar, pretended to read: “Matt O’Shea, did a
    year on the beat in Galway.” He paused, then
    added, “Galway, that’s in Ireland.” Kebar would
    have spit, reined it in a bit, sneered,
    “A Mick, no disrespect, sir, but a greenhorn, gonna
    have to break his cherry for him?” O’Brien was
    delighted, better than he’d hoped, he said,
    “Actually, he seems a bright kid.” Kebar was
    enraged, rasped,
    “In Ireland, they don’t even carry freaking guns,
    they’re like …”
    He couldn’t think of a suitable degrading term,
    settled for,
    “Rent-a-cops.” O’Brien smiled again, he was
    having a fine morning, said,
    “I’ll expect you to treat him properly, that’s all,
    dismissed.”
    Outside the office, Kebar spat, a passing cop was
    going to say something, saw who it was and kept
    on moving.
    Kebar went down to the car pool, rage simmering
    in his belly, leaned against his car, got his flask
    out, drank deep. A young guy, in a sparkling new
    uniform, approached, put out his hand, asked,
    “Officer Browski?”
    Kebar stared at him, the new uniform was blinding,
    the gun belt neon in its newness, the buttons shining
    on his tunic.
    He belched, grunted,
    “Who’s asking?”
    The kid still had his hand out, his eyes full of gung
    ho bullshit, said,
    “I’m your new partner, Matt O’Shea, they call me
    …”
    Before he could go any further, Kebar said,
    “Shut the fuck up, that’s your first lesson, I want to
    know something, I’ll ask you, can you follow
    that?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Sir. Kebar thought it was going to be even worse
    than he’d imagined. He asked, “Can you drive?”
    “Of course I.