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Short Stories

The Beat

The bright sun beat down on the black uniform, making it seem hotter than it really was. The air was cool around him but the spring sun sat in a clear sky and the new uniform was like a green house around him. The blare of a horn from a passing car told him he was too close to the traffic. Officer O’Reilly stepped back onto the sidewalk, took his sunglasses off and rubbed his eyes. It had already been a long day and it was only a quarter to twelve, it wasn’t even noon. "What a rookie," he thought to himself.

So far the day had gone easily. The only thing of note was all the stares he got from the people passing by. The streets of this city hadn’t seen a cop walking the beat in at least thirty years, since before he was born. This year though, the mayor had brought in seventeen new patrol cars, ten unmarked cruisers, and thirty rookie cops to walk the beat, both day and night.

Officer O’Reilly strolled down Hancock St., passing the Quincy Savings Bank. He had just opened his joint account there two weeks ago. He and his wife Lorraine opened it, together. He had to remember that he didn’t do anything any more, they did. He didn’t mind though, all the guys in the locker room always joked about "the old ball and chain," but he had been married less than a month and was happy to say that he loved every minute, at least he was happy to say it to himself.

He stepped onto a small side street and noticed an illegally parked car. "Finally," he thought to himself. "Something to do." He didn’t particularly enjoy giving tickets, and wasn’t required to do it either, but he just wanted something to do. He leaned down onto the hood of the car to finish writing out the ticket.

When he looked up he saw two small feet and a small pair of legs sticking out from behind the granite wall of the Lyons Club stairs. Transformer-Velcro shoes kicked back and forth in no particular rhythm. The heel of each shoe alternating, one up in the air, one up against the stairs, switching back and forth. There was mud on the soles of the shoe and some of the stitching was coming loose. "Snap out of it O’Reilly," he said to himself. "First you’re writing tickets for fun, now you’re studying children’s footwear."

O’Reilly tore up the ticket and threw the scraps in the trash. The person who owned the car would probably be back soon anyway. He stepped up onto the sidewalk and walked over to the stairs. Leaning up against the granite wall, he looked down to see that a brown whiffle haircut, like the ones he used to have as a kid, was at the other end of the shoes.

"Hey pal, shouldn’t you be in school?" O’Reilly asked the whiffle and the shoes.

A small face looked up at him with red weary eyes. The face sniffled, a hand came up and wiped the nose that also belonged to the shoes and whiffle. The other hand came up and rubbed the remnants of tears away from beneath the reddened eyes. O’Reilly squatted down on the balls of his feet so that the boy wouldn’t have to look up at him.

"My cousin’s dying" the boy said and looked back down at his feet which began swinging in no particular rhythm again.

Officer O’Reilly was shocked. He didn’t know what to do or say. They didn’t teach you this stuff in the academy, they didn’t even teach it in high school or college. He couldn’t remember, learning, anytime in all his years of education what you were supposed to say when a sad little boy told you that his cousin was dying.

O’Reilly reached out a shaky hand and placed it on the boy's shoulder. The boy's face looked up at him again. Another sniffle and a sob shook the boy's body. O’Reilly could feel the pain rake through the boy's body. He didn’t know what to do. He had no idea what to say.

"Come on, let’s take a walk," he said to the boy. He stood up, hearing his knees complain at the quick movement. The boy, hearing the man’s knees crack, smiled for a second. He looked up at the police officer in front of him. Tommy’s mother had told him never to go with anyone he didn’t know. Tommy’s mother also told him, that if he ever needed help and he was alone he should find a police officer. It seemed one had found him. Tommy stood up beside the man and they walked back across the street.

Officer O’Reilly was glad the boy had decided to come with him. It was the only thing that he could think of. Maybe a walk would help clear the boy’s head for a little while. They began to stroll down Hancock St., the way he had come. They walked slowly, at the boy's small pace, past the bank, past a construction site and past the First Parish Church. They stopped at an intersection and waited for a walk light. He looked down at the boy then up at the street again. The light switched. He stepped out onto the street. He was startled when the boy took his hand. He was only twenty-three, he didn’t think he’d be walking little kids across the street until he was at least thirty, and then they’d probably be his own. He didn’t let go of the boy’s hand though. He didn’t want to make the boy any sadder, and he thought that would have done just that.

They crossed the street and O’Reilly led the boy into Handshake’s Cafe, it was a place he and Lorraine liked to go to for lunch sometimes. They had met there four years ago. Ever since it had become their favorite place for lunch, and besides, he liked the food. He thought that maybe the boy would be hungry.

"You want a cheeseburger pal?" O’Reilly looked at the clock on the wall and saw that it was twelve twenty four, it had taken him over a half an hour to walk two blocks with boy. He didn’t mind though, the boy's legs were a lot shorter than his were. In any case it was lunchtime. The boy smiled up at him, but the eyes were still red and sadness still reigned there.

They ate their cheeseburgers in relative silence. O’Reilly still didn’t quite know what to say to the boy. Taking a sip of his New York soda, the clear kind, all the New York sodas were clear no matter what flavor they were; he looked across the table at the boy.

"Does your mom know where you are?" he asked him. The boy only shook his head. "Well we should probably get you home huh?" The boy nodded and looked up at him untrustingly for a second. O’Reilly laughed, "Don’t worry you’re not in trouble."

O’Reilly paid for the two burgers and sodas and they stepped out into the spring sunshine again. There was one cloud in the sky, where before it had been completely blue. O’Reilly wasn’t sure that he liked the one cloud being there or not. He didn’t know why he shouldn’t, clouds belonged in the sky after all. He didn’t like this one though, he thought that maybe the boy needed a clear sky today. The cloud was getting in the way and the boy was having a bad enough day to begin with.

He happily saw that a black and white cruiser was turning down the street and rolling in their direction. He hailed the cruiser, and it came to a stop in front of them. The window rolled slowly down and a familiar face appeared above the door.

"Hey Sarge!" O’Reilly said happily.

"Who’s you’re friend there O’Reilly?" Sg. Waters questioned with a smile and a wink at the boy. The boy smiled and tried to wink back, Tommy hadn’t gotten the hang of winking yet and his cousin had been planning to teach him how, until he got sick.

O’Reilly told Sg. Waters the whole story quietly while the boy played with his walkie-talkie. A frown slipped over the sarge’s face. O’Reilly asked him if he would give the boy a ride home and maybe he could let him play with the siren and the lights. The Sarge said he didn’t think it would be a problem. O’Reilly opened the passenger side door and helped the boy in. The boy buckled himself in and O’Reilly closed the door.

"Goodbye," he said to the boy. "Don’t forget to go to school tomorrow, now."

"Thank you," the boy replied looking out at him. O’Reilly turned to walk away. "Hey!" he heard the boy say. O’Reilly turned back, swiveling on his heel.

"Don’t forget your hat," he said. O’Reilly thought for a second, not knowing what the boy was talking about. "Your hat. You left it inside, remember."

"Thanks pal." He smiled at the boy again. He could tell the boy was already feeling better. The boy looked at him again, but this time without the sadness of before and without the look of happiness he just had. His face was kind of blank but quizzical. O’Reilly looked at it; it scared him a little.

"Be careful," the boy whispered. The cruiser pulled away and Sg. Waters beeped the horn. O’Reilly turned back to the cafe and walked up to the door. He stopped and put his sunglasses on again, and slicked his hair back. He reached for the door and pulled it open. It was going to be a good day.

He stepped over the threshold and into the cool air of the cafe. He whistled to himself softly and looked over to his table. He stepped forward to grab the hat. A woman screamed. The scream didn’t belong here, like the cloud in the sky, it wasn’t supposed to be here today. O’Reilly looked up and saw the man with the gun for the first time. The man had already seen him. He must have seen him come in the door. The man pulled the trigger.

O’Reilly fell back, he was on the ground. His glasses were somewhere else now; they must have flown off when he was in mid air. He hadn’t felt the bullet enter his chest. He hadn’t felt the sweep of air flush out of his lungs. He hadn’t felt himself fly off of his own two feet. He hadn’t thought about dying, ever, he was only twenty-three. All he thought, over and over until his last breath came and went, was "I wish that cloud would just go away."