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Jim Reed was good at everything. Annoyingly good, if you asked Pete. For a rookie, his shooting record was almost perfect. He could run the mile faster than anyone in the precinct. He medaled in the high jump at the LAPD olympics. And his beat reports. Pete could go his entire life never again having to hear about the high quality of Jim’s beat reports.
“They’re perfect,” Mac said. “I used to think yours were good, but the kid has you beat.”
Pete rolled his eyes, making sure Mac saw. “Mac, come on. Every report Jim turns in, you start talking like you want to hand him the Pulitzer Prize.”
“Well, just look at it. Perfect penmanship, not a comma out of place, not one single spelling error.”
“So, the kid can spell. Good for him!”
Mac just frowned at him, not buying for a second Pete was actually annoyed, though he kind of was. “Listen to this. ‘We caught the guy after he ran down the sidewalk. Arnold and I caught him and handcuffed him.’ That’s from Wells’ report.”
“So? That sounds perfectly fine.”
Mac picked up Jim’s report. “Officer Malloy and myself chased the suspect approximately a third of a mile going west down La Cienega Ave at around 2:15pm in the afternoon. Because traffic was light the suspect ran into the street several times. Myself and officer Malloy followed before we eventually apprehended him at around 2:30pm and noticed drug paraphernalia clutched in his right hand. We then placed him under arrest.”
Pete couldn’t help the scowl. “Ok, ok, the kid writes a good report.”
Mac shook his head. “I mean, I feel like I was there.”
Because he couldn’t just let it go, Pete considered it part of his duty as the senior officer to needle Jim about the perfection of his reports. “If I were Jean, I’d be worried. I think Mac’s starting to develop a crush. He reads each of your reports like it’s a love letter. They get any better and he may just propose.”
“Aw cut it out,” Jim said. “My dad always said anything worth doing is worth doing right.”
It wasn’t just the reports, either. Jim’s uniform was always ironed, shoes always shined, and never a hair out of place. He always showed up on time, never stood less than ramrod straight everywhere they went. Everything he did was perfect and if it wasn’t perfect, Jim was going to obsesses about it till it was perfect. It didn’t bother Pete in the sense that it made him jealous or envious or anything like that, but it rankled him all the same. Pete couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Call it a cop’s instinct but it didn’t sit right with Pete. There was a difference between wanting to be the best officer you could be and whatever round and round was happening in Jim’s head.
***
For the first few months of them working together, Pete filed it away as one of Jim’s more charming personality quirks, until Jim took the squad car to get gassed up and brought it back with a long scratch down the front side. Jim was sick over it. Pale, nervous, fidgety, convinced he was going to get kicked off the force. Pete wasn’t one to hand hold but watching Jim chew his upper lip like a stick of gum twisted something inside is stomach.
“You’re overreacting. It’s a reprimand and that’s it. You made a mistake and had a little accident. The lieutenant’s not gonna bust you too hard,” Pete said when they stopped for 7.
Jim didn’t look convinced, his long legs jiggling up and down. “I made a mistake Pete, I’ll be punished for it.”
Like a lot of things, it wasn’t what Jim said, but how he said it.
“You’ll get a reprimand and next time you’ll know to take the corner a little wider.” That was as comforting as Pete knew how to be.
But Jim didn’t say anything, he stewed over it till Mac waived it away with a reprimand just like Pete said would happen. Jim’s relief was palpable, he deflated like a ballon and again Pete knew he was watching something else happen, something that set his teeth on edge.
“Was your husband always wound up so tight?” he asked Jean one night after dinner. Jim was upstairs, checking on the baby. “I don’t think I’ve seen him do anything less than perfect.”
“You don’t know the half of it, Pete,” Jean said. She washed, he dried. “Jim’s a worrier, Jim’s a perfectionist. That’s just him. Why are you asking anyway? He starting to get on your nerves or something?” A little frown appeared across her brow. “Is there trouble in paradise between you two?”
This time he laughed. “Nah, it’s still our honeymoon period. I’m just wondering is all. Just wondering.”
He kept wondering, till he saw Jim almost throw Wells up against a locker for hassling the new rookie Allen. It was enough to make Pete say something during their next break. “You’re a real mama bear around Allen, you know that?”
“So?” Jim said. He took a sip of coffee, though the cup looked like it was stolen from a dollhouse in his giant hands. “He’s a good cop. Or he will be if everyone stops hassling him so much.”
“Sometimes I think you mind it more than Allen does.”
Jim stretched his legs under the table, staring outside the window of the Melwood Diner, which was one of Pete’s favorite spots. “Am I being too sensitive or something?”
“No, nothing like that.” Pete put down his own coffee and picked at what was left of his food. “I just know when I see that jaw of yours twitching something’s got your goat and got it good.”
Jim just shrugged. “I just don’t like bullies is all. Nothing wrong with standing up for someone, is there? Especially if they can’t do it themselves.”
“I’m not criticizing, Jim. I’m just wondering.”
“Wondering what?”
“Well,” Pete leaned in, made sure to look Jim in the eye. “I guess I wanna know why it bothers you so much.”
He saw Jim stiffen, just slightly, like he’d been made. “No reason. Just don’t like to see someone get picked on.” He got up, threw some money on the table, even though it was Pete’s turn to pay, and went back out to the car.
Pete sat at the table a little longer, considering the evidence lining up in front of him. Jim was a worrier. Jim was a perfectionist. Jim didn’t like bullies. A picture was starting to form, a hazy one, and more than anything Pete didn’t want it to be true.
***
A cop’s instinct wasn’t something you could turn off but it laid dormant, waiting in the wings till Jean called him a few weeks later and wanted him at their house for Jim’s birthday dinner.
“Pete, this isn’t an invitation, it is a demand,” she said into the phone. “You be at this house at 6pm sharp Saturday night and wear a tie.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said, only to hear her exasperated sigh. “Who all is coming? Am I being set up on a blind date again?”
“It’s just you and Jim’s folks. You’re his best friend. As long as you’re there that’s all he’s really going to care about.”
He rang their bell at 5:58 and Jean looked relieved to see him, even if he was two minutes early. “Drinks are already on the bar,” she said kissing his cheek. “Let me introduce you to Jim’s parents, James Sr. and Mary Catherine Reed.”
He shook their hands and there was much trilling over how glad they were to finally meet him and wasn’t it just a shame how long it had taken them to get together, considering the elder Reeds lived not too far away.
“We’re way up in Malibu,” Mary Catherine said. “James likes all the land up there and I’m partial to the quiet myself. Wonderful sunrises over the mountains. Just wonderful.”
From the cut of his hair Pete already pegged James Sr. for an Army man. He knew vaguely Jim’s dad had been in the war. If it was possible, Jim was standing even taller than usual. His back was rigid, like someone had just barked at him to stand up straight.
“Tell me Pete, how’s this son of mine holding up as a police officer?” James Sr. said as they settled into the living room with their drinks. “He any good?”
“Among the best,” Pete said. “I’d have lost my life a couple of times over if not for his quick thinking.”
“Well, that’s a surprise! Now I’ve always said Jim’s a fine athlete but I never saw too many brains in the boy.”
Mary Catherine swatted playfully at her husband’s arm and he saw a forced smile across Jim’s face, but Pete couldn’t muster any of that good will. “Well, don’t sell him short. He’s as smart as they come. Not just good in the field, but sharp about his police work. Heck, the sargent even thinks Jim’s penmanship is top notch.”
“Oh, Jim’s penmanship is just divine!” Mary Catherine cut in. “Now, I know that doesn’t mean much in the police world, but when he first started writing it was like chicken scratch. You worked with him on it, remember James?” She turned to Pete, not waiting for her husband’s answer. “Pete, it was a battle to get this boy to do anything right, let me tell you. James used to make him sit at the kitchen table and work and work and work till it was practically perfect. Didn’t you, James? I’d be in bed, and I’d hear that sharp crack of a ruler across a hand and knew they were at it again. But it paid off didn’t it, Jim?”
“Yes ma’am,” Jim said, his voice flat.
“Don’t get me started on spelling,” Mary Catherine kept going. “Lord, everything he did, riddled with errors. Now, James was the one who taught him that we do not tolerate mistakes, didn’t he? Didn’t he, Jim?”
Jim nodded again and Pete felt the first domino tip at the vacant expression on Jim’s face. Jim was a worrier. Jim was a perfectionist. Jim didn’t like bullies.
“Oh, I remember it was a battle when Jim was growing up.” Mary Catherine said it fondly, like she was recalling a favorite memory. “James wouldn’t settle for anything but perfection and lord knows he pushed Jim. Whether it was school work or the way his slacks were ironed or how fast he ran track. There was no second place in our house. Come in second and that belt would come flying off.” She laughed, high and loud, like she’s told a particularly funny joke and Pete’s stomach turned all the way to ice. The dominos tipped, falling down in a single line.
“He’s a fine officer, Mrs. Reed,” Pete said, looking at Jim who was staring at the floor. “There’s nothing second best about what he does.”
“Will you have to say that, don’t you Pete?” James Sr. said, swirling the ice around in his whiskey. “People are too quick to coddle these days, but your entire generation is soft isn’t it?”
There was nothing Pete could say that wouldn’t have violated all the manners his own mother and father had drilled into him. He kept quiet, out of respect for Jim’s birthday and Jean probably not wanting her father-in-law punched into the ground.
“Now Pete,” James Sr. leaned back on the couch. He looked almost exactly like Jim, but older and with a paunch hanging over his belt. “I know Jim won’t talk about it, but you can tell me the truth. How are you dealing with the scum out there on the street? Oh, I know Jim talks a big game about treating people with respect and blah, blah, blah, but you can’t tell me your fists never slip a little? Jim’s too much of a sissy to show people who’s boss, but a man like you, you know how to keep order.”
Pete’s fingers tightened around his glass. “No, I can’t say my fists have ever slipped.” He would usually have add sir, but not tonight, not with this man.
“Oh, don’t play dumb with me. A real man like you, you know the only way to keep order is to not be afraid of letting loose a little. Like I always tell Jim, strength is nothing to be ashamed of. Power should be wielded in such a way that there’s no question of who is in charge. Don’t I always say that Jim? Isn’t that what I’ve been trying to get through that skull of yours for years.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You can’t be afraid to get physical, especially if the safety of good, law-abiding citizens depends on it.”
“Everyone has rights Mr. Reed,” Pete tried. “Even criminals. There’s no need for us to get physical.”
“Hogwash. That’s hippie talk. Now, getting handy with that batton of yours, showing that our boys in blue have a real, physical response to crime is what we need.”
“You’re advocating we beat our suspects?”
“Not advocating anything. Just look at Jim here. He grew up in a home that didn’t spare the rod and wouldn’t you say we need more of that? If those kids who run wild had someone at home to show them some real consequences we’d all be doing better as a country.”
If it was anybody else’s house or even anyone else’s parents Pete would’ve left his drink and walked out the door. As it was, he looked at Jim who was staring into space. “No, I wouldn’t say we need more of that. Less probably.”
James Sr. kept talking as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “Frankly, I think Jim should’ve gone into the Army but he’s as ornery as they come. Come to think of it, maybe I did spare the rod a little too much, huh?” He laughed, loud and booming, and Pete saw Jim close his eyes against the sound. “Isn’t that right JIm? Don’t I always say you should’ve been in the Army?”
“Yes, sir,” Jim said again.
“Jim helps people every day, Mr. Reed. I wouldn’t want anyone else at my side. I mean it.”
James Sr. laughed again, like he’d been told a hilarious joke and this time Pete almost did clock him. Instead, he went to the bathroom and ran his hands under the water till they stopped shaking. During dinner he watched Jim eat mechanically, a litany of yes sir and no sir and of course mom, and if you say so mom coming out of his mouth. Jean had her own practiced smile plastered to her face and she looked at him gratefully every time Pete pushed against James Sr.’s barbs. There was cake to suffer through and then coffee in the living room, and the entire time Jim looked like he had a circus music playing in his head.
When the evening finally ended, he had Jim walk him to the car. “They staying all weekend?” he asked, putting the bag of leftovers Jean packed him in the back.
“Driving back tomorrow morning, first thing.”
“Not soon enough if you ask me.” He shut the back door and looked at Jim. “Partner, this might be the worst birthday dinner I’ve ever been to.” He tried for a laugh but he could see Jim was struggling. The night had been long and Jim was fighting to keep a lid on whatever was churning in his head. Memories probably. Bad ones. “Want me to stay?” he asked. “I could say the car won’t start. Or something.”
Jim smiled, a real one this time. “I can handle it. He won’t hurt me.”
He had though, Pete saw it now. Something horrible and deep broke inside of him at the thought. “He’s a real piece of work,” Pete said. “You got a rotten deal, Jim.”
“Still, I turned out alright, didn’t I?” Usually, Jim would’ve said it with his impish grin, but his voice was almost pleading, like he was really asking. It made Pete’s stomach clench. He pulled him in close, wrapped him up as tight as he could. “Better than alright, Jim. Better than alright.”
***
Pete could shake off tough calls with the best of them, but there were always ones that stuck with you, either because they were sad, or frightening or violent, or, in some cases, because they hadn’t been able to help at all.
The call started as a neighbor dispute, over a few kids who broke a window playing ball. They had it almost all wrapped up when Pete peered through an open window of the house, and saw a boy inside, maybe 13, siting at the kitchen table. There it was again, his cop instinct.
“Partner, I’ll be back in a minute.” He left Jim on the porch with the homeowner and went inside. The boy didn’t look up, just started at the table, his bat and glove scattered on the floor around him.
“Were you playing ball with the kids that broke this window?” Pete asked.
“No, sir.” He looked up, but kept his hands under the table.
“You sure? That your bat and glove?”
“Yes, sir, that’s my bat and glove. I came inside before they broke the window.”
From behind him, he heard Jim walk through the door, his measured footsteps falling across carpet. “Son, can I see your hands?” Pete asked.
The boy hesitated but brought them up. His hands were bound together at the wrists with heavy duct tape, with the palms cupped together, facing upward. The tape wound all the way around his fingers and palms, the pressure so tight the tip of his thumb had almost gone blue.
“Your dad do that?” Pete asked. He looked back at Jim, whose jaw gave a telling twitch.
“Yes, sir. Said maybe this way I’d stop dropping so many fly balls.”
“OK.” His eyes met Jim’s again. “OK. Let me find some scissors.” He opened a few kitchen drawers and dug out a pair of sheers and crouched in front of the kid. “I’m gonna go slow, but you tell me if I’m getting any skin pinched between the blades OK?”
“Yes, sir.”
He worked slowly, snipping between the boys wrists and fingers, talking softly to him. “You’ll be alright. Your hands are gonna be a sticky mess, but you’ll be alright.”
“I don’t even like baseball,” the kid said quietly. “I’m not very good.”
“I bet you do just fine,” Pete said. “Everyone drops fly balls. It’s nothing to get bothered about.” Pete worked till the tape was gone, but in the end they had to just leave him there, still at the kitchen table, rubbing the feeling back into his hands.
“Sometimes we don’t do a bit of good,” Jim said. When he was really upset he stared out the window, like he was doing now, just watching the traffic go by.
“Jim—”
“There’s nothing to say about it,” Jim said. “Nothing that’s going to change anything.”
Pete made it through most of a solitary evening at home before getting back in the car. That was the thing about being in love with someone. When they were hurting, you were hurting too. If Jean was surprised to see him at her door, she didn’t show it.
“Hi Pete.” She kissed his cheek and lead him through the house. “He’s out back, burning some leaves.”
Jim was silhouetted against the darkness, the fire throwing long shadows across the yard.
“You all have a tough call today?” she asked.
“Something like that.”
She squeezed his hand and kissed his cheek again. “I”m taking the baby to bed. You keep him up as late as you need.”
He waited till she was well up the stairs before sliding open the patio door. Jim was staring into the fire, but he nodded once in Pete’s direction. “Hey, partner.”
“Nice night,” Pete said. It was a cool evening by LA standards and without the slightest breeze. Jim took another shovel of yard waste and threw it on the fire pit. The flame hissed and popped, the leaves going up in seconds.
“Pete?”
“Hmm?”
“What do you think makes people do that kind of thing? Fathers especially?”
“I don't know, partner. I couldn’t even begin to guess.”
Jim poked at the fire some more, spreading out the waste so the flame burned evenly, before sitting at the picnic bench. Pete sat close enough so that their knees brushed.
“Seeing that kid today—I don’t know why it still bothers me. All that stuff was years ago. But we get a call like today and—” Jim shook his head trailing off.
“It’s bound to bother you, Jim. Nothing wrong with that.”
“We see kids that get it worse all the time.”
Pete nodded. “We do.”
“I try to let it go, but sometimes—” Jim paused and chewed at his bottom lip. “It’s hard not to feel like I’m right back there.” He looked at Pete, the light dancing across his face. “I still get that sick feeling in my stomach.”
Pete put a hand on his lower back, his fingers brushing up against exposed skin from where his sweatshirt had rucked up. “You don’t have to be perfect Jim.”
“I always thought, if I could just do it right, do everything the way he wanted, he’d—” Jim stopped short and Pete remembered how young he still was.
“Jim.” Pete brushed his fingers along the curve of Jim’s back, nails scratching lightly. There was a hitch in Jim’s breath, but he relaxed under the touch. “You’re a good cop. A good husband. A good father. The best partner.” Jim shivered under his touch. “Remember that, ok?” They were pressed side by side, and Pete leaned in till he was practically whispering in Jim’s ear. He kept stroking the base of Jim’s spine, till his eyes slipped shut. “You’re so good, Jim, just like you are. Just like this. You don’t need to be anything else.”
Jim fumbled for his other hand, squeezed it hard. Pete stroked his back, whispering to him, till finally Jim let his hand go. His breath was shaky and he looked dazed, eyes clouded and pants starting to tent. Pete pulled away, taking a deep breath himself. He met Jim’s eyes, brushed the back of his hand against Jim’s cheek. “You’ll be alright.”
Jim grabbed him by the shoulder, his fingers digging into bone. For a minute, Pete thought he’d lean in, but he left his hand there, jaw working, before pulling away. “Yeah,” Jim said. “Yeah. I’ll be alright.”