Second Chance

A stark pale moon stared down at the old Buick as it pulled alongside the curb at Fifth and Eden, and sighed. It was always the same. Once a year, every year for 30 years, on this day, at this time 11:55pm.

The driver’s door creaked open as retired Detective Raymond Moore, medium frame and graying hair, stepped onto the asphalt. He crushed his cigarette under his heel then, right knee protesting, limped to the front of the Buick.

The dimly lit alley running adjacent to Fifth and Eden was in plain view. It stank of garbage, despair, and ill will.

This is where it had happened, this spot, this time, this day, this alley. This is where he lost his friend and partner of 15 years Lloyd Haskins. Shot by a crazed junkie with a twenty dollar hand gun and nothing left to lose. A shot that was meant for him.

The moon watched as Ray drew on his freshly lit cigarette. To be sure, it had seen much in its many years of marking time and space. But tonight was different.

A crash of garbage barrels toppling and men yelling resounded from the alley, now diffused by a soft yellow glow.

Tossing the butt onto the ground Ray limped towards the alley. With each step the pain in his knee subsided. With each step the wheezing and heaviness in his chest abated. He began running faster. Dark brown hair fell down to his forehead and he felt a familiar weight on his hip. With practiced ease he drew his weapon.

Then Lloyd was next to him, weapon out, as they swept a line of old cardboard boxes large enough to hide a man. A garbage can cover bounced to the ground and both men whirled about. The junkie, eyes crazed and wild, was on the opposite side of the alley. He raised his gun pointing it directly at Raymond's chest.

Lloyd yelled then flung his left arm outwards. The blow would knock Ray to the ground, saving his life. But put him in the way of the bullet, ending his own.

But Ray was faster, his body slamming against Lloyds as he knocked him out of the way.

The oncoming bullet found its mark.

A stark pale moon stared down as retired Detective Lloyd Haskins pulled alongside the curb at Fifth and Eden, and sighed. It was always the same.

Once a year, every year for 30 years, on this day, at this time, 11:55pm.