CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

"How's Gaucho doing?" Michael asked when Garvey returned to the agents with a pitcher of beer.

Garvey had offered to treat them to drinks before they returned to Philadelphia. The earlier tension between them was forgotten now that the case was solved and Garvey didn't risk losing her traction against the Georgia Syndicate.

"Gaucho is doing beautifully," Garvey replied. "Roman and the others might have what they think of as honor among thieves, but Gaucho here has the decency to admit that it's all about him. He's been singing like Pavarotti. I can't say his voice is as pretty, but he's telling me everything I need to hear, so I'll buy the record when it comes out."

"He's really throwing everyone under the bus, huh?" Michael asked, a touch of contempt in his voice.

Faith lifted an eyebrow. "And that upsets you?"

"Oh, not at all," Michael said, "Put me on the waiting list for that album too. I just enjoy thinking about what a little coward he turned out to be. It makes it easier for me to get over what I saw in that warehouse. Speaking of which, what happened to the dogs?"

Garvey looked at Faith. Michael's smile faded. "Gone, huh?"

"Not all of them," Garvey said. "It looks like about half of them survived the firefight. Gaucho was responsible for killing them, but he ended up fleeing before the job was done. The ones that survived, though… well, they're not going back home."

Faith and Michael nodded soberly. What those dogs had been put through had warped and hurt them to the point where they could no longer be safely returned to their owners. "What's going to happen to them?" Faith asked.

"Ciccolo recommended a trainer he knows," Garvey replied. "There's a guy on the West Coast who takes in dogs that have been psychologically damaged and gives them a place to live out their days that's safe for them and safe for people. They'll be shipped there. I looked at some pictures. It's pretty nice. He's got sixty acres in the Los Angeles Mountains. They'll get to run around and play and forget all about the assholes who wanted them to fight and kill each other."

"That's good," Faith said, "that's a lot better than it could have been."

"Yeah," Garvey agreed. "If we hadn't found a place for them, they would have all been euthanized. Makes me wonder if we're really that much better than the Syndicate is."

"We are," Michael said firmly. "It's not even close."

Faith had a feeling that Garvey wasn't being serious about the comparison, but Garvey didn't challenge Michael. Faith looked at her partner and saw a very familiar anger in his face. She couldn't imagine his experience would affect him as long as her suffering at Trammell's and West's hands would affect her, but she had a pretty good idea what he was feeling right now.

"So what's next for you?" Michael asked Garvey after a moment of silence. "The city going to give you a medal for taking out the Syndicate?"

Garvey chuckled. "I wish. Not the medal part. They actually might give me a medal, the knuckleheads. They'll almost certainly promote me to Detective Sergeant. Hell, they might even leapfrog me to lieutenant. But no, the Syndicate isn't dead. This hurt them, but not badly enough to stop them. They'll be back, and things will be worse when they return."

"It can't be that bad," Faith said. "You've shown that the police department here won't take their actions lightly. You'll be able to argue for more of a budget so you can step up patrols in the worst neighborhoods. You can even make some traction on social programs that will help people in lower income situations find alternative ways to support themselves. You'll make a difference."

"Everything you've said is true," Garvey agreed, "but there will always be people who have less, and those people will always envy those who have more. There will always be those among the ones who have more who exploit those people to gain even more than they have, and there will be people all across the social strata who will be willing to do whatever it takes to get it. That's the human condition right there, and until and unless we evolve into something different, we'll always have groups like the Syndicate to fight.

"But there will always be people to fight them," she added, "and as long as that's the case, I'll keep smiling." She lifted her glass and said, "To our victory."

"To victory," Michael agreed.

"To victory," Faith said softly.

***

Hello, you have reached— "Dr. David Friedman"— We're sorry, but—" Dr. David Friedman"— is not available. At the tone, please record your message. When you have finished, press pound.

The tone beeped and Faith said, "Hey, David, it's me. I just wanted to let you know that we're on our way home. We should be there tonight. We're landing at—" she checked her itinerary "—nine-thirty. You don't have to meet me at the airport or anything. I'll be too tired to do anything anyway. Not that I'm asking you to do anything." She reddened slightly and said, "Anyway, I'm just calling to let you know. If you're available tomorrow night, though, I'd love to grab dinner. I… um… I have a thought on the… situation."

She reddened even further and wondered how she was going to broach the subject with David. She had given up on David leaving the state until things were settled with West. Considering how easily West managed to move around the country and track even Faith's most obscure acquaintances, she thought David might be right after all, even if indirectly. It probably didn't matter where he went. West could find him if he wanted to.

But she could still make things safer for him if she were with him as much as possible. She wasn't planning to move in with him permanently. Not yet, anyway. Just until West was caught. True, she hadn't really had the best showings against West in their fights, and neither had Turk, but David stood a much better chance with her and Turk there than not.

But it would probably come across as paranoia or clinginess when she brought the idea up to David. She wasn't sure which was worse.

"Anyway," she finished, "you're probably busy at work, so I'll let you go. I'll see you soon." She hesitated briefly, then said, "I love you."

"I love you too," Michael said.

Faith turned around in surprise, then saw that Michael was also on the phone. "I'll see you soon, beautiful," he said. He paused, then blushed a little and said, "Well, that sounds just fantastic. I can't wait to see you in it."

Faith turned around so Michael wouldn't see her smile. Unless Michael's tastes had changed greatly over the past few years, she had a decent idea what Ellie was planning to wear for him.

She reddened and pushed that thought from her mind. She had no business going there and no real desire to go there anyway. They were partners and friends, and she was having enough trouble maintaining that relationship without allowing their past dalliance to complicate things.

Besides, she had another man to wear lingerie for. It occurred to her that she hadn't done that for David yet. Maybe she would buy something lacy and red for him and ask him about staying together once he'd had a chance to enjoy that outfit.

Michael hung up and sat next to her with a groan. "I'm getting too old for this shit," he said seriously. "I don't know how many more of these I have left in me."

"You're thinking about moving up?" Faith asked.

He hesitated a split second before saying, "Yeah, maybe."

Faith's eyes widened. "You're thinking about moving out?"

He shrugged. "Not soon. I don't even get my pension for another five years. But… well, I can't do this forever. It's starting to get to me, and not just physically. That dog fighting ring… I don't know, Faith. I've never felt so… helpless before. And what Garvey said about their always being people like the Syndicate… it makes me wonder if I'm just playing a fool's game thinking I can make an actual difference in the world."

"Everyone has to play this game, Michael," Faith said. "The only thing you get to choose is what side you're on."

"See, that's where you're wrong," Michael said gently. "You can decide to be an NPC."

"An NP-what?"

"NPC," he repeated. "It's a video game term. It means Non-Playable Character. You know in role-playing games how you have characters you interact with like teammates or shop owners or guides?"

Faith hadn't played video games since Super Nintendo was the state of the art. "Not really," she said, "but I think I get what you're saying."

"Yeah, well, sometimes I think it wouldn't be a bad idea to toss my gloves in the ring."

"You're using a lot of metaphors," Faith said.

He chuckled. "Bottom line is I'm going to be forty soon, and I'm starting to feel my age. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. I don't think I can be in this line of work as long as the Boss has. Don't tell him I said this, but there are days when I think he shouldn't have been here as long as he has."

"I don't know if it matters how long someone should be in our line of work. The work has to be done, and people have to do it. That's just the way it is."

"True," he said, "but maybe it's time for me to let someone else do it."

They fell silent a moment. Faith knew that Michael's potential retirement wouldn't come for a long time. He would stay long enough to get his pension for sure.

But he might not stay in the field.

She risked asking that question. "Are you going to leave the field?"

He didn't answer right away, which was as much answer as Faith needed. When he did answer, his voice sounded every bit as tired as he claimed to be. "Probably," he said, "not soon, but not forever from now, either. I don't know, man, I look at the Boss and I wonder when the last time he smiled—really smiled—was. Unless his personality is truly just an act that he's maintained religiously for the past thirty or so years, I don't think I've ever seen him happy. Desrouleaux's starting to get there too. I know the West case is helping that process along, but he's getting noticeably crabbier and slower and more tired. Chavez used to be able to cheer him up, but they're looking more and more like a cranky old man and his bubbly daughter." He chuckled. "I should tell him that. He'd get a kick out of that."

His smile faded again. "Garvey too. She's well on her way to being too cynical to see the positive in anything. And Jones from Idaho, the sheriff from Morgan County—I forget his name—they're all just bitter and cynical. I don't want to end up like them," he said. "Especially the Boss. I don't know what keeps him going. I sometimes think he just keeps going to give himself something to do besides drink."

"Does he drink?" Faith asked.

"Probably," Michael replied. "I don't know for sure, but I don't know how he'd make it through the nights without something to take the edge off. You know, you and I stress out about our cases, a few dead bodies here and there. I'm not belittling that at all, but have you ever thought about what it's like to be a SAC? They have to think about everything. Not just the murders even. Did you know that the Philadelphia Field Office has busted eight human trafficking rings and six counterfeit rings since the Boss took over?"

Faith's eyes widened. "No, I didn't."

"Yeah. I was looking through some of the old records one day out of curiosity. We never think about what the other divisions do, but there's some dark stuff going on in the world, and we only see a tiny corner of it. I don't know if I can handle seeing any more of it. And when I think of all the field offices in the country, all dealing more or less with the same stuff we're dealing with… well, I can see why some people end up succumbing to depression."

Faith didn't like where this conversation was going. "Michael, you can't tell me you think it's all for nothing."

"It's not," he said, "and I'm not saying it is. You know about the starfish analogy, right?"

"I don't think so," she said.

"I'll give you the abridged version. A guy finds a bunch of starfish washed up on a beach. The starfish are alive, but they have no chance of making it back to the water before they suffocate. So the guy walks along, and he comes to a little kid who's picking up the starfish one by one and tossing them back into the sea. The guy says, ‘Kid, you're wasting your time. You'll never save all of them.' The kid picks up a starfish, throws it into the water, looks at the guy and says, ‘I saved that one.' So I know it's not for nothing. There are little girls whose dogs won't be stolen and murdered in a ring now. There are people who will live because the killers we've captured won't be there to murder them anymore. That's a good thing. I just don't know if it's enough for me anymore."

"Exactly," Faith agreed with a smile. "That's why I keep going. I'm not stupid enough to think that stopping West is going to end all murder, but it will end some of them. Some people will get to live. That's what I mean by choosing what side you're on. I'd rather fight for the light than fight for the darkness, if you'll permit me to be cheesy."

She expected Michael to make some crack about her being cheesy, but he didn't. Instead, he said, "That's one thing I've come to admire about you, Faith. Even at your worst, you always have hope. I don't know if I do anymore."

The gate agent announced their boarding group before Faith could reply. Michael stood and smiled down at her. "You ready, kid?" he said.

"After you, old man," she replied, managing a smile despite the turmoil in her heart.

They boarded the plane, and Michael quickly closed his eyes and fell asleep. Or at least pretended to be asleep. He might not be in the mood for another Faith Bold pep talk, and for once, Faith didn't blame him.

She had planned to talk to him about helping her find West, but it clearly wasn't the right time to bring up the conversation. She would wait until tomorrow, until after he'd had a chance to see Ellie. Then he might be more receptive.

Try as she might, though, she couldn't shake the feeling that each day she delayed hunting West increased the chances that she'd wake up the next day to find someone she loved dead.