0430 hours
Brett slowly manoeuvred the scout car through the old, twisting streets of Forest Hill. Officially, he and Jack were patrolling the wealthy community for suspects stealing high-end vehicles. It was amazing how easy it was to steal an eighty-thousand-dollar car using a tow truck. No one thought twice about a towed car, even in the middle of the night. But really, Brett was trying to stay awake. It was that nowhere time between late night and really early morning and the radio was quiet. 51 coughed up the odd blurb, but from 53? Nada.
Jack was semi-conscious in the passenger seat. Staying awake this time of night when you were driving was hard enough; riding shotgun, it was almost impossible. He tried to keep his eyes focused on the shadows around the old stately homes with their old stately trees, but the patches of heavy darkness kept sucking him down. Then he would sputter awake and realize he had missed a whole street.
Jack sat up straighter, rubbing at his face. “Man, this sucks. At least in 51 there were drug dealers to chase this time of night.”
“I hear that. But all the good little 53 Division drug dealers go home when the bars close.”
Jack checked his watch. “Oh, fuck. If we’ve got another two hours of this, then I’m going to need some caffeine. How about you?”
Brett hefted his meaty shoulders. “I could go either way, I guess.”
“You sure? I thought you said you didn’t sleep all that well today.”
His shoulders lifted and dropped again. “I can’t remember the last time I had a decent sleep, regardless of what shift it was. Guess I’m just used to being tired.” Brett flicked a weary smile at Jack and in the unhealthy glow from the car’s computer the dark smears under his eyes were deep enough to swallow his cheeks.
“Trouble sleeping?”
Brett nodded. “I’m lucky if I get a couple of hours in a row. Most of the time I doze for a few minutes in between staring at the ceiling.”
“That sucks.” Jack knew that a lot of coppers had trouble sleeping. He’d had his fair share of sleepless nights last year, but thankfully the guilt-ridden dreams were fading. “Any idea what’s causing it? Is it just the shift work?”
Brett didn’t answer. Jack was thinking he hadn’t heard the question when Brett blew out a long sigh. “It’s . . . complicated.”
It was Jack’s turn to shrug. “Your choice, but it’s not like we’re doing anything.”
“True.” Brett pulled out onto Eglinton Avenue West and headed for Yonge Street. There was an all-night Tim Hortons on Yonge just north of Eglinton. “Remember when I said I left 14 because I didn’t like the person I was turning into?”
Jack nodded, not wanting to break the big man’s flow of words; it sounded like Brett wanted — needed — to talk about this.
“I’m sure you saw it down in 51: the guys who hated anyone not carrying a badge, always seemed pissed off and ready to kill someone. You know, the miserable old fucks.” Again that weary smile. Brett eased to a stop at a red light, the scout car alone on the road. In the harsh, electric light Brett’s smile looked like the grimace of a skull. “Well, that was me.”
Brett didn’t speak again until the light changed. Then, as the car moved forward, so did his words. “I hated work. Hated everyone and everything. I started to have trouble sleeping and that just made it worse; I always felt worn out, edgy. It got to the point my kids began to avoid me and my wife said it was because of my temper. Not that I ever hit them, never that,” he added quickly, obviously needing Jack to know that. “Never that. I’d kill myself first.”
This last was said so softly Jack wasn’t sure he had heard it.
“I didn’t want to end up like so many coppers you see: divorced, alone, miserable. So I transferred out of 14. Thought if I got away from all the shit and assholes things would get better. But they didn’t.” Brett laughed, a bitter, painful sound. “I still can’t sleep and I still hate everyone. Only now I have more time to dwell on how much I hate people and the job.”
“You hate the job?”
“With all my soul.”
“Then why stay?”
Again Brett laughed without humour. “Why?” He fixed Jack with an emotionless stare. “Because my wife left me and took the kids. Because I live by myself in a shitty little apartment. Because my kids are afraid of me.”
He pulled to the curb in front of the Tim’s.
“Because it’s the only thing I have left in my life.”