Guilt-Stained Badge : Darrin Belzar by Douglas Goff |
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.
An unemployed shiftless Morgan wandered up and down Aurora Avenue most of the day, having bought a fifth of Jack which he steadily pounded. The more he drank, the more voices from the past haunted him. Once he was lit, his dad’s mantra of ‘Harpers don’t run’ seemed funny to him. We may not run, but we sure do drink and hump. Morgan laughed out loud at that. I’m sure you’ll take it head on, like you do everything. You’re a damn good cop. Trooper Barry Marston's voice came back to him. I don’t think so Barry. I’m so confused about what to do now. Besides, Barry, I’m finished as a cop. The wayward man found a burn barrel with a couple of homeless men standing around it. He shared the remainder of his whiskey with them. Soon, a joint was passed around. When it reached Morgan, he heard Paco Sanchez. Bad choices, Harper. Morgan took a long puff. Shut up, little Paco. Once the blunt was gone, Morgan started wandering again. Soon he started to feel really odd. His limbs got tingly and his thoughts began to scramble, taking on swirling colors and form. “I think that joint was laced.” His own voice sounded funny to him. Note to self: Don’t accept weed from homeless men. This brought about more odd sounding laughter. Within minutes, Paco’s giant floating head appeared in front of Morgan, fading in and out. It was laughing uncontrollably and kept saying over and over again, “Bad choices, Harper.” Morgan ran from the large drug-induced vision and bumped into three young men. One of the guys slugged the stoned Morgan in the side of his face and shoved him to the ground. The other two men started kicking Morgan until they grew tired. The trio walked off laughing, leaving him lying in the gutter. You’re lost. You’re lost. You’re lost. Vicki Vance's face was before him repeating her words. He reached for her. “You’re dead. Sorry.” Next came the sassy Beth Mackie with her gold tooth, pointing her finger at him. Don’t you worry none, baby. They ain’t made the Poindexter that can finish off ol’ Sweet Sugar. I’ll bust his ass up. Morgan pointed back at the black woman and yelled, “You’re wrong. He got you. He got you real good!” “I ain’t dead, baby. Yous dead.” The woman’s eyes rolled up into her head showing only the whites, while froth poured from her lips. Debra’s disembodied voice followed, rattling around in his rampaging mind. Why don’t you help her? “How can I help her? I couldn’t even help you! I can’t help anyone. I’m bad!” A couple of people walking by gave the screaming Morgan a wide berth, but he could only hear the cute Kelly now. No. You’re a good man, Morg. You’re just doing bad things. “Glad you got off the streets, Kelly. It’s hell out here,” he was mumbling again as he sat up and vomited in his lap. It was so foul that Morgan unloaded a follow-up stream in the gutter. For someone who doesn’t want to hurt me, you’re sure doing it right now. “Oh, sweet good Tamra. I think I love you, Baby.” Morgan tried to grab her, but she turned into wisps of smoke in his fingers. “Come back, Tam. I need you.” He tried to stand, but got dizzy and fell back down. “I don’t want to be here anymore. No . . . I’m not here. I’m not here!” You’re still in there somewhere, Morgan. “Good ol’ Hutch. I can always count on you.” Then came the mean cops. All three of them screaming at him at the same time, pointing their angry fingers in his face. Ronnie Tate, Captain Howitz, and IA Brian Anderson spraying spittle as they yelled over each other. Still, he understood each one. You’re a disgrace to the uniform . . . You’ve shamed this department, Son You don’t deserve to wear it . . . Do you know what they do to former cops in the joint? It ain’t pretty. Morgan screamed repeatedly, until he felt arms grab him on both sides. Two uniformed officers dragged him to their awaiting squad car. They tossed the filthy man into the back seat and drove away. “Jesus H Christ, Belzar, we should have just left the bastard where he was and let the streets devour him,” Ronny Tate scowled at his partner. Belzar, a devout Protestant, gave his partner a disapproving look. He did not appreciate the gruff cop’s blasphemy, which was exactly why Tate took the Lord’s name in vain so often. “He used to be one of us. A street cop. And a good one. We’re not leaving him out here. He’s got a one-way ticket to prison. Until then, the least we can do is drop him off at his apartment.” “You’re a real bleeding heart, Belzar,” Tate scoffed. “I’ll tell ya this. I ain’t touching that foul puke-covered asshole again. You can take him into his place and tuck him in if you want to.” “I’m trying to kill myself slowly,” Morgan repeated Doctor Parker’s words. “I feel guilty about Debra.” “I got him.” Belzar sighed, answering Tate and ignoring Morgan. “And I’ll tell you another thing. You’re hosing out the back seat when we get back to the station.” "Debra killed herself, so now I’m killing myself slowly,” Morgan mumbled, wanting very badly to go to sleep. “Whatever, Tate.” Belzar continued to ignore the man in the back seat. “Hey, are you fellas real?” Morgan asked, then belched loudly. “Or are you just giant floating heads in my mind?” “Shut up!” Both of the cops ordered simultaneously. The next thing Morgan felt was freezing cold water washing over his body when Belzar put him in his shower fully clothed. He could hear the man praying over him. “Won’t work. I’m Catholic,” Morgan groaned, then laughed. “Besides, He and I aren’t on speaking terms.” “Same God. And maybe you should be.” Belzar shook his head. “He forgives everyone, but you may be too far gone. People think His love never runs out but it does.” “What?” “God’s love runs out. He put generations of Israeli’s in slavery. He also left an entire generation to die in the desert, including Moses. They’d pushed Him too far. Maybe you pushed Him too far as well, and He’s done with you.” Morgan merely shrugged. Sounds about right. “You’re correct about one thing, Harper, you’re killing yourself. But you ain’t doing it slowly.” Belzar took one last grim look at him, then left. Morgan stripped out of his wet clothes and fell onto his stomach into his bed, completely exhausted. He slid a wooden box from underneath the bed and opened it, grabbing his father’s .44 commemorative US Marine Corps pistol. “Sorry Pops, I’m a disaster.” Morgan sat up and racked the slide, putting a bullet in the chamber. Morgan took a deep breath and raised the gun to his temple, a slight tremble in his hand. It’s for the best. His finger slid to the trigger, his mind made up. Just then the alarm sounded on his night stand, causing him to jump. He nearly pulled the trigger from surprise. Oh boy, I almost forgot. I have an appointment with my shrink. I should let her know she was wrong about the pace of my demise. Character/Suspect List: Homicide Detective Morgan Harper - The heavily faulted main character who never recovered from the suicide of his wife. Kelly Pierson - a young, new to the game, prostitute who is frequented by Detective Morgan. Tamra Burns- a crime scene technician who is Debra's identical twin. Internal Affairs Officer Brian Anderson - Investigating Morgan Harper. Homicide Detective Hutch Kelly - Morgan’s partner. Captain Howitz - Morgan’s boss who runs the Homicide Unit. Ronny Tate - Street cop who can't stand Morgan. Darrin Belzar - Religious by-the-book street cop. Paco Sanchez - A local pimp and street thug. Hugo Chavez - Paco's thug/bodyguard. Doctor Millison Parker - Morgan’s psychiatrist. Mac Yung- Aggressive reporter. Ted 'Teddy' Norton - Morgan's old academy training officer. Steve Vance - Vicki's husband. Vicki Vance - An old friend of Morgan and Debra’s. Murdered in her bar by the killer. Beth Mackie - A murdered prostitute. Jennifer Collins - The first victim prostitute. Amy Henderson - The second victim prostitute. Debra Harper - Morgan’s deceased wife who committed suicide.
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Douglas Goff
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