It's About Your Father.

My phone rattled its shrapnel hammer, waking me like a shot to the heart. I was vertical and lifting the cold receiver well before the fog of sleep had even begun to recede, my body autonomous without the burden of a waking mind. Words uttered in a tired monotone down the wire dragged me to full consciousness. I heard a familiar phrase repeated for yet another rendition. The one that had plagued the entirety of my living memory.

“Hey, Banner,” Detective Wright mumbled, “It’s about your father…”

I pulled the collar of my coat high and tucked my shoulders into my hat as I stepped out into sheeting rain. It was the kind of weather that left you wondering if the heavens might be pummelling their force down upon you alone, in a vain attempt to push you back or divert your course. I forced my way across the sidewalk anyway, letting my long, tan jacket protect me from the deluge and dismissing the idea that the assault was a warning. I hailed a cab, flashed my badge for priority and watched the city lights fracture through raindrops on glass as the motorcar rumbled me toward the precinct. The driver had no words to share. He was wise enough to sense the tension in my sprinting fingers, tapping out a rhythm on the armrest. My father. For a lifetime, his shadow had eclipsed any light I might grasp. Every decision I had made; joining the force, making detective…sparing love my weight and generational curse…it had all been to scrub out the stain the man had left upon my legacy. To scrape away the filth that smothered my name. All done in direct defiance of everything the monster had stood for. I still remember the day that the news of his death came knocking. My mother cried her eyes out in grief whilst simultaneously cursing his soul for ever existing. Most of my memories of her spiral around tears, or rage, directed at that man. Yet, despite all the chaos I had ordered in the days since, still I found myself running toward more knowledge of his life. I knew he was a dangerous, murdering, gang-running criminal. I knew he brought all that violence home, and I knew that he died for that creed. What I don’t know is the why of those decisions. Nor do I have the closure of ever taking down the operation that continues to infest the city in his absence. The detective I carved out of the boy he left behind, will forever struggle to make sense of the life that the infamous criminal had allotted himself and his family.

Stepping onto the curb, the tails of my coat buffeted out behind me like a curtain that refused to draw closed, unable to let peace settle within. They followed me through the grand timber doors and into the old stone building that housed the city’s finest. I made my way directly to Detective Wright’s desk, where I found him on his third smoke, judging from the stubs in the tray. He had been anxiously waiting for me. The dark stubble on his chin and the bags under his eyes told of a long night left behind. The muddy coffee in his hand of a longer one still ahead.

“Alright, I’m here,” I barked, tossing my hat down, “What have you got for me, Wright?”

“Why don’t you sit down, Banner?” He suggested, not moving from where he leaned against his desk, fiddling with his tie.

“Just spit it out already, will you? I ain’t some fair-hearted dame in need of comforting. I’ve been down this road before. Lay it out for me.”

“Okay boss…whatever you say. We’ve got Larry Armstrong in interview room one. He’s ready to sing. Say’s he has the word on the whole operation; your father, Masterton, everything they had cooking. But he’ll only talk to you.”

“Longarm allowed himself to be brought in?” I asked, my mind already working over what I remembered of the degenerate.

“Took five officers to subdue him, but the case against him is legit. He ran muscle for your old man and the syndicate. Real dangerous fella. Along with Masterton, they damn near controlled every coin and seat of power in this city until, well you know, they were down to two and things went sideways. Wasn’t a man in this town that didn’t once fear the Longarm’s reach.” Wright said, stating the obvious as if I hadn’t lived through it.

“Armstrong’s been in the game longer than we’ve been alive. He would never talk, not even to me. He would fight to the last breath before he sat in this building…no...this is something else…”

I snatched the file from his desk and turned away from the young detective, marching directly toward the locked door. The junior sleuth still on my heels.

“Woah, Jack! You wanna slow down a hot minute? Make a game plan before charging on in there? Maybe take a breath? If he’s not planning on cooperating, then why would he want you here?” Wright pleaded to my back.

I didn’t turn. I didn’t stop. I didn’t answer. If I had, he would have seen the rapid deep breaths I was sucking in, the shake of my hand around the papers and the mix of fury and fear in my eyes. It was immediately or never. Waiting would only seed doubt and crush the courage I had gathered to face this figure from my past. Not to mention that if the chief got word of it, I wouldn’t be allowed within a mile of that door. So, I slammed my palm against the metal and pushed my way into the room of whitewash and steel.

“There he is!” The broad-shouldered and heavily muscled creature bellowed, beaming smiles at me over his chained wrists, held wide, “Theres the little one, all grown up! Say, do ya remember old uncle Larry? Ya must recall all the times I carried you on my back?”

“No.” I lied.

“Aw, sure ya do! Ain’t so long ago I was hearin’ those giggles as I ran you around the docks like a mule! Now look at ya, strapping lad!” Armstrong said, his joy surreal for someone in his position.

I ignored his friendly advances and made a show of opening the file and flicking through the pages, sighing and shaking my head in feigned concern.

“They’ve got you dead to rights here, Longarm. Say’s they found you elbow deep in blood, caught literally red-handed. One of your boys squealed alright. Couldn’t stomach your work it seems. I mean, dames? Really, Larry? Couldn’t just stick to the usual trade? Had to go true midnight? They can’t pin any of the past to you, much as I’ve tried before, believe me, but this? This will suffice. You’ll die behind bars and it’s a damn shame you don’t have more than a single life to give, or I’d be suggesting we take one for each of those girls.”

“Aye. I know it.” He said, leaning back on his chair and twisting his bound arms in the shackles. I couldn’t help but glance to check the irons stayed tight, “Damn rats in every hole. Can’t ever be rid of them. That’s why I wanted to see you lad. Figured this would be the best way to deal with things. Trying to be a little less…impulsive…just like your old man taught me. All will be well…you got this…right?”

I stared at him blankly for a moment, not comprehending what he was saying, until all the pieces slowly fell into alignment. He wanted me to help him.

“…No…Longarm. There’s nothing I can do for you. We got you. There’s no way that you can get around this. All you can do is talk, and only then might you get a deal.”

The giant man hawked and spat at the concrete floor. His face dropping to the evil I knew was lurking behind the smiles.

“We?” He asked, from under raised eyebrows, “Who is ‘we’?”

“You clearly remember me as a boy, but do you not recall how and why I walked out of your life? I am not beholden to my father’s legacy, Larry. I am not part of your crew any more. Not with him gone. I am a detective and on the right side of the law. I have been for a very long time. My loyalty is to this city.”

“…He never told you…” The most dangerous man in a hundred miles squinted at me…then broke into roars of laughter.

I slammed the file down on the metal table with a thud and rested my knuckles against the surface.

“Told me…what?” I growled.

Once his laughter had finally died down, Armstrong looked me in the eye and spoke between huffs of amusement.

“Your father was a slick son of a gun…he had so many plans and all of them were airtight. Not one of us knew what his mind was cookin’ up next and it was always more than one thing. Damn fool never did account for kickin’ the bucket though. I swear he thought himself invincible. When he was gone, well, not even Masterton could unravel the web of all the man’s ideas. No one coulda guessed you would be one of the loose ends not tied!”

“A loose end? What does that mean?” I asked, trying in vain to keep the desire out of my voice. I had been a dumb kid back then, only paying attention when I had to, not understanding that I was only being shown what I was allowed to see. I looked back and understood later, just how much wider I should have held my eyes. I needed, wanted, to know what was truly on the other side. So that I could finally end it.

“You think your life is your own? You think that you made these decisions? To leave, to become…this” He said, gesturing up and down at me, “No. This was your father’s seed, planted in your mind. One that has grown even in his absence. He wanted you blue. He always intended for you to be here, or higher. For this day. For the day you could help us. Damned shame he went and died before he could tell you!”

The brute erupted into laughter again. Raucous, true, belly-rolling mirth. I would have joined him in pure hysteria, if it wasn’t for the vomit rising in my throat. I didn’t need to question it. I didn’t need to doubt. It sounded exactly like the poison that was my father.

I stalked wordlessly toward the door, the Longarm’s laughter having fallen to a muted rumble. Like hearing voices through water. A high pitched ringing of stress replacing my normally acute senses. I turned only when I reached the exit.

“Don’t worry, lad!” Armstrong said, his eyes streaming, “He made us all what we are. Ain’t no shame in it. I mean, why else do you think we left you alone all these years, working behind the line? The man had an eye for laying each of our paths. All of them guiding to success for the whole.”

“Success?” I snapped, “Tell that to your cell walls, Longarm. Because I intend to be his first failure!”

I stormed from the room, slapping the thick file of evil crimes down onto Wrights desk as I passed. I stuffed my soaked hat onto my head and continued on toward the doors.

“Hey! Banner! Did he give you anything?!” Wright shouted in my wake.

“More than I wanted.” I whispered, as the huge doors slammed behind me.

I strode through the empty city streets, ignoring the rain and shielding my eyes from the neon lights of dark commerce. How could it be that a lifetime of my own decisions had really been his? I had been freed by his death. Finally able to follow my own road and build myself into a man of conscience and worth. Yet, here I was, still victim to an open-ended scheme, one that would never have an end with its arbiter in the grave. My heavy feet sprayed pooled water aside as I stomped the concrete. The movement giving me some sense of control, as my thoughts were lost to free-fall. My pace increased, my breath came hoarse and memories flickered across my eyes. The movie theatre regularly booked out just for the two of us, with the picture of the day, always a cops vs robber’s epic. The special birthday gift of a Sherlock Holmes novel. The begrudging respect my father paid to the law when in my presence, coming in the form of nods and handshakes. Likely all of them in his pocket. What really stung, was the approval he gave to them and withheld from me. It had inspired an ambition that I had assumed was my own invention. The way he always spoke poorly of marriage, children. He made them a waste in my mind. A distraction. Not deserving of the burden I carried. There were so many micro examples of his grooming my psyche for the trade, whilst holding a death grip on my love and loyalty. He had created the perfect sleeper agent, one who didn’t even know what he was. Panting under the weight of my speeding legs and racing mind, I swerved to a stop, ducking into a dark alley and casting a wave of water into the street. With a roar of frustration, I kicked a trashcan across the space and thumped my fist into the bricks. Pain shot into my knuckles and spiked up the bones of my forearm. I screamed again in anger. All this time, I was always his slave. Never his son. A plaything to manipulate and experiment on. Planting my palms against the cold, filthy wall of a building, I paused. I pressed my forehead down and allowed my tears to mix with the skies. As I rested there, I felt both my own rain and the barrage from above slow and then eventually stop. My shuddering shoulders relaxed and my grip on the mortar loosened. The moon peeked through a hole in the clouds and its light allowed me to see clearly for the first time that night. I took a deep breath, straightened my jacket and flicked the water from my face. For all my sins, I was my father’s son. I had learned from the worst, and I could find a way to use this new knowledge to my advantage. Longarm was never the brightest, and as emissary from my past he had given me the keys back into his confidence. Like the old man always said, if you want to clean house, sometimes you gotta get your hands dirty. I tied my jacket tight and kept those tails from loosening in the wind. I’d find a way to make peace with who I was, who I am, and I vowed right then to turn it all into something new.