The Glass Cook

Prologue TWO

Friday night, 2012 hours. Landon Residence. Dry Creek, Arizona.

Alexander David Landon sat on a simple, dark-wood stool in his master bedroom closet and dressed for work. He bent over and tied the laces of his tall, black leather duty boots before pulling his uniform's LAPD-Blue pant legs down over them. Hoping the tall boots would help prevent ankle injuries, he'd tightened them to endure whatever tonight's graveyard patrol shift would bring. All those rugby seasons softened up my ankles so bad, it's just a matter of time until they're sprained again. Be a helluva way to lose a foot pursuit. Having now reached the most critical point in his preparations, Alex rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together in front of his face. As he'd ritualistically done before every shift, he closed his eyes and silently prayed.

Father, I pray for patience, courage, and wisdom. Make me a comfort to children and the needy, and a beacon of hope and calm against the dark chaos of this world. Help me strike fear in the heart of those who prey on the weak and defenseless. If they're needed, make my punches hard, fast, and fearless. I hope to never use my gun, but if I must, Father, make my shots smooth, accurate, and just. Alex paused and kept his eyes closed. Inhaling deeply, he momentarily pondered the weight of his next request, exhaled, and continued. I don't long for death, Father, but, if you call me home tonight, I pray for the chance to die on a pile of empty brass defending Your children. I pray that you use me as a tool, a finely-honed weapon, to protect Your flock, and combat the evil that walks among us. I pray that you watch over me and those like me, Father, and that we all come home safe in the morning. In Christ's name, Amen.

Now that he felt mentally centered, Alex opened his eyes and raised his head to continue dressing for his 9pm tour of duty. Glad Gen convinced me to make this part of my daily work ritual. She'll always be smarter and more intuitive than me. He saw a lone, errant dog hair on his shirt sleeve and it brought a melancholic smile to Alex's face. Bailey's been gone for a month, but her hair still manages to find my uniform. Kind of a sweet reminder of her, but it also means our spring cleaning is about four months overdue. He looked across the top of his shoulder-height chest of drawers and the mementos he kept there. Bailey's brown leather collar rested atop a cedar box that normally stored his pocket-things, its small bell and her bone-shaped name-tag still attached. Alex reached out and tapped the bell, which had saved an untold number of pigeons over Bailey's lifetime. Even the chime seemed lonely and mournful. She was always too stealthy and fast for those damned sky-rats. The memory of their last minutes together in the vet's office returned, and he forced it from his mind to focus on the tasks at hand. Back to dressing.

Alex stood, opened the top drawer of the dark-wood chest, and retrieved his duty belt. He donned the belt and briefly checked that its various holsters and equipment remained operational and in their respective, assigned place. The belt feels light. Part reality, part psychology. Opening the drawer farther, he reached into a small, one-gun safe and removed his Glock duty pistol. It used to feel so strange and foreign that I had to carry guns just to go do my job. Now they're so ingrained into my 'normal' that I don't even mow the lawn without a pistol. Alex firmly smacked the bottom of the Glock's inserted magazine. Properly seated and in place. After pulling the slide back just enough to expose a sliver of silver amid the chamber's blackness, he released it so the slide could slam forward on the ready-round. Locked and loaded. The familiar weapon slid easily and naturally into its holster on his right hip, and immediately corrected the duty belt's weight problem. "Alright, Roscoe," he spoke to the pistol like a trusted friend, "let's go to work."

Soft footsteps betrayed his wife's approach, and Alex looked up to greet her.

"I thought I heard you in here," Genevieve announced as she entered their large walk-in closet. "Baby, you got a short sleep after staying up all day for your D-V trial. I really hoped you wouldn't have to go in tonight, or that you could at least go in late. Did you get enough rest?" His wife stepped to Alex and they embraced as though they hadn't seen each other for days, even though they'd eaten breakfast together that morning before his trial started.