Reaps Gives Deets

Untitled Part 6

"How many years, did you say?"

"Thirty-five."

Gerald looked up and down the house, somehow not quite believing that the house could have gone so long without a paint job. The upper roof was broken at some places. The attic windows had been permanently dusted. Where had his money went?

"Your kids?"

Pelly gave the barebones of a smile. Couldn't even know whether the baby frock he had bought had to be returned or not.

Gerald had always disregarded him, after all, in those ten or so visits he had done in the past three years, the scene at the station was quite the same: Andy rudely eyeing him, working on the monotonous paperwork by sighing every few minutes and Pelly giving substandard replies to the survey check. But last week, on scouring the archives, he had come across the young bulletin face of Pelly. Confident and charismatic, even though the photo was black and white. The old bookkeeper in the precinct, Michchy, had worked with Pelly in New Manhattan as Detectives for almost five years.

"You know Michchy?"

"Hmm."

Funny, that's how Michchy too responded to his questions about their later years. Some fallout with a influential guy, yeah, that's what happens to the brightest chums, career finished with a suing lawsuit and a couple of court adjournments.

No kids, brokedown house, wifey troubles. Well, he wasn't sure about the later part. She was grumpy and he hadn't had a shilling of a conversation in the room.

He felt pity for him. But who was he? Someone who had experienced everything in is prime and had now reduced to a crumpled down conscience. Maybe that's the curse of everyone. Enjoy in the youth, living everyday to the fullest, and in the oldage, regret every day with a wish to die immediately.

Maybe it would be better if death came during action, thought Gerald. Gone, just like that, like a gunshot, not knowing anything during that immediate death, no fearing the oblivious every single day, just gone out while enjoying the life.

What was he thinking? He needn't think on such lines. Why, many old people are still enjoying their life, carefree, with wife and children to their beckoning.

"It's all about our choices," he muttered to himself. Pelly heard but didn't show that he noticed. To think that he had given up his five years of hardwork for some kind of redemption he thought he deserved when he was once-drunk. Huh, what can he do to himself worse than that? Just amother year and he could have run for the Commisioner. Yes, why not? He had become Seargent just the year before. Of course, many people once they become Seargent lose their spark, such was the common predicament. He had wanted to break that stereotype, and there was no obstacle in between. He had good reportoir with everyone, even some hotshots respected his game. He could have stepped in, giving himself the required superiority he badly wanted with the gifting of New Manhattan to his care. But then, that party, a few more shots because Michchy had insisted. All because of a single fucking nightmare.

Pelly turned the knob. Yes, they were definitely not talking anymore, Gerald decided. If it was locked,

"Pelly, you have a spare key?"

"What?" Pelly turned back, his face a blank. Of course, he knew very well what was going through Gerald's mind, but still he wanted to play quiet. Hmmpf, what use were showing his skills when the target has expired beyond repair.

He cried even today, still hoping that it was a bad dream from which he would wake up soon. Why, he had even forgotten why he had done that.

"Are you kidding, Pelly? Look, if its some kind of confirmation for you, I dont care about the others. Its you, I have decided, who will take up the mantle. Even if it means messing up the ballot" he started a nervous giggle.