Frank Zafiro - Heroes Often Fail

0922 hours

Chaplain Marshall spotted Stefan Kopriva in the officer’s parking lot at the station. The young man sat slumped forward in the driver’s seat of his truck, his forehead resting on the steering wheel.

He looks terrible, the chaplain thought. Katie was right.

He tapped lightly on the glass of the driver’s window.

Kopriva shot upright, a wild look in his red-rimmed eyes. He stared at the chaplain for a moment without recognition. Chaplain Marshall’s concern grew.

After a few seconds, Kopriva seemed to recognize him. He started to roll down the window, then stopped and rolled it back up. Chaplain Marshall frowned slightly, but forced himself to put an open expression back on his face.

Kopriva opened the door and got out of the truck, a light jacket in his hand. The smell of booze wafted off him.

“Good morning,” the chaplain said.

Kopriva grunted back to him.

The chaplain noticed the officer’s badge clipped to his belt. His gun hung on his right hip. Both were in stark contrast to his disheveled clothing and sleep-tousled hair. “I was planning on coming to see you today, if that’s all right.”

Kopriva shrugged himself into the jacket. “Don’t bother.”

“It’s no bother,” Chaplain Marshall said.

“Then just don’t,” Kopriva snapped and walked past him.

“Stef!” Chaplain Marshall turned and trotted next to him. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. Maybe you’d like to talk about things.”

“I don’t.”

“Then we don’t have to. But I’d like come by and see you anyway.”

Kopriva stopped suddenly. He turned to face the chaplain. “I don’t want to talk about this with you or anyone else. Just leave me alone.”

The chaplain raised his hands in a calming gesture. “All right. I understand. But if you need to talk, you can call me. Anytime at all.”

Kopriva stared at him for another moment, then shook his head. “I have a meeting with the Chief,” he said, and turned to go.

Chaplain Marshall watched him limp away. He could sense the man’s pain but also his walls. He knew he couldn’t push him, but he hoped Kopriva would call.

0926 hours

Detective Ray Browning sat in the driveway of his house. He stared at the red door to the little rancher for a long time after he shut off the engine. Finally, certain he’d left as much of Amy Dugger behind as he ever would, he got out of the car and went inside.

Veronica sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. She looked up in alarm at Browning’s sudden appearance. “Everything all right?”

Browning nodded. He dropped his keys onto the table and draped his jacket across the back of the kitchen chair.

Veronica looked at him in surprise. “You okay, baby?”

Browning leaned down and kissed her softly. He tasted the coffee on her tongue. The scent of her hair and skin filled his nostrils and he breathed it in. After a moment, Veronica’s hands came up to his face. She ran her fingers across the back of his neck.

When he broke away, he rested his forehead against hers.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” she whispered.

“Thank you,” he whispered back.

She kissed him again, this time on both eyes and then the corners of his mouth. He surrendered himself to her softness, her goodness.

“I love you, Vee,” he told her.

She kissed him full on the lips again. Then she rose from the table and took his hand. “I love you, too, baby,” she said, and led him down the hallway.

0928 hours

Officer Stefan Kopriva laid the badge on the desk. The Chief of Police looked down at it and back up at Kopriva’s face. The officer’s hair was tousled from sleep and he reeked of vomit and alcohol. Even so, the man’s voice had been even and his speech was not slurred. The Chief didn’t think he was intoxicated.

“Are you sure you don’t want some union representation, Officer Kopriva?” The Chief asked. “I’m pretty sure Detective Pond is on duty down in the investigative division.”

“No,” the officer said. He unbuckled his belt and pulled the black holster off, laying the gun next to the badge. “The rest is in my locker.”

The Chief stared at the gun and badge on his desk. He realized that in his six years as Chief, no one had ever acted out what amounted to a movie cliche. However, the officer in front of him was entirely serious.

“It’s your decision,” The Chief said. “But why don’t you take some time to think about things first?”

“There’s nothing to think about,” Kopriva said. “I quit.”

“Son, everyone makes mistakes. You didn’t-“

“I’m not your son,” Kopriva said coldly.

The Chief’s eyebrows went up. He wasn’t accustomed to being spoken to like that. A small flare of anger shot through his chest, but he suppressed it.

“All right,” he said evenly. “Either way, officer, you made a mistake. You didn’t do it maliciously. I haven’t considered yet whether there would be any punishment or not. But I can tell you that even if there was some sort of sanction, it wouldn’t result in you being fired.”

“It doesn’t matter. I quit.”

“Well, I don’t accept your resignation,” The Chief said. “I want you to wait a week before you decide. Then, if you’re going to quit, at least consider taking a medical retirement. Your injuries from the shooting last year should qualify you for-“

“I don’t care what you want,” Kopriva said. He stood up, his expression full of resolve. “And I don’t care if you accept my resignation or not. I quit. Take your week and shove it up your ass.”

The Chief’s eyes flew open wide. Before he could reply, the officer turned and limped out of his office.

Saturday, March 18, 2005

Day Shift

0712 hours

Katie rose early, which for her was around one in the afternoon. She’d slept hard and soundly, but couldn’t sleep any more.

Now that she’d decided what to do for herself, thoughts of Kopriva filled her mind. She didn’t want to give up on him. She lay in bed for a long while trying to decide how she could best help him through this tough time.

Just be there for him, she thought. And even though it was a trite expression, she agreed with the sentiment. He would get through this. She’d be there for him. Others, like the chaplain, would help him through it, too. In time, both his emotional and his physical wounds would heal. He’d come back to patrol and things would go back to the way they were. They’d be together.

She picked up the phone next to her bed and dialed his number. The phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

There was no answer.

She listened to the lonely tones of the telephone ring for a long time before she finally hung up.

0823 hours

Captain Michael Reott sat in the small booth of the coffee shop across from Crawford. The two men regarded each other in silence. Crawford noticed the lines in the captain’s face, the dark bags under his eyes, the hard, haunted look in the eyes themselves. It was like looking into a mirror and was not a vision he wanted to see.

“Goddamn shame,” Reott muttered.

Crawford nodded as he sipped his coffee. The brew was harsh, but he didn’t mind. Not today.

“Did we do everything we could do?” Reott asked.

Crawford considered answering for a moment. Then he realized that Reott wasn’t really asking him. He was just thinking out loud.

I think we did, he answered silently.

Reott reached out and tapped his finger on the newspaper next to him on the table. “The paper skewered us on this one.”