Caught between the priest and the preacher, Jack wasn’t sure which side was right. His initial surveillance showed nothing technically illegal but the gaggle of girls in the house spoke of a possible cult. At the very least it seemed to be the type of commune the hippies used to set up.
He discreetly took the information to some of his old cop shop contacts. They agreed no action could be taken, yet. The intel and the work impressed his old boss though. He had a standing offer to return to active duty. A detective’s badge tempted him, the steady income even more so. He needed to think about it, so he ended up and McClarren’s, a cop bar. Wouldn’t you know it happened to be on karaoke night? He hoped his poor ears would forgive him.
As he considered, he drank. As old friends swung by to shake his hand and urge him to take up the cause again, he drank. When women who enjoyed the rugged, slightly dangerous look about him flirted, he drank. Soon enough he was two and a half sheets to the wind. Not quite blitzed but getting there. He was out of his comfort zone, but with one, about to be two ways back in.
Normally Jack reserved his gruff voice for the shower, his only audience the bar of Irish Spring and dollar store bottle of shampoo. That night though, the music moved him almost as much as his maudlin mood did. He filled out a slip and waited for the nondescript man running the show to call his name.
As a tribe cops have depressing taste in music. So the song he chose fit nicely. An old love song with a tragic story. His favorite song because at his core, Jack was still a cop. With no shame he got up and growled out the lyrics in tones fit to do any honky-tonk bound country singer proud.
Somewhere in the middle of the song a voice joined his, harmonizing, adding a poetic beauty one voice alone could not create. Jack looked for his duet partner, falling in love with the voice alone. A distant smile graced his lips as his eyes continued to search. By the end of the song he knew his own mind.
As the last chords faded to nothing Jack finally found the source of the voice. Neither the priest, nor the preacher’s prophecy could accept a man like him. The force had a hard enough time with it, but they were coming around quicker than any church. He would take up that badge. That was for tomorrow though. Tonight he wanted to buy the owner of that shaggy black beard a drink and see if partner could describe them when singing was not prepended to it.
#shortstory #novel #author #love #religion #socialcommentary #author #writer
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