Let Me In by Adam Nicholls (books under 200 pages .TXT) 📕

’50s—but he’d seen enough movies where couples went out for a milkshake together. It lent a certain nostalgia to the place, promising warmth and joy.

Somehow, he just didn’t expect to find that here.

He waved to Liz, his favorite waitress, as she cleaned up behind the counter. She waved back and pointed to the corner table, where Gary sat nursing a beer with a range of paperwork spread out before him. His hair was a disheveled mess, his moustache hiding within the surrounding facial hair that was starting to catch up. There was no question this case was taking its toll on him, and who could blame him? He’d loved Carrie Whittle, and nobody should have to see someone they cared about looking how she did.

“Need company?” Morgan asked, approaching the table.

Gary hesitated before looking up, as though there was a delay between Morgan speaking and Gary hearing. When those red, half-closed eyes revealed themselves, he looked worse than before. As if that was possible. “You’re always welcome at my table.”

Morgan smiled and sat, unbuttoning his coat to get comfortable. He glanced down at the paperwork in front of him, reading the file names upside down. It came as no surprise that he wasn’t investigating Carrie’s murder; he wasn’t allowed to even if he wanted to. “What are you working on?”

“Some woman shot her husband. Just tidying up the details.”

“Need any help?”

“It’s pretty open/shut.”

“Right.”

Gary dropped his pen and slumped back, running his fingers through his thick, graying hair. “It’s good to see you, but what are you doing here?”

“Your phone was off.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

“Hannah said you’d be here.”

“Did she say I wanted to be alone?”

“No.” Morgan grinned. “Should she have?”

Gary stared at him like he had a grudge, until a knowing smile finally bested him and broke through. “It’s been a little rough, you know? I’m trying to knuckle down and keep myself busy with other cases, but every time I close my eyes I see Carrie’s face all… how it was. It just makes me so sick. She was a good person. She didn’t deserve that.”

Morgan remembered—on the few occasions he’d spoken to her she’d had nothing but kindness and respect in her voice. There’d been something welcoming in her green eyes, as if she were reaching into your soul just to understand you a little better. “Yes, she was nice.”

“She was more than nice. I just… Man, I’d love to get this sicko.”

“You and me both.”

“But you tried your best, right?”

“Yes.” Morgan locked eyes with him. “We’re okay?”

“You and me? We’re fine.”

“Even though I proved kind of useless back there?”

Gary uttered a short grunt of a laugh. “You were a little useless.”

“Think you could do better?”

“Not legally.”

Morgan couldn’t help but grin. It warmed him to see his friend acting human again. Grief was too aggressive in how it disabled people, especially when someone else was involved—losing somebody you loved was one thing, but having them brutally murdered and knowing there was nothing you could do about it? That kind of stuff changed you.

Liz, the waitress, made an appearance at the table and severed the moment. Maybe it was for the best, as Morgan had no idea where to take it from here. It felt like something had been left unspoken, and he didn’t want to address it in case Gary expected more. Instead, he took the save and ordered a coffee to go, thanking her as she left.

“Do you remember when we were kids?” Gary asked when they were alone.

“Only the parts I want to remember. Why?”

“I have fond memories of those times; wanting to grow up to be a cop.”

“One too many viewings of Hawaii Five-O.”

Gary half smirked, his eyes still red and raw. “I remember thinking how much I wanted to do some good in the world. Everything seemed a bit more black and white back then, you know? The bad guys were easy to identify. The good guys always won.”

“Uh-huh.” Morgan’s sense of comfort shifted. “Where are you going with this?”

“Well, things got darker. You know what I’m talking about. The bad guys are nearly impossible to track down, unlike on those TV shows, and when you see the things you see in this line of work, you start wishing bad things on the killers.”

“So now you feel like a bad guy?”

“Aren’t we all bad guys?”

Morgan considered this. His own conscience had been tainted by a great number of things in the past—hell, even his inability to help Gary had made him question his own efforts—but had he ever truly felt like the bad guy? He’d made mistakes like most people had, but Rachel had always been there to nod her head with approval whenever he did something right. That’d always made morals easy to understand. “Do you feel like a bad guy, Gary?”

“Sometimes.”

“And right now?”

“I don’t feel bad. Just useless.”

That was something Morgan could relate to. But seeing his friend like this, maybe there was something more he could do. There were no clues to follow the killer, but there was nothing to stop him from running a simple profile. As long as the police didn’t stand in his way. “Look, I want to help find the guy who did this.”

Gary’s eyes lit up like a kid’s on Christmas Day.

“Don’t get too excited,” Morgan said, putting his palm out to calm him. “I’m just going to talk to a few people and see what I can dig up. But I’m going to need your help on this; if the MPD stumble upon some information, you’re going to have to share.”

“No problem. No problem at all. Oh, man, you won’t regret this.”

“I probably will,” Morgan said. “But just answer me one thing, will you?”

“What’s that?”

“You called the police morons, but you know they’re good guys. They’ll do everything they can to find the guy who did this. So why me? Why not just leave it up to them?”

Gary nodded, scratching his moustache as he turned to gaze out the window. “I believe they’ll get it eventually, but I want you to be there first.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Call it a vendetta. I’d never be able to do it by myself, but if you do it, at least it’ll feel like I contributed. I feel like I owe it to Carrie to find the guy.”

“And if the cops get there first?”

“Then we miss out on a big dose of justice. Besides, you need the work.”

“I’m not taking payment.”

“Take my gratitude, at least.”

“That’s worth more than money.” Morgan nodded as Liz placed the coffee in front of him. He thanked her, scooted out of the seat, and grabbed the Styrofoam cup. “I’ll get to work first thing in the morning, but the coffee is on you. Cheers.”