Shadowboxer

It was time to get ready for work. Guyles donned the uniform with solemn purpose. Though the work of a police officer was largely routine, every new day held the potential for personal disaster, death. Cops died in fiery car crashes, got stabbed and beaten in fights, shot while responding to holdup alarms, ambushed on traffic stops.

Guyles had developed a series of habits reinforced every night he came home unharmed, and over time, these habits formed a ritual. He shined his boots, so shiny he could see his reflection in the toes. He shined his brass, the buttons first, the belt buckle, and then the badge. He arranged them on his uniform shirt, made sure everything was perfectly placed. He put on the trousers, the dark blue undershirt, the boots. When it came to the bulletproof vest, he paused, thinking of ancient warriors blessing their armor, their shields. He attached the Velcro straps, tucked the flaps into his waistband. When he put on the shirt, he looked larger, heroic, invincible.

He wrapped his duty belt around his waist, fastened the buckle, feeling the weight of the leather, the loaded magazines full of ammunition, the two pairs of handcuffs. He liked that snug fit, the gravity of it. He got his handheld radio, placed it in a holder on his left hip, wrapped a cord around his back, clipped the attached microphone to a lapel on his chest.

Finally, he got the gun, his Glock 22 .40 caliber pistol. He took out the magazine, racked the slide to dislodge the chambered round. He released the slide lock, heard the metal slam home. With the weapon unloaded, chamber cleared, he aimed the pistol at a mirror mounted on the wall of his bedroom, aimed center mass and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Guyles racked the slide again, resetting the trigger mechanism.

Click.

Another shot to the chest.

The third time, he aimed at his reflected forehead, imagined the bullet splitting his skull, wondering if he’d feel anything. The idea had some appeal. Not suicide, but dying in the line of duty. That way, he’d get his name on a wall, be hailed a hero for all time, and nobody would have to know any of his secrets.

He reloaded the weapon, chambered a round and topped off the magazine. Then he placed the weapon in his holster, snapped the retention strap.

Now, he was ready to go to work.