Jimmy Lark pressed the gun barrel tight against his temple.

In his mind he saw his father coming home from work in his police uniform. He remembered two guns, one in his dad’s underwear drawer the other on top of the refrigerator. Both loaded, they remained undisturbed until his father dressed for work the next shift. Each day after coming home his dad went straight to the refrigerator for a cold can of Schmidt’s beer. He drank at least a six pack each night, maybe more. Some nights he left to spend a few hours at the bar, ostensibly leaving the house to “pick some things up at the store.”  Twice he wrecked the car on the way home.

Ammo and alcohol fire a potentially deadly mix.

Most cops drink.

All cops shoot, if only on the range to qualify for continuing weapons training. Jimmy drank, fired on and off the range and now grieved the loss of his only son by the child’s own hand with daddy’s service pistol.

Jimmy put down the gun.

The vintage Sig Sauer P226 lay on the table beside a bottle of Hennessey. A legendary pistol, the gun served as the choice of weapon for many Navy SEALS and now provides a handcrafted collector’s item for gun enthusiasts. The 9 mm combat handgun glistened on the table. Fully loaded with gold dot bullets, the weapon fit Jimmy’s hand perfectly.

Pouring himself another Hennessy, Jimmy knocked back the shot and closed his eyes.

As a young boy he never touched his dad’s guns. By 14, however, he occasionally pulled the gun from the drawer just to feel its weight in his hand. The next year he asked his father to show him how to shoot. At the dump they sighted in rats and blew them away in a serious exercise in urban living and male bonding, a test of learning to live by the rules and become a good citizen in the community.

Now Jimmy wondered if his father would have left his guns lying around had he not been drinking as much as he did. Maybe so. Responsible and normally careful, his proud African-American father hailed from a generation that didn’t waste time thinking too deeply about the consequences of human behavior. When something bad happened they just took care of business.

That’s what cops did.

Cops took care of business.

Jimmy Lark picked up the gun and put the gun barrel in his mouth. He clenched cold bitter metal between his teeth. Biting down he squeezed his eyes closed and started to tremble. His hand shook. His heart pounded. He froze, unsure where to go from there.

Mahlik’s face appeared in the black abyss of Jimmy’s mind. A perfect baby, smiling with smooth dark skin as soft as new glove leather, the child stared at his daddy. Confused and afraid, the boy reached out. Mahlik struggled to talk, the way he did when he spoke his first word.

Daddy, he said.

Jimmy slowly removed the gun from his mouth. He carefully laid the gun on the table. He picked up the brandy bottle and raised it to his lips. One swig reminded him he still breathed. His heart still pounded. He still lived.

Now his mind’s eye saw the man he killed in the ally, a black criminal who turned on him three years ago with a gun in his hand. Jimmy pulled the trigger again and again without hesitation, emptying the clip as the man spun into garbage cans, lurching dead-on-arrival into the asphalt.

Prosecutors ruled the shooting clean.

Jimmy Lark went back to work.

When he came home every night following the shooting he pulled his shirttail from his pants, placed his weapon on top of the refrigerator and opened the first of quite a few cold cans of beer.

Mahlik must have known where to find the gun.

Maybe it was just bad luck.

After another long swallow of cognac Jimmy again picked up the P226.

This time he turned the weapon around. He stared into the barrel. His pulse raced. He felt for the trigger. His mouth went dry. He held the barrel against his forehead.

The front door opened in the living room.

Jimmy, Chanise said.

You here?

Jimmy Lark.

You home?