Page 510 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

I’m sweating, my body buzzing and I’m ready to hit something.

I tape up and work the speed bag. The Doors sing about lighting my fire, and I’m breathing hard when I see Burke stroll in.

He glances at me, nods, and heads to the locker room.

I finish my speed bag sprint and do some shadowboxing. Then I glove up and I’m at the heavy bag when he emerges.

He steps up to the bag, just to tame it.

I imagine the bag is John Booker and land my fist in the center. I’ve been at this enough to know how to keep my balance, but I’m still a little unfocused, maybe, so I dig down. I lean in and feel the sharp smack of my fist against the bag, a snapping punch, not a push.

I’m not trying to take myself out, just work off those words. Because what can a watch do if it doesn’t tell time?

The bag swings hard, back at me, and I keep my feet light, following it. I don’t wait to throw the next punch, because that’s for beginners, but dive back in.

I feel Burke at my side before I see him. He catches the bag. “My turn.”

I’m breathing harder than I thought and sweat saturates my shirt. Burke works off my mitts, tosses them aside and gloves up.

“What I don’t get is why Booker gave me the files. And his watch—did you know about that?”

I don’t need a preamble with Burke. He nods and says, “I wondered what this was about.”

“Why couldn’t he just leave it?”

Burke lifts a shoulder, throws a punch. I’m aware that he hasn’t warmed up, but his hit stuns the entire bag, a massive force, and I’m sorta glad we’re not sparring.

I’m clearly out of shape and that makes me even more perturbed.

“I’m surprised you’re surprised,” Burke says, dancing with the bag. “Clearly, he thinks you have unfinished business.”

“Half those files are yours.”

“I’m still around.” He slams his massive paw into the bag, a thud, a through-shot that could break ribs. “Where are you?”

I’m waiting for the uppercut,how’s the book going, but Burke has mercy and gives it to me square, “You should have never left. Booker?—”

“John Booker made me leave.”

“Your fear made you leave.”

Oh. I’ve changed my mind. I want back in the ring.

Burke never raises his voice. Ever. It’s freaky, but he actually gets quieter and that’s when you have to worry. Now, he’s just about whispering and frankly, if I had sense, my blood would run cold.

“And your pride kept you from coming back.”

I knew he was angry, but maybe I should stand back.

“A cop died that day.” I put my hand on the bag, push it back to him. “I had a four-year-old daughter.”

“Don’t give me that, Rem. You haven’t been afraid a day in your life. Then suddenly, you turn in your badge, and it’s over?”

Yeah, well, maybe. But that day, three years ago when I saw Jimmy Williams shot in the head, I was afraid in a way I had never considered.

It could have been me, easily, my blood spilled in the middle of Franklin Avenue.

Burke grabs the bag, coming in close for body shots. I wonder if he wishes it was me.

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