Page 89 of Special Agent Murphy

Both father and son appeared curious as hell, but knowing Murphy well, they refrained from pestering him with the questions he’d be answering in his own time.

Rob spoke first. “Sure, not a problem. Now I need to ask your advice. The hospital administrator, an old pal of mine from way back, stopped by this morning. He says they need more security people around the joint. Seems the company they hired is always on the lookout for retired cops or Private Eyes. Figures I’d get a job with no trouble, especially if he put in a request, which he’s willing to do. Whaddaya think?”

“They willing to wait until you break loose from rehab?”

“Damn sneaky way of asking if I told him about my problems with booze.”

“And yet you caught on. Go figure. Maybe you haven’t pickled that keen brain of yours.”

“Seriously, Black. I need you to tell me.” The pained look in Rob’s eyes revealed his fear of failure and his need for affirmation.

“Tell you what? Can you do it? Sure you can, with your eyes closed, man. You’re one of the best cops who ever worked the beat. Whether you want to do it is another thing. Or if you’re well enough to take it on is something you need to answer for yourself.”

Rob looked uncomfortable. Then words poured out. “I had an almighty scare recently, even had a checkup, and it turns out I had a chest infection. I’m fine. I figure it’s my last chance at a decent life. For me and my boy. You’re fucking right I want this.”

“Then we’ll help you make it happen. I’ll be here to pick you up tomorrow. You’ll have time to get ready for Christmas.”

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