“I heard he threw up. Tossed his cookies." Sitting on the bench in the west precinct's gym, Dave cringed at the retelling of the tale about the poor cop who got sick after seeing the crime scene. Cops were nosy. Cops were insensitive. Or were cops just afraid of their own frailties? "You didn't get sick, did ya, Harris?" The same scrawny cops who were in there yesterday were back. He should have gone at a different time. "What the hell is your name, man?" Dave asked in annoyance. "Me?" he asked ...pointing to his chest as if he were insulted. "Pyle. Jim Pyle. And that's Oliver Duffy." "More like a pile of shit!" "Hey!" he shouted in anger. "Look, asshole, if you haven't been to one of those scenes, don't judge another cop who has, all right? Just shut up!" Pyle looked over at his friend to see his expression. He was eating crow. Dave knew they should be aware of how bad the scenes were. There was no excuse for their callousness. "Sorry, man," Duffy mumbled. "We just were kidding. We know it's hard to stomach that shit." "Believe me, the guy feels bad enough.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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