Morgan sat in the driver’s seat of his cruiser and gripped his steering wheel. His knuckles turned white and his hands began to tremble. Not now… he thought to himself. They say that being a police officer is not a risky job. They look at numbers and come up with crazy notions that somehow it is more dangerous to be a garbage man. The numbers do not tell the whole story.
On most days, the biggest danger Morgan would face was a 60-year-old woman with a leathery face and long grey hair cussing at him while she held a cigarette in her lips. That was when he would nod his head respectfully, hand her the ticket, and see her off safely.
There was still the unknown. How was he to know if that nice elderly woman was not hiding a gun waiting for the perfect moment? Sometimes it was a car chase that ran from Phoenix to the New Mexico state line. That was the time he raced to join the pursuit and suddenly found himself waking up in the hospital two days later attached to wires and tubes.
Morgan released the steering wheel and massaged his numb hands until feeling came back. His heart banged on his ribcage and he found it hard to breathe. He knew that he needed to get to the crime scene but when he thought to turn the ignition, his body froze.
The medicine was not working. The doctor said it would be six weeks before it would have the full effect. It was a few days shy of two months now and he is still having problems. What he needed was something stronger but his doctor refused him every time he asked because of his past problems with alcohol. What the doctor did not know was that alcohol had already filled that need.
“GOD DAMN IT!” Morgan yelled and he began pounding his fists on the steering wheel. At the end of the outburst, Morgan rested his head on the steering wheel and closed his eyes. When his nerves had calmed, he turned the ignition and listened to the engine purr before putting the car in reverse.