Gingerbread Man

His colleagues would be here any second now. So he sank to the curb and tried to keep it together as he heard sirens wailing in the distance, coming closer.
    He’d made a snap decision to cover up the answer to the biggest case of his career. And he would lose everything if it was ever found out. But dammit, he couldn’t put his family through the truth.
    He
couldn’t.
    He told himself he’d done the right thing.
    And then the cavalry arrived, ambulance first, cops on its bumper.
    He just pointed at the stairs. "My brother shot himself."
    The medics reacted, raced up the stairs. Rosie arrived and hunkered down beside him. "Lemme see your phone, partner."
    Nodding, Mason handed it over.
    Rosie looked for Eric’s text message, found it, nodded. "You should’a taken me with you."
    "I didn’t think he meant
that
. Hell, maybe I did, but I didn’t think he’d really
do
it."
    A burst of activity on the stairs. Urgent shouts that seemed uncalled for, given that his brother was obviously dead. Mason looked up fast. Had he missed something? Did they know?
And am I going to be wondering that every day for the rest of my life? God, what the hell did I do here?
    And then a gurney came bumping down the stairs, Eric strapped to it, mask on his face, someone pumping a rubber balloon.
    "He still has a pulse!"
    Lightning jolted Mason to his feet. "How can he…how can that…his head…"
    "Hold on, partner," Rosie said, grabbing his shoulders when he started to go to his brother.
    Mason honestly didn’t know in that moment, whether he meant to go help Eric or yank the bag away and let him suffocate.
    Two EMTs jostled Eric into the back of the ambulance. In seconds it went screaming away and left Mason staring after it with his guts tied up in knots.
    "You’d better go," Rosie said. "Go on now. Be with your brother. Call your family. I’ve got this."
    Nodding, Mason looked Rosie square in the eye, knowing he had to initiate the lies now, before he lost his resolve. It was the only thing to do. "I can give you the gist first, though. You need to know. He showed up last night, asking to sleep over. About 3:00 a.m., give or take. I was half asleep, and we didn’t talk. This morning I left before he got up. Then I got that text. When I opened the apartment door he was sitting on the couch with the gun to his head." He had to stop and swallow hard to get his throat to open up again.
    "Damn," Rosie said softly. "You don’t have to do this now, partner."
    "It was a .44 Magnum. Never saw it before. Have no idea where he got it, or if it’s legal. He had the barrel here." He put a finger on his skull. "His right. My left. I yelled and sort of jumped toward him. He pulled the trigger at the same time. I landed short, knocked over the coffee table. Then I called 911 on my cell, came down here and waited. I couldn’t look at him like that. That’s all. That’s everything."
    "Good enough. Good enough for now, Mason. Maybe I’d better drive you. They don’t need me here."
    Mason looked at his partner; he hated lying to him. "I’d feel better if you’d stay here while they process the place, see they do it right, respectfully, you know? I mean, it’s my place. I don’t want it all torn up." He shook his head. "Shit, that sounds shallow."
    "Sounds like someone who’s seen what happens when a home becomes a crime scene. Don’t you worry."
    "I still need the Hummer, Rosie."
    "I’ll pick it up at the hospital once we finish here."
    "The station. I’ll leave it at the station." Mason looked down at his hands. "I need to change…before the hospital."
    "Go to the station, then. You got a change of clothes in your locker?" Mason nodded. "You can park the Hummer there, then. Your wheels are already back in the lot. The blind writer didn’t so much as ding it. It’s all good."
    But it
wasn’t
all good. And Mason pretty much figured it was never going to be all good again. He wanted to crawl into a dark corner and stay there for a while. A long while. But he had to keep moving, and somehow he did.
    He headed to the station. As Rosie had promised, his beloved black ‘74 Monte Carlo was in the lot in back. And also just as promised, the blind chick hadn’t even put a dent in the bumper. They didn’t make cars the way they used to. A new one would have crumpled. He tossed his brother’s duffel into the trunk and made damn sure no one had seen him do it.
    He locked Rosie’s Hummer, took the keys inside and left them in his