The Reckless

  Even though I was not present with Ned when he died, the phone call was devastating.

  In writing this novel, I continually heard Ned’s voice, his words filling in the scene all on their own. Each morning when I sit down to write, I first go back twenty pages and edit forward before I start anew. Several times during the writing of this novel, I started back on those twenty pages and found Ned’s real name in the place of Ned. In writing the day before, I’d been so engrossed in the character of Ned, I’d inadvertently replaced the name.

  In the Bruno Johnson novels, Bruno never swears. He does one time in this book when he refers to how much he loved Ned.

  In real life, I attended Ned’s funeral. Thousands of cops came from all over the nation to pay their respects. Many more times the number of people that filled the packed church stood outside in a group shoulder to shoulder, silent, their heads bowed.

  Ned’s untimely and senseless death happened early in my career, and later on, even though other fellow cops—some I knew, most I didn’t—died in the line of duty, I never again attended another cop’s funeral.

  By far the most difficult chapter I have ever written was the one where Ned, dies.

  Ned used to make me laugh like no one else.

  * * *

  During my tenure on an FBI-sponsored violent crimes team, we did go after a husband-wife team who corrupted young boys, fed them propaganda, and cajoled them into robbing banks. In one incident, my team witnessed one of these bank robberies committed by kids, teens. We took them down by pulling our cars in on three sides of their car, boxing them in. Afterward, while we had them sitting handcuffed on the curb, I spoke with one of these newly minted delinquents. He had a full-ride scholarship to a big college for basketball. He asked me when we would be letting him go because he had to get home for a game. The felony conviction ruined his chances of escaping his life in the ghetto.

  * * *

  My favorite brother, Van, followed me into law enforcement and followed a very similar career path. While working on a violent crimes team, his team tracked a murderer into an adjoining state, Arizona. The suspect spooked before my brother’s team could close the net around him. The armed and dangerous suspect fled. He would have escaped had Van not used bold and unflinching initiative. He rammed the suspect’s car broadside with his truck. The moment before Van’s truck slammed into the side of the suspect’s car, the suspect fired one shot, trying to kill my brother. This bullet, fired out of hate, pierced the windshield, narrowly missing Van. For his valiant efforts, the Sheriff’s Department awarded him the Medal of Valor.