“Today, did you feel like a hero at all?” I asked again. “Because I know I didn’t. We came across a woman who apparently was in great need of help but we stood silent spectators. For all we know, right now she might be lying somewhere in her house, bleeding to death by her husband’s hand while the son is either wrestling with him or trying to escape the nightmare.” I took a deep breath, feeling spikes on my chest and nodded my head up and down. “No, I don’t feel like a hero and neither should you.”

He scoffed. “I guess the Chief is right about you.” I noticed his small grin, scratching its way to his thin cheeks.

“And what did the Chief warn you about?”

“That you carry around you a short of melancholy, some would even call it darkness but I find it rather dramatic, don’t you think?”

“I am well aware that I am no life of the party, Stevenson. I got too many clouds in my mind and this case does nothing to fix that.”

“I hear ya. ” he nodded, “It is the burden that we all carry at the end of the day. You know how most of us tend to shut our worklife the moment we get back home, but there are times that this can’t happen so easily. And instead of burdening our own people we just lock everything in here.” he tapped on his temple. “This is why at times like this I am glad that Jessy is at her mom’s. Because if Ι had gone straight home to her tonight, she’d see right through me and I’d have no choice but to share some of them. And trust me when I say that she can’t take much of it. If I told her that a boy was desperately trying to escape an abusive family and yet we did nothing for it, she’d break down and I'd hate to see that smile getting wrecked.”

A couple of musicians entered the bar, had a swift discussion with the waiter and then moved to the small stage, just a couple of steps away from our table. They were boys that perhaps had just reached their twenties, holding guitar cases that were also storing their dreams.

“No, I don’t feel like a hero tonight. But I do feel like of all people out there, we get more chances of changing the world for the best.” I watched him as he explained to me that hopeful plan he was holding so close in his heart. “Look at those boys,” he motioned towards the small band, lowering his voice significantly. Two guitarists, a drummer of colour and a singer. “Right now, the bystanders might think twice before entering this place because of that guy over there. Some might just come by to pick up a fight with both the owners and the band. Even worse? Bring everything down with a mob following behind them. And between you and I, I bet Wyller would be the first to join.” I chuckled bitterly since I believed so myself. “But you and I? We’d stand with the youngsters because it is the right thing to do. We don’t discriminate against people or turn a blind eye because their colour is not the same as ours. Hell, I’d take a bullet if I had to. Times are changing and the world has seen enough pain and suffering already. It’d be a shame to shape the future likewise, because it will be our children facing cruelty and not us.”

The show had just started with soft rock music embracing the area. I considered myself a bit too old to understand the new sounds as I'd find more comfort in jazz and blues, however it wasn’t that unpleasant to listen to. Stevenson, on the other side, seemed to enjoy it. He was a rebel at heart and he was not ashamed of showing it. 

“Them? They are heroes for having the guts to overcome the upcoming death threats and attacks in favour of their dreams and hopes; in favour of a more just world. As for us, we are heroes for standing up to them and protecting them, always keeping an eye around.” He sipped his drink in one go while I tapped on mine, turning to the side and watching the excited boys handling their instruments with such passion and care.

The bar was a little too crowded, everyone was seated and no one seemed to pay attention to them; or at least being displeased by the presence of the drummer. I thanked God, or whoever was up above, and closed my eyes to become more accustomed to the specific music genre.

“Thanks for listening to me, sir. I know that sometimes I can go over my head, but-”

“It is what keeps you going.” I spoke softly. “It is rare to meet someone with such passionate ideals and I do hope that reality won’t take that away from you.”

He laughed and for a moment Stevenson looked like a young boy, leaving me to wonder what made him choose this profession. Was this sense of heroism turning him towards this road? The thought of a better tomorrow? “Jessy says that I spend my time dreaming of a utopia when I should really focus on working hard in this cruel world we live in. This way, the chances of getting shot are slimmer and I might even see our kid getting married in the far future.”

“You two are expecting?”

“No, not yet.” he giggled like a silly little boy. “But we have plans. She will make a wonderful mother and that’s why I want to believe that we can make a difference.” he took a deep breath and waved at the bartender, “two more sazeracs!” he ordered and looked back at me. “We are drinking tonight, sir. In hopes for a better tomorrow!” His excitement had enchanted me and I even heard myself laughing.

Hopes and dreams; are they enough to make the slightest change in a grim world like ours?

That was a question that stuck with me till the end of the night. And by the time I put some thought to it on my own, I had reached the entrance of my apartment, holding the key tightly and refusing to let go of it as a chilly feeling sent shivers down my spine. This night could have gone a million ways wrong if just one man had reacted and god knows where we would be right now. But should this segregation be my main concern? I opened the door and closed it softly behind me, shaking the eerie feeling away and hoping the night would hold no more surprises for me. I was exhausted and my head was hurting as if lightning had struck it. I threw my coat on the entrance’s armchair and turned the dim lights on, bringing some light to this hole for an apartment.

My housing was entirely Charles’s decision. He had chosen an old building, perhaps it was standing tall even before the first World War, with three floors and two apartments in each. My neighbours were old couples; quiet people with not much interest in society’s troubles and cares. They would wake up around the same time as me, prepare their meals, listen to some radio, perhaps take a walk around and then rest till the early hours of evening where they’d follow a similar routine. I had seen them once or twice in those three months I was already in New Orleans and amidst their good days and good nights, some of them confided in me that they were feeling a lot safer with a cop around them. Nice old grandpas and grandmas, whom I preferred than the typical nosy young ones. Not that I was staying for too long inside this place.

Entering the kitchen, I looked for something quick and easy to cook up so I could silence my noisy stomach. Luckily, I had a couple of eggs in the fridge that I could easily fry and eat them as fast as possible. As soon as I was done cooking, my tired body could only eat them standing above the sink and right from the frying pan. There was not enough energy left to prepare the table, sit down and take my time. I was done eating after three, big bites and as I threw the pan inside the sink, washed my hands and walked to the bedroom in one go. I had still a few hours to sleep before getting back to work, where it was most likely Viv was expecting me.