Snitch

With a sigh, Lieutenant Michealson closed the manila folder on his desk. For the second time in his thirty years on the force, he lost a plea bargain. Despite the fact that the kid helped Michealson catch one of the biggest drug gangs in Omaha, Jimmy Mortensen was still on his way to federal prison.

"It's what they deserve."

He looked up at Sergeant Abbot. The man was about to retire after forty-five years as head of the drug crimes unit.

"Is it? The kid is barely twenty one and he's in federal prison. His husband was sick at the trial. I've never seen a man cry like that."

Abbot shrugged, one hip on the gun-metal grey desk. "The kid was a felon in possession of a firearm, ratted you out to his little street gang, and had drugs on him upon arrest. Not to mention the warrants we satisfied in two states. He didn't stand a chance."

Michealson shook his head. "He had a good job, a good family. Not sure why he'd give that all up for drugs."

Abbot stretched his shoulders. "It's the pull of the streets, that promise of a split second high, the danger—it's intoxicating. Federal prison will either scare him straight or make him meaner. You did the right thing."

Michealson shook his head. He stood, put on his coat and looked at the file on his desk. Shaking his head, he shut the door, wondering if he could appeal.

Notes

A little change of pace, seeing things from Michealson's point of view. I don't know if I'd have the strength to do his job. Thoughts?

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