[ WP ] You are the detective in charge to investigate the murder you commited

The room had significantly more flies in it than I had left it with. Having a corpse rot inside it for a day or two seemed to do that. 
 
 Life is full of a thousand little coincidences, and this was one of them. In front of me laid the bloated corpse of a man I had shot dead. A week ago, he would have been up and talking, running his mouth about some very dire matters, while pointing a gun at me. 
 
 `` You sadistic son of a bitch. I know it was you. You took my son and you turned him into a killer. You're a fucking cop.. Jesus, a fucking cop..'' 
 
 `` What'ya think they'll do to you, Frank, my man? You know much about crime scene procedure? You think you'll just walk out of here a free man? You know what cops do to cop killers?'' 
 
 `` Fuck you! You corrupted my son. You twisted his mind, and had him kill a man for you. Then you shot him, to cover it up.'' 
 
 `` You got any proof for those accusations? Let's say I did perform a nice little brainjob on Frankie Jr., who's he gon na tell? Frank, your son is dead. So what, I guess you shoot me now? This ends in blood one way or the other, you know.'' 
 
 `` I got something worse for you planned out. You know what they do to cops in prison?'' 
 
 `` What's that, Frankie?'' 
 
 `` They'll tear you to piece-..'' I lunged at him. He was atleast fifty, and not a young fifty either. I struggled for control of the gun, the strong bastard fighting until the very end. As I overpowered him, and placed the muzzle against his chin, I knew what I would do, and what I would say. 
 
 And so now that I stood here, on duty, investigating this man with a gunshot in his head, and a vendetta against your humble detective, I realized the truth of it. 
 
 It WAS a suicide. He had wanted to die, one way or the other. 
 
 I had just pulled the trigger. Gloves are a lifesaver, no stress, no mess. 
 
 It got me thinking as to how many of these killings I had investigated had any link to myself. I mean, sometimes, they did. There was the gangland shooting, where I played both sides against each-other, making sure that anyone who had seen my face or knew my name ended up in a bodybag. There was the time I torched old Mickey's bar, but that wound up being handled by that prick Granby. Granby, now there was a one for the nut wards. Thought he was a hero-type. Soon, one of these days, he'd be the dead type. 
 
 There is n't any room for mercy, or morality in my line of work. And while I dress as a shepherd, I am the wolf. But it has to be that way. 
 
 I kill because I care. One day, Granby would wind up in my sights, and he would die. Maybe from a suicide too, or maybe he would be shot be crackheads. Sometimes I changed it up, but the old classics were always good. 
 
 I filed my report. Man found dead in hotel room, single gunshot wound to head, caliber matching weapon present on him. Probable suicide. 
 
 The status quo was God. 
 

