[ CW ] Noir Style - A dirty detective ( protagonist ) was recently saddled with an honest rookie for a partner and finally has to deal with him one way or another .

`` Buddy, put it down.'' 
 
 He turns and the first thing he sees is the glint of steel. He stiffens, his eyes widen; he knows I'm serious now. I gesture with the gun; he puts the folder down. 
 
 `` We're this close. We take this file back, bust this open, the criminals get exposed, the FBI has to act. We win.'' Buddy turns, hands raised. 
 
 `` Yeah, that ai n't how it works, Buddy.'' I shake my head sadly. `` FBI takes in a few big names... and then next week your cute little girlfriend, the one you have that picture of, she's dead. Or maybe your kids, if you've got'em, or your parents, or your brother, or... who knows. Bank comes for your house, for your car, your wife leaves you, you lose custody. Trust me, I know. You ca n't outrun them. Let's get walking.'' I gesture with my gun again. He walks. 
 
 We go out the back door, out of the warehouse and onto the pier. Dump the body into the bay and nobody will ever ask questions, that's just daily business. `` So instead, you're gon na take me out,'' Buddy asks, voice shaking. `` Hey, no kids, but I do have that girlfriend, and she'll miss me, Marcus.'' 
 
 `` I'm sorry to hear that, Buddy. Step up to the edge.'' He complies. 
 
 `` What, not even gon na try and buy me out, Marcus? Then there's no body!'' He's sweating, trying his hardest. The poor naive son of a bitch almost makes me think twice. But I got things to attend to for myself. 
 
 `` You would n't go for it anyway. We both know that.'' He has no answer to that. `` Well, I guess I'll have to be the one to tell your girlfriend you died. Pity. Hope she takes it well. Last words for her, Buddy?'' 
 
 He ponders just for a moment. `` Yeah. Tell her... I said... hello.'' 
 
 That's the stupidest thing I've heard in my life. I raise my gun to my shoulder and pull the trigger - but he's turned, twisted away from my aim, before I even knew it was happening, dropping to his side and drawing his own pistol. I try to bring the muzzle down, take a second shot, just as he brings his up to bear. 
 
 BANG. Two gunshots, one report. Blinding pain spreads through my chest, and I fall. The sadness of it all hurts more than the bullet. Years of dirty deals, years of vicious experience on these streets, years of the all-protecting cynicism, and this is how the city gets me? Shot down by some straight-laced academy graduate? That ai n't how it's supposed to go. 
 
 `` Hey, Marcus?'' Buddy kneels next to me, holding my gun. I ca n't focus on him. `` Funny story. My'cute little girlfriend'? She's a retired Ranger. Taught me a few tricks in our spare time, and she's got quite a few herself. So me, personally? I'm not worried.'' He places the barrel of my own revolver against my forehead. 
 
 `` Wait - wait!'' I cough. `` You do n't have to report this. You do n't have to arrest me, we can claim there was someone else, it's -'' 
 
 `` Nah, listen. I do n't have time for scum-suckers. Who said shit about arresting? No, bottom-feeders like you, we get rid of. *You* got last words?'' Suddenly I understand. This is n't some third-act plot twist, switching up the natural order on us. He's not straight-laced. He's a crusader. Dirty in another way, that's all. But he ai n't scared, and he's a straight shot. Still stupid as hell to try and play hero, but for however long it lasts... 
 
 ``... Go get'em, cowboy.'' 
 
 BANG.
