A Suicidal Friend, 1987

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Martin Riggs was racked with grief. He had been devastated by the recent and premature death of his wife. One tragic car accident, and their entire future had gone up in smoke. The young cop from the LA narcotics squad, and former Special Forces soldier, spent his time playing Russian roulette. You know the game – every night, Martin Riggs placed one bullet in the chamber, spun the cylinder and clicked it shut. Then he put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. Evidently, his time had not yet come. He was still alive. He wished he could spatter his brains all over the inside of his trailer, but God had other plans. Somewhere, in his heart of hearts, he believed in providence. He set the gun on the couch, stretched out his legs and closed his eyes. He saw only pitch black. He heard noises from outside; dogs barking, the screech of tires on gravel, the neighbour lady feeding a stray cat, the indistinct cry of voices. Sadness and regret overwhelmed him; nothing could bring his wife back to him. Had she known how much he loved her? Had he given enough to their marriage? They’d been so young, with all their lives ahead of them. But his happiness had been ripped away. Now what was he supposed to do? He poured a glass of warm scotch and downed it in one. Then another. The trailer began to spin, and the lights blurred like sad stars. Haggard, he turned on the T.V. It was 3 A.M. The screen rolled until the dawn light. The morning rose with the cry of the gulls. He had not slept. He looked at his watch. It was time to shower, pour himself a coffee and make his way to the station.

The hot shower shook him from his torpor. He pulled on his pants and stuck his gun into his belt. When he arrived at the station, the department head assigned him a new partner named Roger Murtaugh. Murtaugh was a veteran homicide detective. He had a wife and kids, and was a devoted family man. He was lucky. He had made it through life unscathed. Martin Riggs didn’t have the heart to be friendly. He cared for nothing, and no-one. It was already difficult enough to show up every day, instead of ending it all. Plus, Roger Murtaugh had his own vision of the job. He was set in his ways, and wanted Riggs to get in line. The two officers did not get along at first. They disagreed constantly on the right methods to employ when arresting criminals, and the procedures to follow when tracking down drug dealers. In short, Martin Riggs’ policing style was about to be seriously cramped by having a partner like Murtaugh. Couldn’t the guy just leave him be?

Roger Murtaugh pushed him, saying: “Stop playing Russian roulette, put five more in the barrel and do it right!” Obviously, the older man didn’t understand the first thing about Riggs’s pain. He knew nothing about what made the game special. He did not understand what Riggs felt, and that fate had torn his wife away from him, and that his will to live had followed with her. Murtaugh was incredulous; all he saw was a partner who was losing it, and who made his life dangerous.

At Christmas, Roger Murtaugh was hosting dinner at his house. Tonight, instead of playing Russian roulette, Martin Riggs would give his partner a special gift: the hollow-point bullet he had been saving for his suicide, all tied up in a bow.

Alan Alfredo Geday