A noise from the garage was enough to put Daros on alert. He dropped his phone on the chair beside him and stood up suddenly. His muscles tensed, ready to act.

  The ranch was a safe place, but relaxing and hoping for the best wasn't part of his nature. Had Greta come back? Part of him hoped so. The more sensible part bet not. He sharpened his ears and approached the garage slowly to investigate.

  A familiar panting sounded in the distance. The sound was enough for him to relax his posture. He stretched his neck, tilting his head from side to side as Inácio approached, following the euphoric dog.

  "It's been a while since I've seen a communist," Daros commented, crouching down to receive the animal in open arms.

  Inácio let out a dry laugh.

  "I quit that life. I don't give a damn about politics."

  "I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to Lenin. Come here, you Bolshevik!"

  Lenin ran over there, excited by the reunion. Since being rescued, he was always torn between whimpering and jumping on his savior. Daros played with the doodle for a while before approaching Inácio for a quick hug.

  "Take a sit wherever you want. The beers are in that cooler there." He pointed to the box, settling back into his chair.

  Inácio took a bottle from the ice and chose a reclining chair, where he settled in and rubbed his temples with his eyes closed for a while.

  "What about Lurdes, how is she doing?"

  The former cop sat up and adjusted the chair pins to make the backrest straight. He took a sip of beer before answering.

  "Good. We're dating again, like two silly teenagers. We have to see if we still have a chance of making it work. A lot of water has passed under that bridge."

  "Of course you do. You love each other. That's what really matters."

  "Sometimes love alone isn't enough. You know what I keep thinking? I went through hell. I went to hell and sometimes I still go back there." Inácio waited before continuing, watching the dark woods at the end of the property. "What do I have to offer her?"

  Daros took a while to respond. He asked himself the same question every day. What did he offer the world? He had no social connections. The neighbors didn't even know his name. His only friend was a workaholic internal affairs officer whose greatest enemy was the guilt that his son was dead and he wasn't. One day Inácio had received a Father's Day hug without even knowing it was the last one, so he could thank him properly. Thinking more about what he told himself to justify his own existence, he finally murmured:

  "You can take out the trash."

  Inácio looked at him, trying to decide if he was serious or not. Upon concluding he was, he proposed a toast to taking out the trash. He shook his head, finding the idea funny.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Then they were quiet for a while, each haunted by their own ghosts. The older one looking at the ground, while the other concentrated on the growing darkness of the landscape.

  When the chief paid attention to Daros, it was evident the young man wasn't having his best days. His shoulders were slumped, like the corners of his mouth. If he didn't know him well, he'd say that... Fuck it. He'd say it anyway.

  "You look like a groom abandoned at the altar. Did some relationship I didn't even know had started end?"

  The other didn't come close to finding it funny. He shook his head slightly.

  "No. There's no one in my life."

  "That is shocking. A monosyllabic fellow who doesn't stay anywhere for too long, doesn't express emotions, and never learned to dance. Wow. I have no idea of why there isn't a bunch of fine ladies lining up at your door."

  This time Daros laughed loudly. He stretched his arm to grab another beer from the ice, drinking without saying anything.

  It was Inácio who broke the silence.

  "I met a young woman today."

  He knew Daros well enough to know he didn't usually make comments that encouraged dialogue. Instead, he listened carefully.

  "It was at the beach. I took Lenin to shit in the sand, you know how it is. Hey, don't look at me like that, I picked up the cigars. But I fumbled with the bag and let him escape. Then the beast took off running. He ran like there was no tomorrow. You know how he is. If he starts running, no one can catch him anymore. And I haven't been thirty for a long time. Then something caught Lenin's attention and he stopped. It was this woman. She held him for me until I got there."

  "Cool."

  "Yeah, but there's more. When I looked at her, I saw she had a black eye. She did a good job with makeup, but still, you know how it is. A trained eye was made to see."

  Daros swallowed hard. He couldn't keep his mouth shut.

  "Did you ask what happened?"

  "No, of course not. If she wanted to be open about it, she wouldn't have even disguised the bruise."

  Daros nodded. Made sense. He took another sip of beer, a much more bitter sip this time.

  "It was kind of... inspiring."

  "I'd hardly use that word to describe someone who got beaten."

  "I know, but listen. She was young, beautiful, injured... And she was there, at night, helping a stranger with a dog. That's not weakness. It is strength."

  "She might be running away."

  "She might, of course. And I hope so, with all my might. But, at the same time, she's there, at night, alone on the beach. And she still helps prevent a dog from escaping. That says a lot about her."

  "Maybe. It says she's still reckless, that she hasn't learned to protect herself."

  "I don't think so. Not at all. It says she's strong and won't give in. She won't hide and she won't accept it."

  "I think that's pushing it too much."

  "I doubt it. I felt her courage in every word she said, every move she made. Doesn't that make you rethink the missions you choose? The missions we choose?"

  "No. Not really."

  The negative answer earned a slow, dissatisfied shake of Inácio's head.

  "Well, you should. You should think about protecting these vulnerable people. Lending your strength to them."

  "I do that already."

  "No, you don't. You hunt killers when it's too late, when they've already killed. Like the robber-killer you came to get."

  "That's justice."

  "I'm not saying it isn't. I just don't know if it's enough."

  "I don't know where you're going with this." There was a trace of irritation in Daros's voice, an irritation that shouldn't be there. It indicated he knew where the other was going, but wouldn't give in.

  "Neither do I. It's just that we only meet women like that one from the beach when they're in a body bag. We see their picture in the newspaper or on the news and then we don't remember anymore, because the next day a second woman dies. And then another. It never ends. Only then do we put on our vigilante capes, pull out our unregistered phones from our pockets and play superheroes. When it's too late: when they're already dead."

  "We started this whole thing to catch the sons of bitches who got away. That's what we do. And we do it well. Neither of us is a fucking lifeguard."

  "No. We're not. We only show up after, when there's no one left to save. We didn't get into the business to save lives. But today I started asking myself why not."

  Daros didn't respond. But his silence said a lot.