Mike exhales and smiles, all soft lines and an almost sort of relief. His shoulders dipped, and for a brief moment it was like whenever the group had a bonfire going, or talked about Charlie's sauce nights.
"Because I couldn't help thinking that in the end, it didn't matter which side you were on. You were going to see and do some fucked up shit. I've heard stories from people--big people, important people-about what officers and the FBI and DEA have done. Most of them, they say it's justified. That all of the stuff they do is bad, there are stories worse than what we did because they wanted to get the bad guy. Because they were the good guys, whatever price they had to pay from murder to torture to god knows what else, it didn't matter. And I just looked at the page of the entrance exam and realized something." He shakes his head, as if it's a charming anecdote about his old dog that died. "I'd rather be on the side that knows they're pieces of shit than the ones pretending theirs smells like shit."
He'd never told anyone that, but he rubs a hand on his stubble, much like he'd done at the hotel room. "It's hard, at first. Petty crime? Driving people for drugs and money? That stuff, that's easy. It's stuff... things and situations like this that there comes a point where you have to shut yourself off. Have to tell yourself that no matter what happens you have to look at yourself in the mirror the next day. You have to look straight into your own eyes and find a way to bury whatever it is you did because otherwise, it's going to eat you alive. And you... Fuck, Jesus Christ. Billy, if there was anyone--anyone else, I wouldn't have done that to you. I wouldn't have, I swear to God."
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"Because I couldn't help thinking that in the end, it didn't matter which side you were on. You were going to see and do some fucked up shit. I've heard stories from people--big people, important people-about what officers and the FBI and DEA have done. Most of them, they say it's justified. That all of the stuff they do is bad, there are stories worse than what we did because they wanted to get the bad guy. Because they were the good guys, whatever price they had to pay from murder to torture to god knows what else, it didn't matter. And I just looked at the page of the entrance exam and realized something." He shakes his head, as if it's a charming anecdote about his old dog that died. "I'd rather be on the side that knows they're pieces of shit than the ones pretending theirs smells like shit."
He'd never told anyone that, but he rubs a hand on his stubble, much like he'd done at the hotel room. "It's hard, at first. Petty crime? Driving people for drugs and money? That stuff, that's easy. It's stuff... things and situations like this that there comes a point where you have to shut yourself off. Have to tell yourself that no matter what happens you have to look at yourself in the mirror the next day. You have to look straight into your own eyes and find a way to bury whatever it is you did because otherwise, it's going to eat you alive. And you... Fuck, Jesus Christ. Billy, if there was anyone--anyone else, I wouldn't have done that to you. I wouldn't have, I swear to God."