When the accident was over and the police had arrived at the scene, Tomas was sitting on the bumper of a squad car holding an ice pack on the brim of his nose and watching the paramedics work on the man who had been in the other car.

The crew arrived swiftly. First the highway patrol came and then the paramedics, followed by the investigators, the therapist and then the detective. Shortly after came the road crew and coroners. Roadmen talked and joked to each other as they blocked off the dead lane and lead the traffic with road flares down the open lane. The crew set up quick, neat and professionally. It had been a good, clean sweep.

Tomas’s face was smeared with blood and dry sweat and there was a large gash on the brim of his nose that had finally stopped bleeding. His heart was beginning to feel calm again when he saw that everything was being taken care of so smoothly. He watched the paramedic hover over the man, pushing on his chest over and over again and speaking serious words as he worked. Finally he stopped and sat back on the road and threw down his plastic gloves in frustration. Then the other paramedic put a blanket over the man’s face.

The detective had been watching from the side of the road when they announced the man dead. He gave a languid huff when the paramedic spread the sheet over the man’s face and covered him from head to toe. The detective had a rough face and the tough look of an older beat cop but wore a black suit and tie. He drank coffee as he stood silently and watched the man be dead. Then a black van pulled up and two men got out and they had a large black bag and they dropped it next to the dead man. Tomas stood up and stretched his stiff joints and then walked over to the detective.

They stood together and watched the man be dead.

“We’ll get a statement from you later, Jack,” said the detective. “Just try and relax now.” Tomas watched the detective drink coffee, amazed at his lack of concern. After a couple of minutes the detective could no longer stand it.

“What’s the problem, Jack?”

“How must it be to have your job?” asked Tomas.

“I’m not sure that I’m following you,” said the detective.

“You come out here in the middle of the night and supervise situations where people die. You don’t look the least bit phased.”

“I don’t have it that bad,” said the detective. “You know who’s got it bad is the paramedics. If you saw how many people they wished they could save but all ended up like Jack over there then you’d know. Sometimes I come out here and there ain’t no injuries or deaths. But the paramedics only come out to see injuries and death all the time. They got it bad.” As he was talking, one of the paramedics passed them. “You got it bad, right Jack?” asked the detective to the paramedic.

“Oh, yea. I’ve got it bad,” the paramedic said. “But you know who has it worse then me? Those guys have it worse than me.” He pointed at the coroners putting the dead man into the black bag. “They have to come out and zip up the dead. Every time the people are dead. They never get a chance to see one saved. At least I get to see one saved every now and then.” Tomas and the detective thought about this for a moment and then agreed that the coroners had it worse then the paramedics.

“Yea,” said the detective glaring at the coroners. “Those bastards have it pretty bad.”

“They don’t have it as bad as the therapist,” said another man from behind them. The three men turned to see a man standing in the road with a large broom and a hose attached to a machine. He was cleaning the blood off the street. “The therapist has it bad,” he said.

“Every time someone dies he has to call the family and tell them what happened. So on top of seeing the dead, he has to live the tragedy with the family. And that reaction is the same every time.” They looked over at the therapist and he seemed distant, as if he were in a deep thought that he did not wish to be in. The three men nodded in agreement that the therapist had the worst job and the man who was cleaning up pushed his broom and made his way down the road. The paramedic watched him and shook his head.

“If you ask me,” said the paramedic when the man with the broom was out of earshot,” he’s got it worse than all of us.” They watched the man push the broom over to the side of the road as the trucks pulled away and the area was cleared. He sprayed the blood and it ran dark red but thinned as it disappeared into the gutter.

“Poor bastard,” said the paramedic.

“You got that right Jack,” said the detective. “Being called only to wipe them off the road; not knowing who or why; making them vanish off the face of the earth so everyone can drive by and not have to know. He knows, I’ll tell you that much.” The paramedic patted the detective on the shoulder and then he made his way over to the ambulance, got in and drove away.

“Come on Jack,” said the detective to Tomas. “Let’s go get that statement.” They got into the car and left and then the tow truck pulled away and the coroner’s truck and the therapist, leaving the area completely cleared, except of course for the man cleaning up the remains of the road fatality.