The cold sat with them like an old debt, unpaid and unspoken, while Christmas passed quietly somewhere far enough away to feel almost merciful.
A lone cigarette burns against the cold, a small act of defiance in a frozen landscape that feels suspended between waiting and memory.
The snow had stopped falling sometime before dawn, but neither of them noticed. Kowalski was working on his third cigarette. Dietrich hadn’t touched his.
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“You gonna smoke that or marry it?”
Dietrich looked down at the cigarette pinched between his fingers like he’d forgotten it was there. “Saving it,” he said, fighting to speak without his teeth chattering from the cold.
“For what? Victory parade?”
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“For when I want it.”
Kowalski shook his head and exhaled toward the gloomy sky. Somewhere behind them, maybe two miles back, somebody was probably drinking actual coffee. He tried not to think about it.
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“Merry Christmas, by the way.”
Dietrich snorted and spit. “Yeah. Merry Christmas.”
They sat with that for a while. The line was quiet. Had been since yesterday afternoon, which felt like a miracle and a trap at the same time. You never trusted the quiet.
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“You know what Danny got me last year?” Kowalski said.
Dietrich smirked, didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
“Socks. Goofy ones with the red stripes. Said they’d keep my feet warm when I was walking home from the bars.”
“Thoughtful.”
“He was a thoughtful guy.” Kowalski crushed the cigarette against his boot heel. “Ugly socks, though.”
“You wearing them now?”
Kowalski looked down at his boots, then back up with a side-eyed look. “Nah,” he chuckled. “Wore holes in ’em by February.”
Dietrich almost smiled. Almost.
A few minutes passed. The cold was doing that thing where it stopped hurting and started feeling like nothing at all, which was worse.
“Hey, Dietrich.”
“What.”
“You ever think about how your name is…”
“German, yeah. I’m fully aware.”
“I’m just saying. The irony.”
“My grandfather came over in 1886, Kowalski. Yours probably got off the same damn boat.”
“Mine’s Polish.”
“Oh, well then. Totally different.”
“It is different.”
“You’re right. Much more American. Very exotic. Kowalski.” Dietrich finally lit the cigarette. “Sounds like a guy who’d own a butcher shop in Chicago.”
“My uncle owns a butcher shop in Chicago.”
“Of course he does.”
Kowalski grinned despite himself. The expression felt strange on his frozen face, like he might even break something if he pushed it. He let it fall away.
“Danny would’ve had something to say about this. Sitting in a frozen ditch on Christmas morning.”
“Probably would’ve made it funny.”
“He would’ve made it stupid. Which is the same thing, with him.”
Dietrich took a long drag. Let it out slow. “Yeah.”
More silence. The good kind, if there was such a thing here. The kind where two guys don’t have to fill space just because it’s empty.
“You think anybody back home’s thinking about us right now?” Kowalski asked.
Dietrich considered it. “My mother, probably. Even yours, too… maybe.”
“I mean regular people. You know, kids. Families.”
“Probably not.”
“No shit.” Kowalski pulled his collar tighter. “Probably not.”
“Some kid’s probably mad right now because he got the wrong present. Wanted a bike, got a sled. Or the other way around. Doesn’t even remember there’s a war on.”
Kowalski turned to look at him. “That bother you?”
Dietrich took another drag. Held it. Then shook his head slowly as the smoke curled out.
“Nah.” He paused. “That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”
Kowalski frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Dietrich gestured vaguely toward the east, toward the line, toward everything. “That kid being mad about a sled. His parents drinking coffee and not thinking about us. That’s what we’re doing here. So they don’t have to think about it.”
“That’s depressing.”
“Nah. Not really.” Dietrich looked at him. “That’s the win. If we do this right, nobody remembers. They just… have Christmas. This one. And all the ones after.”
Kowalski sat with that. Let it settle somewhere in his chest next to the cold and the grief and the socks with the holes in them.
“So, we’re fighting for ingratitude.”
“We’re fighting for normal.” Dietrich shrugged. “Normal people don’t think about guys like us. That’s what makes it normal.”
Kowalski was quiet for a long moment. Then he laughed. His short breath fogged the air between them.
“Danny would’ve hated that.”
“Danny would’ve said it better, that bastard.”
“Yeah.” Kowalski reached for another cigarette. “He damn sure would’ve.”
Somewhere far behind them, past the mud and the wire and the silence that felt like waiting, church bells rang. Or maybe they imagined it. Either way, they didn’t mention it.
Some things you just let be.
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If you liked this story (and I know you did), please check out T’s popular book, “Life in the Fishbowl.” In it, he documents his time as a deep undercover cop in Houston, where he took down 51 of the nation’s most notorious Crips.
He donates all profits to charities that mentor children of incarcerated parents.
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Tegan Broadwater is an entrepreneur, author, musician, former undercover officer, podcast host, and positive change-maker.
Learn more about his latest projects at TeganBroadwater.com
Tegan’s Music (Artist name: Tee Cad)
Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/5LSl3h5TWN1n4ER7b7lYTn?si=o7XaRWEeTPabfddLEZRonA
iTunes: https://music.apple.com/us/artist/tee-cad/1510253180
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@teecad/releases
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