Hard Rain

It was raining. I paid my tab and downed the last of the whiskey. I grabbed my coat from the rack by the door, slung it on, and stepped out into the night. This was not good rain. It was the kind you can feel in your bones, that soaks right through your raincoat into your skin and chills you to the core. Not that I could feel it; I’d gone numb years ago. It’s the job, see? Sure, you try to maintain a healthy emotional balance at first. Everyone does. But there comes a time when you gotta let go or let it destroy you.

I chose to let go and destroy myself the old fashioned way: booze and danger. I made a point to get shot at once or twice a week. Keeps the blood pumping. The drinking occurs on a more regular basis. You’d be surprised how many cases you can solve while still drunk off your ass. It’s not everyone’s thing, though; it takes a certain kind. The kind that gets sleepy instead of stupid. Stupid kills.

And that’s why I was getting loaded. Some dumbass thought it would be a good idea to kill a kid…

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