Tales of The Windy City: The Murders
Gordon Flint shut down his computer and headed out of his office, and to his car. He opened the door to his black 77' Corvette Stingray. Gordon hopped inside quickly to avoid the showering rain overhead. He twisted the key in the ignition as his car roared to life over the sound of the pouring rain hitting against the metal roof of his car. His car rolled back and then forward onto the street, heading toward the closest bar next to his place of work: the Chicago Police Department. A good drink always calmed him down after a long day at work, he didn't have much but he enjoyed the sound of people talking and the small TV set that mumbled above the bar. On his ride there he tried not to think about the case of the murders that he had decided to pursue. It made him feel like he hadn't really accomplished much. . . and he really hadn't. When he arrived at the bar he put his tan fedora on and ran inside.
When Gordon got inside he spotted a seat at the bar and sat down. His tan trench coat touched the ground lightly as he took his seat. He decided to keep his fedora on.
"What'll be?" the bartender asked as he wiped down the counter in front of Flint.
"Just give me a beer."
The bartender reached for a glass and filled it up from the tap at an angle so that he didn't get foam. Gordon put down a five on the counter as he got his beer. The bartender scooped up the bill and walked off. Gordon began to think about the case again and tried to shove it out of his mind, but couldn't. He really did wish he had someone to talk to about this whole ordeal.