Jack silently followed Archelleta's gesture and left the office, leaving Terry and the weirdo Ivan alone. With all those crazy things happening in town, a psychic was just another color in the weirdo aliens palette and he could be a helpful one, but that was for Archeletta to decide. The only thing Jaack hoped for is that Archeletta wouldn't think something funny like sending them together on a mission. Jack had his fair share of troubles when he hung out with other people, to have the luxury of acquainting himself with new people.
Another cigarette was a must as soon as Jack exited the police department, after ignoring the poor deputy's irritated glare. Jack liked colder seasons, so a trip to Ruxbury in Fall would be nice, if investigating alien serial murders was not involved and it was just a solo drinking-your-liver-dead-in-different-bars trip. Well, beggars can't be choosers. However, Jack needed two things to take care of before going. Finding convenient transport and seeing his father off. Luckily, he would do both in one go.
Jack had a fight with his father, so they didn't see each other for the past two days. But, while not particulary afraid of any possible danger during his assignments, Jack was concerned with seeing his Pa before going. For all he knew, he could die by some weird alien coming out of his stomach and he would regret if he was not in good terms with Pa.
He slowly walked towards Greely's, the bar that, for Jack was a second home. It was where Jack spent most of his after school time when he was a kid (despite his father's protest that he shouldn't be there) and the place he practically lived in after he dropped out of school. His original plan to work there went down the drain, though, because of his short temper towards clients who were causing a ruckus.
He spent his time thinking what to say to him on his way there and ended up deciding that maybe a hug would be a good idea. Fifteen minutes later, he was in front of the bar door. His father was probably preparing things to open the bar in the evening, so no one else should be inside. He put of the cigarette and entered the bar.
The bar had its usual, dusty and not so clean appearance, a shadow of how the bar was before his mother's death, at least from what he heard. At the time, Greely's was a wonderful bar, a place where people would enjoy delicious cocktails in peace or come for a romantic date drinking good wine. His father was a proud bartender, a master cocktail-maker and a man with high standards for his job. Helena Greely's death took a toll on John Greely, though, who now ran a messy bar, whose clients were the town's alcoholics. It was probably because Jack knew about this place's past glory that he was usually angry with the disrespect it's clients would show from time to time.
His father was at the bar counter, polishing the bottles, probably the only part of the bar that would always be spotless clean, along with the drinking glasses, which Jack believed was his father's last flame of dedication towards his job. A 63 year-old man, his tired mind was reflected to the more than the usual wrinkles on his face. As far as Jack could remember, he has never seen this man's smile be genuine or not tired. His body, as it was now, was the perfect container for a saddened soul, such as his and the gift wrap was a not-crefully ironed white shirt with a waistcoat worn over it, along with an old pair of blacjtrousers and unpolished black shoes. The old man, respinding to the door's closing sound, turned to his adoptive son, then nonchalantly turned back to the bottle storage shelves.
"We are still closed, if you wanrt a drink, the story opens by 7."
His father's attitude, sent Jack's eagerness for some family moments flying through the window.
"I don't need your permission to enter the store, old man. I am taking the bike, some Ardbeg and I will be lending myself some cash. I am going to Ruxbury for a job, so I will return the money soon.".
Jack entered the bar counter and grabbed an Ardbeg whiskey bottle. It was one his favorite brands, the peat process the Islay island whiskey distilleries are known for using, giving it a smokey taste that Jack enjoyed. He filled his flask with the beverage and then he opened a drawer and grabbed what appeared to be keys and a couple hundred bucks.
"Se you later old man and...", ...be careful while I'm gone was what Jack wanted to say, "...clean this dump a little better, you serve customers for fucks sake..."
"Son, whatever you do, be careful. And it's chilly now, so dress well and be careful not to catch a cold."
His father's unexpected words stopped Jack on his tracks for a mere moment, but he quickly regained his composure.
"I will...", he replied as he opened the bar's door once more, this time to leave.
Jack took a good sip of whiskey from his flash, lit another cigarette and headed to a small, locked, wooden shack next to the bar. He used one of the keys he took from Greely's on the shack's lock. Inside there was a 1965 Harley Davidson chopper, which, despite its age, was very carefully conditioned. It was probably the only kind of motorbike in the world that Jack knew how to condition and mechanically take care off, as it was Jack's only hobby. The bike was his father's and it was still perfectly functioning until today.
He started the vechile's engine. He would wait for the engine to run a bit and finish his cigarette before leaving for Ruxbury.
Another cigarette was a must as soon as Jack exited the police department, after ignoring the poor deputy's irritated glare. Jack liked colder seasons, so a trip to Ruxbury in Fall would be nice, if investigating alien serial murders was not involved and it was just a solo drinking-your-liver-dead-in-different-bars trip. Well, beggars can't be choosers. However, Jack needed two things to take care of before going. Finding convenient transport and seeing his father off. Luckily, he would do both in one go.
Jack had a fight with his father, so they didn't see each other for the past two days. But, while not particulary afraid of any possible danger during his assignments, Jack was concerned with seeing his Pa before going. For all he knew, he could die by some weird alien coming out of his stomach and he would regret if he was not in good terms with Pa.
He slowly walked towards Greely's, the bar that, for Jack was a second home. It was where Jack spent most of his after school time when he was a kid (despite his father's protest that he shouldn't be there) and the place he practically lived in after he dropped out of school. His original plan to work there went down the drain, though, because of his short temper towards clients who were causing a ruckus.
He spent his time thinking what to say to him on his way there and ended up deciding that maybe a hug would be a good idea. Fifteen minutes later, he was in front of the bar door. His father was probably preparing things to open the bar in the evening, so no one else should be inside. He put of the cigarette and entered the bar.
The bar had its usual, dusty and not so clean appearance, a shadow of how the bar was before his mother's death, at least from what he heard. At the time, Greely's was a wonderful bar, a place where people would enjoy delicious cocktails in peace or come for a romantic date drinking good wine. His father was a proud bartender, a master cocktail-maker and a man with high standards for his job. Helena Greely's death took a toll on John Greely, though, who now ran a messy bar, whose clients were the town's alcoholics. It was probably because Jack knew about this place's past glory that he was usually angry with the disrespect it's clients would show from time to time.
His father was at the bar counter, polishing the bottles, probably the only part of the bar that would always be spotless clean, along with the drinking glasses, which Jack believed was his father's last flame of dedication towards his job. A 63 year-old man, his tired mind was reflected to the more than the usual wrinkles on his face. As far as Jack could remember, he has never seen this man's smile be genuine or not tired. His body, as it was now, was the perfect container for a saddened soul, such as his and the gift wrap was a not-crefully ironed white shirt with a waistcoat worn over it, along with an old pair of blacjtrousers and unpolished black shoes. The old man, respinding to the door's closing sound, turned to his adoptive son, then nonchalantly turned back to the bottle storage shelves.
"We are still closed, if you wanrt a drink, the story opens by 7."
His father's attitude, sent Jack's eagerness for some family moments flying through the window.
"I don't need your permission to enter the store, old man. I am taking the bike, some Ardbeg and I will be lending myself some cash. I am going to Ruxbury for a job, so I will return the money soon.".
Jack entered the bar counter and grabbed an Ardbeg whiskey bottle. It was one his favorite brands, the peat process the Islay island whiskey distilleries are known for using, giving it a smokey taste that Jack enjoyed. He filled his flask with the beverage and then he opened a drawer and grabbed what appeared to be keys and a couple hundred bucks.
"Se you later old man and...", ...be careful while I'm gone was what Jack wanted to say, "...clean this dump a little better, you serve customers for fucks sake..."
"Son, whatever you do, be careful. And it's chilly now, so dress well and be careful not to catch a cold."
His father's unexpected words stopped Jack on his tracks for a mere moment, but he quickly regained his composure.
"I will...", he replied as he opened the bar's door once more, this time to leave.
Jack took a good sip of whiskey from his flash, lit another cigarette and headed to a small, locked, wooden shack next to the bar. He used one of the keys he took from Greely's on the shack's lock. Inside there was a 1965 Harley Davidson chopper, which, despite its age, was very carefully conditioned. It was probably the only kind of motorbike in the world that Jack knew how to condition and mechanically take care off, as it was Jack's only hobby. The bike was his father's and it was still perfectly functioning until today.
He started the vechile's engine. He would wait for the engine to run a bit and finish his cigarette before leaving for Ruxbury.
