It Was No Accident
It was no accident that I'd stumbled into Rover's Rump. Hell, no. I'd been drinking since noon and stumble was about all I was capable of.
But a couple of my favourite Pabst Tests warmed the cockles of my heart and I was fine again as long as I didn't have to get off the bar stool.
After a while in many a cop's career he - or she - comes to pretty much live amongst the dwellers of the seedy underworld. After all, that's where much of the dirt is done and where much of the snitching occurs. And every cop has his stable of snitches. I don't know why they call it a stable. There's no horses there. Plenty of horse's asses, mind you, so maybe that's why.
And as I waited for my snitch to show up at Rover's Rump I nursed my Pabst and whiskey chaser. You know I'd read - and I read a lot - that often hard-boiled cops such as myself spent much of their time in bars and pubs drinking beer and whiskey chasers. Must be the policeman's poison of choice I thought and so I'd developed a bit of a dependence on it myself.
But I needed something to eat. So I ordered a bowl of chili. When it came I exclaimed "Wow, this is a super bowl of chill." And it was. It was really good. "That's our Seahawk Special" said Joe. "Seahawk? Why do they call it that?" I asked. "You don't wanna know" said Joe. "But if you eat enough of it you'll be galloping to the men's room like a Bronco." All of a sudden I had an unexplainable urge to watch a football game.
I was investigating a triple murder that my buddies at the Cheese Shop affectionately referred to as the Three Amigo murders. They weren't half wrong. The victims were three Mexicans known as the Amigo brothers. How about that, eh? And they'd been running blow across the border for some time before someone decided to "blow" them away.
Like a finicky black cat here came my snitch slithering through the pub's front door. Bird, that's what he called himself, just Bird. And, oh, how this Bird could sing. He crept up beside me, gave me a wink and lifted his arm to Joe the barkeep. He never got his drink because a shot rang out and felled him like a stone.
Damn, I thought, this case may take longer to solve than I thought.
Day 2 of 28 in Nicky and Mike's writing challenge. Check out the links at We Work For Cheese to see if anyone else is dying to try to come up with something to meet today's prompt.