Open up to a rain-drenched city, grey, dotted with orange streetlights piercing through the darkness intermittently.  The roads are empty, the low grumbling of my old Caddy’s engine pierces through the tapping of raindrops on the metal roof above me.

As I pull up to the crime scene, red and blue lights flash off the brick walls of the buildings and the shiny, wet ground.  Parking in front of the yellow police tape, I step out of the car with a slam of the heavy door.  Smooth saxophone music starts playing in the background as I pull the trench coat up over my shoulders.  Fat drops of water land on the fabric, slowly sinking and dissipating into the canvas.

Just inside the alleyway, a copper waves at me.  Excuse me, that may be rude.  A man of the law rather, a police officer.  He beckons to me and I step under the tape blocking off the area, holding the wide brimmed hat on my head.

Mixed among the muddy, trash filled puddles is a clear sign of crimson, trailing away from a body laying lifeless on the ground.  The police officer nods to me, starting to explain the circumstances of the death.  It’s a mob hit so it seems, as are many of the other crimes that happen here in this city.  All of the crime in this city is a result of the mob, in fact.  It’s strange.  Someone steal a candy bar from a convenience store?  That’s the mob.  Pushing an old lady down the stairs?  Definitely the mob.  Double parking?  Loitering?  The mobs’ involved.

Some coroner hovers over the body, examining the obvious wounds.  A bullet through the forehead.  Any signs of struggle, or otherwise presence of would be the perpetrators had already been washed away by the rain.  It seems the man’s wallet had been picked too, maybe by the perps.  More likely some bum who was passing by and wanted the money out of it.  Damn you mobsters.

Rather than taking the time to confirm things for myself, I duck under the fire escape to get out of the rain, if only by a bit.  I had an overall feeling of apathy about the whole situation, a nicotine craving, and most of all, a pack of cigarettes calling my name.

The match finally caught flame, dodging the drops of rain coming down overhead, and I lit up.  Bringing the cigarette to my lips, I take in the musty goodness, or whatever.  The person writing this has never smoked, so who knows.

Just as the first hot ember had dropped off the end, I hear one of the cop cars nearby roar to life, siren letting out a blare that begins to echo down through the buildings as it hurdles away from the scene.  I quickly get another officer’s attention who had heard the call.  Just my luck… another scene to go to, since this one seemed to be under control.  I wonder what the mob might have done this time…

%d bloggers like this: