The Best That I Got

Rain was coming down hard, strong gusts of Chicagoan pre-wintry winds whipping a steady deluge into Jay's face as he stepped out of his car and sank his feet into the sea of puddles gradually seizing the sidewalk. His boots were supposed to be waterproof, but they stood no chance against the element this time. Water seeped through the seams, and in a matter of seconds the footbed was flooded, his socks soaked, and as he jogged the twenty yards from his truck to Molly's, mud sprinkled his jeans in a disgusting murky brown that perfectly matched his gloomy mood.

Halstead couldn't bring himself to care. He pushed open the dark mahogany door to enter the bar, hesitating on the doorstep just long enough to drag a hand through his cropped soggy hair and wipe it on his damp pant leg in a sloppy attempt to dry himself off. A futile endeavor, but he didn't care about that either. As he walked up to the counter, the soles of his shoes squeaking with every step, he went through the motions of pulling up the pictures of his CDC vaccination report card on his phone. "Hey Herrmann," he tiredly greeted the bartender once he came to a halt in front of him, his device poised for the grey-haired man to see.

It wasn't like he needed to prove anything here. The seasoned firefighter knew he'd gotten his shots months ago and could probably recite his, as well as all the other regular's vaccination dates by heart. At this point, showing proof was merely a formality. A way to follow established guidelines, stay ahead of new mandates already lurking around the corner, and most importantly, maintain the peace for the less enthusiastic patrons. And as an officer of the law, he abided by the rules and felt the need to set a good example, whether he understood all the reasons behind them or not.

Christopher leaned over the bar and lightly clapped Jay on the shoulder. "You're good," he assured him in his classic Chicagoan drawl, an easygoing smirk on his face and amusement sparkling in his blue eyes. Ever so subtly, he let them wander to behind the detective, checking if he had brought company this time, but discovered that Halstead once again came alone, a circumstance that concerned the family man more than he liked to admit.

Smile faltering and making way for a sympathetic simper, the bartender studied his young friend closely. The worn, downright haggard features he'd noticed the last few times he was here were even more pronounced now than they had been just two nights ago, his movements as he slipped his phone into the left jeans pocket sluggish and languid, speaking of bone-deep exhaustion. Herrmann had no idea what afflicted Jay, but he sure looked like he needed something strong to take the edge off. Deciding not to comment on it, knowing he'd only be rebuffed just like the last time he tried, he quietly asked, "the usual?" already snatching a clean tumbler from the stand and a bottle of his finest whiskey from below the counter.

The Bushmills 21-year-old rare single malt was reserved exclusively for special occasions and special customers. Customers like the respectable undercover cop who had saved Molly's from being fleeced and torched down nearly a decade ago, something the firefight would forever be grateful and deeply indebted to him for. Not that the kid would ever take any credit; he was just too humble for that. It didn't stop the engine lieutenant from treating him to the good stuff whenever he got the chance, and by the looks of it, today was as good a chance as any.

Before Halstead could pass up the expensive scotch, Herrmann already poured two fingers of the amber liquid into the glass and placed it in front of Jay. With a nagging feeling, he wondered if he would actually drink it this time. Bracing his hands on the counter, the bar owner merely watched for a moment as the detective fumbled with his right pocket to fish out his wallet but had mercy with him when he tried to pull out a generous amount of bills. "Nah," he brushed him off with a wave of his hand and pushed himself away from the bar. "Don't worry about it, kid." He nodded down at the whiskey between them, a lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "This one's on the house."