The door of the pub ground open slowly, letting a chill in before the worn oak door slammed shut on the sleet and bone-chilling wind. The man that had entered was a sad sight with eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep and his face and body tense with stress. His clothes were soaking from lack of a coat; one side was particularly drenched and he walked with a limp, as if he'd fallen on his way to the pub.
Before the man could sit, the bartender was pressing a glass into his hand. "Hard day a'ready, inspector?" He inquired cheerfully. The man, the inspector, guzzled the first glass before replying with a tired grunt. The barkeep poured more whiskey into the inspector's glass before dragging a stool over to sit and converse.
The two men exchanged quiet pleasantries like old friends meeting up after a couple days apart. The inspector asked after the barkeep's family and the bartender asked how the inspector's visit to the doctor had gone. The pub was relatively empty with only a few drunks sleeping off hangovers in the early hours of the morn.
"Where you come from then?" The bartender asked.
"Berner Street," the inspector replied, taking another gulp from his glass. "We had another two come in late last night."
"Two?" The bartender was incredulous.
"Unfortunately."
"Ya' get anythin' from 'em this time? Or, is Jacky-boy still cleanin' up after his'elf?" The bartender asked with a shake of his head.
Pursing his lips, the inspector shook his head, anger clear on his tired face. "It was futile."
The bartender sighed loudly and leaned back in astonishment. "Heavens above."
The inspector leaned forward in order to confide in the bartender. "I am beginning to wonder if we will ever capture him."
"Or, if we be to fear 'is terror til the end o' time, right?" The bartender offered in agreement. Both men nodded, quiet and solemn.
"What we need, " the inspector began, "is a detective who ca-!"
The inspector cut off as one of the drunks stumbled to his feet from his spot down the counter. He was grubby, hunched over, and covered in a long coat walked with a severe limp in his right leg. He jerked his hand out of his pocket and a few coins poured out onto the counter.
Immediately, the barkeep was there and swept the coins into his hand. "Ya' a'right there, Mr. R, sir?" He asked cheerfully. The man grunted once before limping towards the door. He paused only once and turned to face the inspector, who was quietly swirling the amber liquid in his glass.
"Yer' ne'er goin' t' find 'im." The man rasped heavily to the inspector.
The inspector started in surprise. "Excuse me?"
"You are no' goin' to find Jack, Inspector Reid." The man repeated, his accent significantly lessened as he emphasized each word. Before the inspector could reply, the man turned and left the pub, letting the door slam.
For a minute, the inspector stared at the door. His tired brain whirled but he couldn't place why he felt the hairs on the back of his head rose or why he felt as though something were screaming at him. Shaking his head and shaking those thoughts off, the inspector turned back to the bartender, who had finished wiping down the area of the counter where the drunk had just been.
"So, as I was saying, what we need is a detective who can see things we cannot and blend in where we cannot, and knows just about everything about crime there is to know. Know what I mean?"
"Ya' wan' a man who ca' consult wit' all o' youse down a' Scotland Yard, ya' mean?" The bartender offered with a slow nod of understanding.
While the bartender continued speaking with Detective Inspector Edmund Reid, down the street a man limped around a corner and straitened up as soon as he was out of sight of the pub. He smoothed his long ratty coat out and positioned his hat to hide his face as he lost his limp and strolled down the street, heading in the direction of Berner Street. Women bumped into him, gentlemen moved out of his way, and children ran past. Dogs barked and people gossiped and shouted and shared the latest news.
No one said anything to the tall man as he whistled his way through the crowd and made his return to the scene of the crime.
......
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Happy writing!
