He should be at home with his dog.
Instead, he’s walking down a dimly-lit street in torrential rain and he’s just discovered that one of his shoes has a hole in it.
Head down, shoulders stooped, the rain crashes down, roaring in his ears as he wraps his coat tightly around himself, clutching at the lapels like a lifeline. Maybe it’s not the rain. Perhaps it’s the sound of a thousand guns being fired and their accompanying screams. He knows it’s time to give up his badge. He’s a dinosaur, a throwback to a time when motive was simple greed or revenge
He almost smiles, reminiscing about his ‘Golden Age of Murder.’ He approaches the flashing blue lights and he can just make out the prone body of yet another victim. Another child, another wasted life , another gun, another scream.
, another gun, another scream.
A young officer approaches and explains the situation, holding an umbrella over them both. The water hitting the black vinyl only increases the pounding in his ears. He nods and walks off, fishing in his pocket for his matches and cigar, something to do with his hands.
Another gun, another scream – he’s immune to them now.
They finally beat him.