Dead Bullets: Soggy Bread

Cigarettes. Piled up.
How many are there?
How long have I been here?
Two packs. No. Where did they go?
Why am I smoking? I've smoked two packets through while on this case and I've barely scratched the paint.
This car is making a beeline for the river and if I don't pull the door off soon then it'll slip through my fingers. Another mess spinning down the drain, taking all of my dough with it.
Soggy bread.
It must've slipped off my desk when I slipped away and landed in the puddle. Roof's dripping, should get that looked at. Passed out? I'm not sure.
Solve case. Get money. The puddle has siblings now, Billy Bucket and William Washcloth. They're both pricks, can't even do what they were made for. Billy spills water and William only soaks up so much before he gets full and useless. Wring him out and he'll complain, even rip. Find one of his twins and it's all ok for a few tries, then death again.
I can smell whiskey. It's me? Probably the reason for my current state.
Cigarettes and Whiskey. My office smells like a toilet. Wait. It's only me. I peel my face off the ink blotter and brush my hair out of my eyes. What time is it? Am I still alive? Did I drown in my whiskey? Or choke on my cigarette? Or maybe Billy and William finally betrayed me and they're the reason I drowned. I doubt Billy could have actually held enough water to drown a grown man but still, with William's help maybe it was possible. I reach for my eye but only succeed in poking myself. Coordination off, whiskey definitely involved.
Little girl. Dirty bastard. Little girl down a drain and no one can find out why. Cops cry foul, throw their hands up and quit. Protect their own pockets and serve their own interests. 'Don't piss off the Kingpin', they say to me 'He'll have you whacked Reece'. My beard is covered in crumbs, pre-soggy bread no doubt.
Brush. Brush is gone. Lost in a stupor. Thrown from the balcony into the alley where my butts pile up to the fire escape. Thrown away for what? Why would I forsake my brush? And why have I been smoking? I've never smoked, never put the pipe in my mouth. And now I'm ripping through two packets, drinking whiskey, wondering about soggy bread and worrying about whether I'll get revenge for a little girl I've never met.
Phone rings, brings me back to reality. Fan swirling lazily above my head, crumbs catching the soot sprites which live in my roof. Phone's still ringing. I pick it up.
'Reece?' She says, I burble a grunt at her and lean back in my old chair 'Reece where are you?'
I pause to think of whether her question was rhetorical, it's not like the line she called was portable, clearly I'm in my office, sitting in my old chair trying to clean the cobwebs out of my brain.
'Office' I reply 'You called the office'
'I need that money Reece. You said you have the cash at the pub 45 minutes ago' she pauses as if to wait for a response, I don't indulge her and I have no intention of filling the awkward silence.
'Well?' She insisted
'How old are you Vivian?' I asked
'What?'
'How old are you?'
'23' she replied proudly, as if this particular age meant anything to me.
'Ok. Being 23 I feel like you would have learned about the powers of deduction by now?'
'Of course I have!' She spat back 'I'm not an idiot Reece!'
'So if I'm not there then obviously...' This time I pause for effect. The silence went on longer than it would have taken most to put the pieces together. Then again I never assumed Vivian was blessed with an abundance of intelligence.
'You don't have it do you?'
'Bingo' I hung up the phone and moved to pull the connection out. My chair buckles and one of the wheels snaps.
Hello floor.
Hello soggy bread.
Hello puddle.
I've been here before. Still drunk, like all the other times I've found myself sprawled on the sticky carpet. Not so sticky now thanks to the puddle, which had begun taking on a milky porridge colour, more slippery than anything else. Mushed chunks sucked on my arm and soaked into my sleeves. Never much cared for business shirts anyway, but the game requires a certain look and that look should be equal parts professional and intimidating. Something about a man in a coat and tie with a bad attitude seemed to claw at the fears of crooks in this town and I make every effort to be that fear in the flesh. Though I suspect in my current state I wouldn't succeed in intimidating a cat let alone the piece of shit who killed that little girl. What was her name? Tina? Geena? Goldie? Mind draws a blank, too focused on remaining conscious.
Phone rings again.
Fuck off Vivian.
I let it ring out and the answering machine kicks in. I reach out and swat at the desk, trying to push the answering machine off onto the floor but I just hurt my fingertips and scare a mouse back into it's hole in the wall.
'Reece!' a shrill cry rings through my dusty office and then silence. The machine gives out and the speaker blows, a small but much desired break for me. I'm not helping anyone down here. My brain does it's best to roll me over but I just struggle with my jacket for a little while.
Hours pass.
I awaken again, this time it's to the sound of a gunshot. Outside.
Move body move. Get going.
I roll to the side, three or four times and force myself to stand, groping at the wall for anything to assist in my ascent. I find the closet door and hold tight to the handle, righting myself and rearing to full height.
Head rush, stood up too quickly, but no time to deal with that now. To the door, go!
I nearly slip in the soggy puddle but my new found determination keeps me from falling over as I grab my 37 Stakeout from the umbrella stand and burst through the door, knocking the 'L' off of the sign on my door. It now read 'Re__e _aw'.
No time. Stop thinking about the door. MOVE!
I race down the stairs, kicking out the door at the bottom and rushing into the night air.
3am.
3am and a dead body in the alley below my window.
There's a note, perp must have left it behind. For who?
'Stay away Law. Keep your nose out of the Kingpin's affairs. The girl was an accident. Let it go. Or else.'
The last bit was written in blood.
They don't realise what they've done. My resolve bolsters as it started to rain and I pump the Ithica, holding it steadily in my hand.
'The Law always wins.' I tell the night.