The Detectives' Story

XI

November 9, 2016

0800 Hours

Jir slammed the metal door closed on Dan. The anger in him passed through like a phase. Now, in its place, was a numbness that he felt often when alone. On the nights where his wife was crying in their bedroom, and he sat there in the lounge drinking whiskey in his robes.

"Anything else I can get you, sir?" A man behind the bar said. Jir looked up from staring at the burnt orange liquid in his glass. He swiveled whatever liquid there was left, and downed the drink.

"Yes, another Old Fashioned." The bartender nodded, grabbing the empty drink and filling it with sugar and bitters, and then adding whiskey. He handed Jir the drink, and he took it and drank half of it right there. The bartender took a cup from a rack, and started cleaning it with a towel. In the silence, the cries of Jir's wife resonated from the bedroom. The bartender tensed up, not really wanting to hear the cries of a woman. He's only been here for a couple of weeks, and this was considered normal. He couldn't stand it anymore.

"Not that it's any of my business, sir. Bu-"

"You're damn right it's none of your business," Jir said, cutting the bartender off. He swallowed the glass whole, and then put it down for the bartender to make another. "It's George, right?"

"Y-yes," George replied, picking up the glass to mix Jir a new whiskey.

"Okay George," Jir said, reaching into his outside pocket on his robes. His fingers grasped a cold, heavy metal object, and started lifting it from his pocket. George eyed the movement out of the corner of his eye. He tried not to get nervous, but he couldn't help shaking a little. "You're going to listen to me." George nodded his head as Jir pulled his personalized handgun. It was a SW22 Victory Handgun that had the initials J.H. on the end of the barrel. Jir patted the gun, staring at George with an emotionless look.

"You're opinion in this building is invalid. You belong to me, and you're lucky I'm in a good mood right now or I would've shot you in an instant. Now here are some ground rules." Jir stared at George, and noticed he was scared. He smiled. George slowly scooted Jir his drink, which he drank in gulp.

"Don't talk to me about my personal business. If you do, I will kill you. Don't reveal my address to anyone ever. If you do, I will kill you. Don't recount anything that may happen in this penthouse. If you do, I will-"

"Kill me?" Asked George, assuming what Jir was going to say. Jir stared at George in disbelief.

"Don't you ever interrupt me. If you do, I will kill you." Jir grunted. "Lucky for you, you didn't know that rule." Jir grabbed his handgun and placed it back into his pocket. When he did that, George relaxed with a slight sigh of relief.

"Not to be rude, sir. But I've been here for six weeks now. Why tell me all of this now?"

Jir stared at George.

"I only noticed you here tonight." With that, Jir got up and was making his way to his bedroom. George saw him leave, and felt relieved.

As Jir walked away, George whispered to himself, "Probably gonna abuse her some more, the poor girl."

George didn't notice, as he was cleaning the glasses, but Jir stopped where he was. He hung his head, almost exasperated. He quickly pulled out his gun, aimed, and shot George square in the head. George's head whiplashed as the bullet penetrated his skull, and into his brain. Eerie silence was filled after the heavy thud of George's body on the ground. Jir was staring at the spot where George's blood was. He sighed as he realized he needed to clean that. Jir pressed a button in his other pocket, signaling for his men to come get the body and dump it in the Hudson River.