The detective hung up the phone and slipped it back into his pocket, and peered apprehensively through the rain down the alley towards his car, dreading getting back into the cold. He shifted his weight, noting the wetness of his socks. As far as he was concerned, it couldn't get any worse than that. "To hell with it," he thought. He flipped the collar up on his jacket to provide at least a little cover to the back of his bald head and neck from the wind. Ike marched out into the cold rain blowing at him sideways. He slipped past the crime scene, out of the alley, down the street to his old beat up '69 Mustang. The body of the car was black, one door was dark blue, the other was dark brown. The car rumbled as the engine was awakened with a roar. That was the only part about the car Ike hated, it wasn't exactly conducive to keeping a low profile.
The detective reached into the glove compartment and pulled out some napkins, wiping his face and head dry with one hand and flipping through the radio stations with the other. He went through each station twice, then decided to slip in a CD. Chulahoma. Ike flipped his lights on and headed south, away from the river that circled around the northern and western sides of the city, towards the station and his warm office.[c-1]
Ike had paperwork to do anyway, and that kept the chief happy. He parked his car in the usual spot--they weren't assigned, but everybody pretty much stuck to it, nobody knows how or why it started. He walked into the menacing, grey brick building. Light pushed out through the glass doorway into the approaching dark, inviting Ike inside. The lobby was small, and smelled like peanut butter from time to time. This time the air was thick with the perfume of the officer at the front desk. She was heavy and spilled over the sides of the office chair. Ike forced a smile and flashed his badge as he walked past her to the elevator and stabbed at the button with his finger. Sometimes she would try to pull him into obligatory conversations, and Ike didn't want to have to be rude. 11, but he knew that the chief's office was the entire 12th floor, and Ike's office was above his, at the very top.
The detective reached into the glove compartment and pulled out some napkins, wiping his face and head dry with one hand and flipping through the radio stations with the other. He went through each station twice, then decided to slip in a CD. Chulahoma. Ike flipped his lights on and headed south, away from the river that circled around the northern and western sides of the city, towards the station and his warm office.[c-1]
Ike had paperwork to do anyway, and that kept the chief happy. He parked his car in the usual spot--they weren't assigned, but everybody pretty much stuck to it, nobody knows how or why it started. He walked into the menacing, grey brick building. Light pushed out through the glass doorway into the approaching dark, inviting Ike inside. The lobby was small, and smelled like peanut butter from time to time. This time the air was thick with the perfume of the officer at the front desk. She was heavy and spilled over the sides of the office chair. Ike forced a smile and flashed his badge as he walked past her to the elevator and stabbed at the button with his finger. Sometimes she would try to pull him into obligatory conversations, and Ike didn't want to have to be rude. 11, but he knew that the chief's office was the entire 12th floor, and Ike's office was above his, at the very top.
