LOVE LIKE HIS - Chapter 32 - FUELING UP - An Original Story by @papa-pepper

papa-pepper (80)in #fiction • 7 years ago

LOVE LIKE HIS - Chapter 32 – FUELING UP

It takes Cromwell a moment to snap out of it. He’s dumbfounded by the whole situation. In all of his years as a detective, he’s never been involved in a conversation like that one.

Now, he’s offended by the accusations of Mr. Swier, and amazed at his own lack of effort in preventing his prey from escaping.

“That rat!” Cromwell sneers.

The reason, at least from Cromwell’s point of view, is clear. He’s off his game right now and needs a drink. Everything in him wants to take off after Gary, but he’s been gone for a few minutes now.

“How in the world did that happen?”

Cromwell had him trapped. Pinned down. In his grasp. Yet, the man was able to just drive right past him. Stupid mind games of an unstable whack-job. No, if Cromwell pursued now, it could all happen again. The detective needs to “fuel up” first.

He returns his pistol to its holster and climbs into his vehicle. This was his chance, and he blew it. Why in the world is this case giving him such a hard time? This whole thing is a mess now.

Soon, Cromwell is sitting in on of his usual stools. The barkeep is avoiding eye contact with the sunglasses hiding his eyes, and the detective is fully aware. He’s got too much on his mind right now to play games though, and he has zero interest in anyone but Gary.

From the way that he left, Cromwell had no reason to believe that Gary was leaving town or fleeing. But… that’s just the way that those criminals play it until the noose gets tighter. They are so cool and relaxed when they think that they’ve got the upper hand. Somehow, even with the detective trapping Mr. Swier on the island he had never panicked.

What’s with this weirdo?

That guy has guts, that’s for sure. But, having your wife killed takes guts too, as does letting someone else pay for it while you enjoy your freedom. No, Cromwell isn’t about to trust anything that Gary says, which means it’s time to go.

Cromwell slams down his empty drink glass and orders a shot, just to be sure. Some days, the drink seems like a stabilizer for the detective. Too little too late and he’s useless. Somehow, it helps steady his mind, and his hand.

He begins to salivate as the shot glass is filled in front of him. Soon, his belly and chest are warmed, and his throat is burned. Time to go back to work.

The detective has developed very few rules by which he lives, but he refuses to purchase alcohol from anywhere but a bar. The only thing that he wants is the liquid anyway. The loud clang and heavy weight of garbage bags full of empty bottles wouldn’t help him at all. Plus, it's make things obvious for his neighbors. Others can think what they want, but if his recycling was nothing but empty liquor bottles too many questions would be answered.

He’s never been the friendliest with others anyway and he tries to keep his distance from people. Still, a few have their suspicions, both in the neighborhood and at work. Ultimately, it comes down to survival.

Right now, there is only one thing in the world that Cromwell is willing to do to get paid.

If he couldn’t legally hunt down the trash of the city, then there would be no purpose left for him. He’d been a husband and father for a while, and was able to see his next move and direction in life as he lived out his days. He had a purpose then.

Now though, this was it. He’s got to find their killer and he’ll take out whatever trash he finds along the way. Having his family murdered changed everything for Cromwell, and without becoming a detective, he would have nothing left to live for, and no way to survive.

He was not about to do anything that wouldn’t be able to help him with his goal: avenge his wife and son. No, this was the only job in the world for him, and he wasn’t about to ruin it because of empty bottles.

The second he started buying his own bottles would be the second that his life was over.

By never having a bottle on him, the detective had made it safe thus far. Bars it is!

The bright sun makes him wince as he exits the bar, even from behind his shades. The man is sweating again and the air is dry. Soon, tiny rocks of gravel fly everywhere as the detective peels out. Within minutes he should be back on target and ready to go.