Seymore Justice exploded through the door of Sunbucks, eyes filled with a raging fire, looking for a particularly inept mechanic. Spotting him at the counter, he made up the long distance in just a couple fierce steps.
"Mechanic Davies!" Seymore's voice boomed across the cafe.
Mechanic Davies, a middle-aged grease monkey, looked up at the seething officer oblivious to the mood Seymore was in. "Howdy, Sergeant. How's the ship running for ya?" It was apparent that Liberty Ale was taking its toll on him.
"It's not running, Davies." Seymore made a conscience effort to unclench his fists. The fact that Davies was drunk and happy, added more fuel to his rage. "IT'S NOT RUNNING AT ALL!"
The mechanic was unfazed. "Relaaax, Sergeant." The words stumbled out of his mouth. "C'mon. Let me buy you a drink."
Seymore pointed to the front door. 'You will get your greasy little butt over to the ship dock RIGHT NOW and fix that ship IMMEDIATELY." Just a little more lip from that mechanic....
"But sir, I'm offduty..."
That was it. Seymore grabbed him by hair of his head and physically dragged him out of the cafe. Dangling helplessly behind, the mechanic screamed in pain, "OW...OW...Hey...OW...That hurts!"
Once past the door, Seymore gave him a rough kick and yelled, "I don't want to see your face until my ship is fixed."
His rage finally began to ebb as he watched the drunk mechanic rubbing the pain out of both his head and butt. Seymore made sure he headed toward the shuttle that would take him back to space dock. Though, in retrospect, he wasn't sure how effective a drunk mechanic could be working on his Libby.
Heading back toward the counter, he finally noticed the stares of all the officers, jolted in shock at his display of rage. "You think I was too hard on him?" he burst out to no one in particular.
Nobody answered. Pausing for a moment, he looked inward. He grabbed the prooffered Shirley Temple from the barmaid, took a long drink and then set it gently down on the counter. "Well, maybe. But I will tell you this--I REALLY love my job."
With that, he headed toward the exit to see about how to make amends to the good mechanic.
*Damoclass waited at the other end of the line for a while as he heard talking in the background*
'Well, I guess you are a tad busy there mr O' Brian. I have some matters to attend to as well on this end. Really important Guild stuff. Can't possibly wait any longer. So I'm going to hang you up now. If some other matters arise, just call the Guild. Have a pleasant evening sir'
*Damoclass hangs up the phone*
*talking to himself* now to get back to my homemade crumpets...'
Karl was not a regular patron here, however today he felt like getting a drink. Perhaps to celebrate the launching of... a new division. Though.. he couldn't tell anyone here about that.
He made his way past a few officers, noting the new faces and the old faces before he found an empty table and took a seat.
After a waiter came by he ordered a pint of the finest beer on tap. Screw Liberty ale... this was the stuff.
It took several minutes for the drink to arrive and in that time a few officers had come by to say hello. None joined him however, as most were leaving for the graveyard shift and had just passed through to pick up a coffee.
Though while there was celebrating to be done, there was other matters which highly bothered him. Most important, was the seeming lack of respect officers in the Navy seem to have for LPI officers. One thing was certain, Karl would not let any navy punk speak down on a officer under his command. Hell.. just earlier he told off the captain of a Navy Carrier, for insulting the police. Next time that Captain would not be so lucky. There certainly would be a way to.. remove him from command, perhaps even rent him a suite at Attica? One could dream... regardless... the Beer had just arrived.. time to sit back and enjoy it.
Iâll carry this flag
To the grave if I must
Because itâs flag that I love
And a flag that I trust
Kimble sat down at the bar in his usual spot. He let out a long sigh.
"I need a vacation"
The bartender looked sympathetically at him. Kimble was usually brimming with enthusiasm, but today in place of a guy bucking for promotion sat a defeated heap. The bartender fixed him a pint of booze and brought it over to him. He knew better than to expect exact change from Kimble.
"Make it a 10," Kimble groaned as he slid the money across the counter-top, which he stared at absent-minded.
"What's going on, big guy?"
Kimble stared at the mug of beer in his hand. "One of us is in DEEP trouble. I have been a cop for 12 years. I'm not a pervert!" He shouted to himself.
The bartender was concerned.
"This is a weekday. I don't know that you should be drinking at such an early hour, Detective."
"It doesn't matter. I have nothing else to do, and I have nowhere else to go." Kimble took another swig of the booze. All he could do was wait until the results of Riza William's inquiry into his recent behavior had come in.
Kimble remained there for the rest of the day, trading comments with the bartender. When it was evening, and Kimble had drunk himself into a coma, the bartender sent him home with a fellow officer in a taxi.
"Norman Radcyffe, I'm one of the more normal people her-" said Radcyffe, as he noticed O'Brian looking at him. He looked back and pointed to himself as if to say "What? Me?"
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