Rusty Nail
Chapter One
Business was slow, which made me extremely happy.
I sat in my office, the omnipresent paperwork mountain on my desk
down to a few small mounds. I could actually see the wood through the files in
some places. It was brown, as I'd always guessed it to be.
There hadn't been a homicide in Chicago for four days, which had to be
some kind of record. We consistently ranked as one of the top murder cities in
America, often hitting the number one spot. Whenever that happened, cops
from my district would get We're #1 T-shirts printed up. I had seven, from previous
years.
I whittled away the free time with busywork: filing, reviewing cold cases,
cleaning out my desk drawers. I even entertained the notion of painting my
nails-something I hadn't done since joining the force over twenty years ago.
All play and no work makes Jack a bit flighty.
My partner, Sergeant Herb Benedict, had been using the free time to catch
up on his eating. He wandered into my office, lugging a gallon of chocolate
milk. He set the jug on my desk.
"I didn't have anything to do, so I brought your mail."
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