The Last Defense

[MICrophone]

This be mah new story. I will work on this when I have writer's block for The Cycle. This is a thriller/drama/romance mix-up thing. Got violence, some sexual content, language, etc. So yeah.

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After he finished applying the last bandage, he closed up the first aid kit and returned it to its home in the lower left hand drawer of his desk. He winced; the pain was rather intense, though not so bad that he couldn't finish his job. He reached for the phone, then pressed some of the buttons a combined total of seven times. Then he waited.

"Hello?" he said. "Yes, I'm all right. Listen, I'm going to be heading down to the tavern. Yes, that's the one. All right, bring the crew. Don't be there too soon; I need enough time to get everything ready. Yes, all right. No problem. See you soon." Click.

He sat back in his chair and stared out the windows stretching from the floor to the ceiling of his spacious office. He looked at the sun as it shined it's light over the city below. It created a rather impressive glow over the cityscape. He smiled as he wondered whether he would see the sun again after today. He looked at his watch. 9:30. His time. He would be there. It was time to redeem himself. He opened the lower right hand drawer of his desk and took out his gun. He examined it. It was loaded. Ready for action. 9:31. He holstered the gun, then stood up, wincing again as he felt another surge of pain. He stood there for a moment, thinking about what was to come, before exiting his office.

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Chapter 1

"Feel better Darrell."

Darrell Grant nodded at his coworker in partial acknowledgement as he walked towards the elevator. He was leaving work early for the sixth time in the past month. This for a man who had only missed work twice in the eight years preceding the last month. Why had it happened to him? Nonchalantly he pressed a button near the elevator. Alcohol. Alcohol was what he needed now. He never liked alcohol. He didn't like it now, but it was the only thing that made the depression go away. God damn the depression! He had lost four consecutive cases, unheard of for him! He had only lost three cases in the past two years! What had happened to him?

Now the elevator had arrived. It was stuffed with people, in typical fashion. It's what you get for living in a city. He stepped in. As the elevator started to descend, he couldn't help but make the analogy to his own life. The elevator was going down to the bottom and so was his life. So was everything.

The doors opened. The lobby. He walked across the tiled floor to the automatic double doors leading outside. Outside. It was pouring. Typical fashion…it was always pouring these days. He had an umbrella but didn't bother to open it. He didn't care if he got wet. Hell, he hardly cared about anything anymore. He didn't even care which way he went now. So he simply walked wherever his feet carried him.

That is, until he found the first tavern he laid eyes upon.

Alcohol, he thought, grinning for the first time all day.

He entered the tavern. It was a seedy joint, but he didn't care. He sat down at the bar.

"What can I get you?" said the bartender.

"Whiskey sour on the rocks please," Darrell replied.

"Sure thing," replied the bartender. Ten seconds later he handed Darrell a glass full of liquor, which the latter proceeded to drain within the following ten seconds. "Can I get another?"

The bartender stared at Darrell. "Are you all right man?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just give me another drink, will ya?"

The bartender eyed Darrell warily but gave him another drink.

Four drinks and an hour later found Darrell sitting at the bar staring at himself in the mirror that stretched from one wall to the other behind the bar. He stared at the mirror but didn't see just himself; rather, he saw several other people running around as he sat and smiled. Where had those days gone? Why is that all he could see?

The next minute was rather hazy. He remembered being approached by a woman and led away by her, but he could not figure out what was going on. Too drunk, perhaps, or too deep within reflection.

It eventually dawned on him that he had been led to a prostitute's place of work.

"Whoa whoa whoa," he said suddenly as he took in his surroundings. He was sitting on a bed and standing before him was a woman who must have been in her early twenties.

"Whoa whoa what?" she replied, taking out a cigarette and lighting it.

"I can't do this," he replied.

"Why not?" she responded, taking a puff of her cigarette. "Scared?"

"Terrified," he answered honestly. "Look, what's your name?"

"Kayla."

"Do you have a last name?"

"I don't remember," she replied. At that moment, several police cars rushed by, their sirens blaring. Kayla's face turned red as she angrily strode toward the window and shut the curtains. She then started to remove her clothes.

Christ, thought Darrell. I have to get out of this quick. "So…how long have you been doing this for?"

"Look," Kayla snapped. "Are we going to do this or are we just going to talk? Cause if we're just going to talk, you might as well go. I have customers waiting outside."

Darrell reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He removed a ten dollar bill and handed it to her. "Do something nice with this," he said as he started heading for the door.

She watched him go, then called out just before he went through the doorway, "Ten years. That's the answer to your question."

Darrell stopped for a moment. Ten years? Damn! "Well, thanks for the conversation," he said as he stumbled out the door.

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Chapter 2

Coming soon…in theory.

[MessengerOfDreams]

Nice job. Not your best work, but still pretty good. 9/10