Chapter 1

 

Two weeks earlier…

 

Frank sipped his whiskey, the clink of the ice in the crystal glass was a smooth counter note to the warm burn as he swallowed. Sighing deeply, he looks up from his stool and reaches for another cigarette, lighting it with his flint lighter. The wooden bar, which has seen better days stretches almost the length of the room, its surface is dotted with coasters and stains of spilled drinks. To his left, a group of men sit huddled in the corner playing cards and smoking cigars. The thick haze of the smoke makes it difficult to decern their faces but Frank can hear their guttural laughter – a sound that seems to permeate every nook of the tavern.

 

The dark and poorly lit watering hole was a comparative beacon of light and warmth compared to the dark windy night outside. An old establishment, The Last Round had been serving the forlorn citizens of Chicago for over 100 years. A place to be seen in its hay day, the bar had seen less and less customers over the last 2 years and as such, had become a poorly maintained and run down dive bar. The once majestic interior of fine carpets, polished wood and warm fire places, had been replaced by dim poorly maintained gas lamps, stained thread bare floors and wood that had only a small hint of its former lustre.

 

As Frank takes another sip of his bourbon, the door to the tavern creaks open, and a gust of wind announces another arrival to the bleak establishment. Looking up from his close to empty glass, Frank turns towards the door to see a portly man, of middle years step in out of the gusty streets, dressed in worn but serviceable slacks with a dark collared shirt and covered by a dark brown coat. The man looked tired as he closed the door to the darkness outside.

 

Frank caught the man’s attention with a wave of his glass as he puts down his own empty vessel onto the stained bar. “You look like a mess Arthur”. He looks to the seat next to him and gestures for another glass. The dark haired bar tender places down a glass and fills both, the brown liquid filling them invitingly. Arthur taking off his coat sits down taking the proffered drink and proceeds to take a deep gulp before grunting, “so will you once you have heard what I have to say”. Frank raises one eye brow before remarking, “What news”?

“We have a murder on our hands, down on the boardwalk. It’s a mess Frank.”

Taking another sip of his drink, Frank turns and replies, “another one?”

“Another one. One of my contacts down near the wharf contacted me an hour ago. We should head down straight away”. Frank nods in agreement and downs his glass. Placing money on the table for the drinks, he stands up, the wooden chair creaking slightly as he nods to the bartender. Taking up his coat and hat, Frank turns and walks with Arthur in tow out into the dimly lit autumn night.