My Watson to His Holmes

Decent Essays
It was another typical Thursday night in the office - Rudy was looking over his notes from the investigation, while I was re-checking my personal notes to see if there were any differences. The force’s own detectives are pretty lousy, so it’s only natural that we were on the case. Besides, if it wasn’t for the new sergeant that fired us both a year ago because of “longstanding reasons”, all of this wouldn’t even be happening. Rudy has gotten over it for the most part, but I still hold a grudge to this very day. “Stacy, I need a drink!” Rudy yelled out from his desk. “Yeah, yeah, I got ya covered.” I replied. I set down my notes on the table, and grabbed the half-empty bottle of whiskey which I stored in the kitchen. I noticed two shot glasses on his desk - guess he really wanted to take a break. We’ve been going at it for hours, so why not? I can’t tell the last time I saw Rudy this enthused in a case - there were stacks of folders on the table behind him, various photos of the victims pinned up on the board with names, descriptions, and other notable info, and perhaps the most glaring feature of his office - the desk he was leaning on was buried in mountains of paperwork, evidence, and cigarette butts. Yeah, he’s been hard at work. “I’m surprised that you actually found some time to take a break, Rudy.” I said, pouring the drinks. “Well, it was only eventual.” he said, pushing the dossiers aside. He took a shot as soon as I finished pouring. He flinched a bit, but
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