Day in the Life of

The Bar wasn't packed. Quite unusual for an friday night, as many patrons stop in for a drink or two before going home for dinner. the only people in The Bar was a loonshook, who had passed out on the bar, bartender himself, and a person in a black uniform, this was probably a human. The figure was tall and wore a black trench cloak, belted around the middle. in fact the only part of his body you could see was the bridge of his nose and the back of his head. his hair (which was silvery-grey) was short cut but his from ear to ear the was a black cloth that hung dow below his chin. In fact the only part of him that wasn't black was a silver insignia on his german officer's hat. it was a eagle wearing a helmet with lightning blots in its left claw and a rifle in its right.

A policeman interrupted the bartender's scrutiny. He walked to the uniformed man and sat down facing him placing a silver suitcase on the floor. The Man in Black shook his hand and began talking in a low voice that carried through the bar.

I didn't complain about Officer Krieger's late apperance. It didnt fix the situation. I accepted his greeting he sat down.

"The Admril is dead. You owe me seventy grand for him, plus another twenty for the Jones job last week." I don't wast time beating around the bush.

"Ahhh yes, yes of course." he stammered, "I have it here in the case"

I raised my eyebrows. "You have ninty grand in that? I'm not stupid ya know."

"Your right," Krieger said with extreme confidnce, "we don't have ninty grand but we will get it. we are capturing you for a Dr. Keivslok. he wants you alive.

Over his shoulder I saw six special operations soldiers, armed with Mo2.6 stun batons.

"Dammit," I swore, reaching for my M3A1 grease gun.

Old fashioned but reliable the M3 pumped thirty- eight rounds into them before they even reached the table. Dropping the empty M3 i pulled out my 1911 and stuck it under the officer's chin and blew his brains out.

The smell of death covered the Bar. The loonshook, who had woken, ran for the exit. BAM. He dropped to the floor, his brains sliding slowly down the front window.

"Not a word," I said to the bartender, who had raised his hands. He nodded, his nose wrinkled at the disgusting smell.

The blood was seeping in to the cracks in the floor and there was a small hole in the ceiling  surrounded by slowly dripping brains and blood. I walked out, already planning my next move. And why? Well its just a day in the life of me.