Allow me to go back to the very beginning... 

It was raining all week in New York City. I had never seen rain so heavy. It was that bad even the hectic streets were dull, I exaggerate. For once I was glad to be stuck in the station doing tedious paperwork. That said a lot, I loathed paperwork. I love to do things by the book. Occasionally, I might add.  I was approaching retirement I suppose at fifty-two. I was the youngest detective in history at the age of twenty-three. Most my age was concerned with drugs which were now legal, thanks, President Ranier. You swine! 

Then my desk phone went a ringing. 

Brodszky, I said. 

It was the chief. 

He wanted me in his office. 

I dropped everything, took a sip of vodka from my silver flask and reported directly to him. 

The homicide department in the building was relatively small fitting twenty-three detectives like me snugly. We each had our own desk. With a top of the range computer. Some of my so-called peers had photos of there spouses and kids. I was married alright. Married to the job. I loved what I did. I loved justice. 

My desk was only a stone's throw away from the chiefs. I pass the lab geek who offered me a donut. I declined outright. Fucking stereotyping.  

I knocked on the glass door and the chief said, "come in."

So I entered. 

The police chief and I are close considering he is my boss. Just like I was the youngest detective in history he was the youngest chief. Aged thirty-seven when he took up his post I believe. That was eleven years ago. He was lean back then. Now he is a fat man, with a double chin, and an eye-catching snow white mustache his hair what is left is also as white. 

Chief Roger Dhal is his name, a decent chief by all accounts. 

Chief Dhal, sits on a comfortable swivel chair behind a great mahogany desk with the red white and blue flag behind him.  The room is dark not a light has he on and almost all the blinds are down. 

It is not just me and the chief in the room there is another here too. I eye up this kid fleetingly then my gaze drifts back to the chief.

"Ah Brodzsky, good for coming so quickly," the chief says. Every time he speaks he needs a gasp of air. The Pig.

I look at chief Roger Dhal and then look at the kid who is standing to my right he is chewing on a toothpick.  This kid is drenched. He is in a white shirt and black trousers he wears a trench coat and atop his fine head of hair neatly cropped I might add is a fedora which he takes off. He looks like a posh homeless man in truth. 

"This man has been promoted. Brodzsky I'd like you to meet your new partner Garth McKenzie."

"A pleasure sir," Garth says in a thick Irish accent. 

The kid goes to shake my hand but I don't give him mine.

You know I work alone right? I remind chief Roger Dhal.

"You know the rule Brodzsky, everyone needs a partner.  Even you.McKenzie, there has come from Ireland. He has an impressive resume, let me tell you. He has more convictions then he has sense. Or so I am told. He is a bit like you Brodszky."

I doubt it.

I close my lips for a second. 

Then the chiefs phone rings of the hook.

He talks to whomever it was on the other end of the phone it was short and to the point, he slams the phone down and looks bitter. 

"Problem?" McKenzie asks. 

Again I stay silent. 

"Good chance for you to show young McKenzie the ropes Brodzsky. That was dispatch a body has been found. in the Grand Central, get a move there." 

I rolled my eyes and looked at the keen glint in McKenzies's blue eye. Ahh, i remember that glint fondly. My first case brought me so much joy.

C'mon kid I, best get going. 

We left the office of the chief.

This will be my last case I reckon. 

Let me see what will happens. 

OK...

So...

This is still the first draft and I would love to hear your thoughts.

Let me know what you think guys.

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DONT BE A SILENT READER.  

Peace & Love.

Paddy Ptah.