Original Writing Piece

Original Writing Piece

It was nights like this that made me hate my job. As I walked down the unwelcoming alleyways, water rained down on me like gunfire. The obsidian sky was hidden from view and it didn’t look like it was coming out of hiding soon. Why do the deaths happen only at night?
I finally reached my destination. Part of me wished I could have afforded a taxi but rent was tight and I didn’t have money to spend on such luxuries. I looked up at the huge wooden door. It looked impenetrable to all attackers. In the centre was what at first appeared to be a gold doorknocker. However it then became evident that it was just rusted iron with gold paint that was worn away in several places. I slammed the knocker furiously against the door, wearing away what little of the paint that was left.
I waited for a few seconds, but when you have rain of this calibre seconds turn into minutes. The door swung open almost knocking me to the ground. A man was stood the doorway. He had a heavy build and had no hair apart from a long braided goatee that went on forever. This feature almost compensated for the lack of hair on his head.
“Through here. Out back” he said with the charisma of a brick wall. I nodded and followed him as he entered the building. The Viking Warrior, or The ‘Warrior as it was more commonly known as, was a pub like any other. Smelt, taste and felt like cigarettes and cheap whisky. The main difference however was the activities that took place here. Fights were an all too common thing at The ‘Warrior and more than occasionally they got out of hand. That’s why I was here. I served as authority for places like this. It’s a fair trade really, I make sure justice happens and make sure no one asks questions; in exchange they pay me directly.
As we passed through the main drinking area I saw something that was a rarity at the ‘Warrior, peace and quiet as people watched the football game in anticipation. However I knew this was merely the calm before the storm, when someone scored. Through the back of the pub was a kitchen that was the true definition of a health and safety violation. Dirt encrusted into the kitchen sides, rusted knives and cutlery that looked as though it hadn’t been washed for years. No matter, it’s just one more thing they can pay me to keep quiet about.
The bald man opened the back door and walked out. Despite lacking any waterproof clothing he walked outside as if it were a summer’s day. I reluctantly followed him out into the torrent of water. There was a wine cellar outside the back of the pub that had two wooden doors similar to the front door of the pub. The man displayed his strength by almost ripping the two doors off their hinges. The hinges screamed as they were almost mutilated by the brute. Behind the doors were stone stairs and I proceeded to follow the man down into the darkness.
Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, the cellar was illuminated. Before I got to take in any of the surrounding I was drawn to what lay in the centre of the cellar. A body of a middle aged man with short dark hair. It was evident right from this distance that he had been stabbed and the smashed bottle by the side of the body was what reinforced my original assumptions. I asked who he was and the man said that he had no idea and he kept himself to himself. I enquired more about the man but it was clear that the ape was more interested in getting back to the football game upstairs. I managed to find out that he always came in alone, every Friday night and sat by the pool table. I decided to take a closer inspection of the body in case there was anything on his person that might help me who he was. I began searching the body.
“I would say he has been dead for about a day,” I said as I searched the body.
I actually had no idea when he died, it just helped add to the professional image I like to uphold. I searched the victim’s brown leather jacket in the hope of finding something like an ID, a driver’s licence or something that would help me identify him. I found nothing in his jacket and proceeded to check the pockets in his trousers. I prayed to myself I would find an ID because I didn’t really fancy trying to get the people upstairs to help me identify him. It seemed my prayer was answered as I found an ID card. It was torn in several places and damaged but I could still read the information and the picture was still in good condition. Richard Groom, aged twenty-three, that was all I needed to start my enquiries.
“Could you leave this unlocked?” I asked. I didn’t get an answer. I turned round and noticed that the brute had gone to watch his football game. I put the ID in the pocket of my coat then left the cellar, ready to start finding out who Richard Groom was and why someone would kill him and more importantly who did. I decided The ‘Warrior was the best place to start to see if anyone knew anything about him even if it did mean spending time in that awful place. I entered the pub with my questions that would be answered soon. I hoped.