Jan. 21st, 2009

flack: (flack huh?)
It had been one hell of a day from start to finish.

From the case, to the suspect, to sitting at his desk all day, he was ready to just relax and think about something other than the job for a while, and when Murphy suggested beer, it seemed like the perfect opportunity. That plus the hockey game on made for a pretty sweet set-up to just relax for a while, and he certainly wasn't going to turn down the company.

Sullivan's was a relatively quiet place. It was a little louder, due to the fact that it was a game night, but was still pretty quiet, with the lowered lights over the bar and pool tables, with the bright sports screens along the back wall. The place wasn't that crowded, surprisingly, and there were a couple of comfortable booths scattered about the room, while the bar stretched along the one wall, lined with various bottles of booze.

He made his way over to the bar, ordering a pitcher of beer, and sitting on one of the stools to wait for Murphy to arrive. Leaning against the side of the bar lightly, he drummed his fingers and sighed. All of this mess, his credibility coming into question, all over a stupid weight class.

What the hell was this world coming to?

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Detective Don Flack, Jr.

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