*Its late for Detective Knox as sits drumming his fingers on the desk in booking.  He's pulling a double shift tonight, get a little extra paper in pocket for booze tonight, maybe give that new waitress at the bar an extra little something for a tip.  He thinks about being out on the town, or being at home watching the news, or being anywhere but booking.  

Knox used to work back here every night, about 14 years ago, he had forgotten how boring it can be sometimes.  He reaches into his coat pocket, looks around, and pulls out a silver flask and pours some whiskey down his throat then coughs*  

"Christ almighty, gimme a mass murderer, a pickpocket, a flasher, just gimme something I'm friggin bored."  

--Last edited by Richard Knox on 2008-09-30 14:27:29 --

"Hey Knox!"

A young man in uniform approches his desk.  He's holding a dossier, never a good sign.

"Knox, the sargent has a job for you."

A dossier, and a job from the sarg, even better. The young man tosses the dossier on his desk.

"We got a missing cop, he thought you might like the case."

*Knox grabs up the dossier begins to read it*

"answer to my friggin prayers..." he mutters under his breath.

*Knox leans back in his chair and goes over the particulars*

"Tell him on it, anything to get me out from behind this desk."  

*He stands up and grabs up his coat and puts on his hat. He puts the dossier in the fold in his copy of the newspaper and tucks the whole package under his arm and heads for the door*

"So I take you got booking covered, right?"

((I take it you'll gimme the particulars of who's missing and where they were last seen ))

The dossier is of the cop, a Wilhelm who lives in the slums.  His activity report seems to show he vanished around two to three weeks ago.  He will see in the dossier a picture of the missing officer and the address of his apartment.

"I'll let the sarg know.  I got my own assignment, but the chief will put someone in here for the night."

"Sounds good."

Knox walks out into the cool evening, through the parking lot out to his car, a beat up old 75' Chevy Caprice Classic, tan.  He hops into the driver seat dumping the dossier and the newspaper into the passenger seat.  He pulls out his flask and takes a sip.  

Wilhelm, he thinks to himself, didn't even notice the man was missing himself, for that matter he wasn't even sure if he knew him.  He takes another swig and starts up the engine then pulls out and heads towards the slums.