David leaned over the files and sighed. There was so much work to be done and he wasn’t even halfway through. Jack walked into his office, a brown paper bag in his arms; David gave a small, weak smile at the sight. Jack set the bag down and, after glancing around to make sure no one was there, brushed a kiss across David’s cheek.

Then he sat down. “That’s food,” he finally said, pointing at the bag. “Chinese take-out.”

David leaned over his files to open the bag and sniff. “Smells delicious. It’s just…” He waved a hand towards all the files.

“I get it.”

Slowly, David pulled the bag closer and looked inside. Three white take-out boxes sat inside, letting off pleasant smells and steaming happily. It was only after eating a box and a half of fried rice did he look up again. “Sorry,” he murmured sheepishly to Jack.

Jack smiled and leaned over to ruffle David’s hair. “What for?”

A moment passed as David chewed. “I know you wanted to make dinner tonight.” Jack shrugged. “Our inside man got in touch today and gave a bunch of information. And I—”

“And you,” interrupted Jack, “got stuck with all the paperwork.”

David paused, turned the thought around, and then nodded. “Unfortunately. But once this is all over, we’ll have the gang leader behind bars along with all his little minions.”

“Minions?” Jack snorted. “You make them sound as if they’re following a villain in some sort of fairy tale.”

David shrugged, a small smile revealing his amusement. “Well, I have to do something for when the chief has nothing for me to do.”

They shared a smile.

---

Jack sighed and pushed around the food on his plate. The food has gone and the candles he had set out had gone out in a puddle of melted wax.

Kinda sucked, really, to spend their six-year anniversary alone.

But they both had been with the police force long enough to know that shit happened. Sometimes important events had to be missed due to work.

David had sounded so sorry when he had called. But Jack loved David enough to say It’s okay and They’d make it up when they had time.

Sure, he understood…

…but it still sucked.

---

“Two tickets,” Jack said and looked at David. It was only after two weeks of constant work that they were able to make-up their anniversary. Mind blowing sex, homemade dinner, a movie they both wanted to see, and then home for more mind blowing sex.

A car pulled up to the sidewalk and stopped. The window rolled down, an arm eased out…

Suddenly the window behind him cracked. Pain sliced through his arm. David…started to fall.

The arm hanging outside the car, the one holding the gun, vanished back inside. Then the car sped away, wheels screeching against the pavement. He could hear people screaming around him.

It took a few seconds to remember that David had fallen. When he looked down, he fell to his knees and pulled David close. Everything around him was suddenly too bright, too vivid, too loud.

“Call an ambulance!” he snapped at a sobbing lady next to him. She stared at him and then shakily started to comply.

He turned back to David and meet quiet blue eyes. Jack froze. It was only when his pants started to soak up blood that his brain snapped him back to reality with Stop the blood, you moron.

Frantically, he pulled off his coat, but when he looked back down, the blue eyes staring up at him were lifeless.

---

“So what happened?” you ask.

The man—Jack, in all probability—leans against his cue stick and gives you a brittle grin. “Look at where I’m at and take a guess.”

You already know the place. It’s a seedy bar with a pool table in the back and a battered dart board at the side. There’s barely any light and what little there is is foggy and hazy because of the smoke; the whole place reeks of smoke, alcohol, and piss. Probably seventy-five percent of the people there are wanted criminals. The rest are either criminals that are not found out or drifters.

“How ‘bout you just tell me?”

Jack gives you a look. “Okay. He died. The other members of his team were also assaulted that night. Arson, battery, or murder.” He leans over the pool table and lines up his cue stick. “Their inside guy was almost beaten to death that day”

He takes a shot. One striped ball smacks into the side and then disappears into a pocket.

He continues. “I was in the homicide division but they kept me off the case.” He lines up his cue again, and another striped ball whizzes into a pocket. “Six months later, they closed the case. They knew it was one of the gang members, but they didn’t know which one.” Another ball disappears.

“So I bided my time. Finally I found out when one of their meetings were.”

You eye him over and taken in the outline of a handle of a knife above his right boot and the grip of a gun sticking out of his waistband at his lower back.

He gives you another brittle grin. “I went and shot all the bastards.”

There’s a moment of silence as he lines up his cue for the last striped ball.

“Then?” you prompt.

He pauses and looks up at you quizzically. “What do you mean ‘then’? I got the hell out of the city.” Then he goes back to his cue stick. “Now I’m a contract killer.”

He shoots and the striped ball races towards a corner pocket. It slows as it gets there, and just when it almost goes in, it knocks against the eight ball. In goes the eight ball.

He stands, leans against his cue stick, and regards the pool table with a puzzled expression. Finally, he says, “Now doesn’t that just sum everything up?”

He sees someone at the door, so he lays his cue on the table and nods to you, throwing in another cold, brittle grin. “I must go,” he says. “My job awaits.”

He stalks away, looking primitive and animalistic, like something out of the jungle.

You just set your cue next to his, grab your drink, and head back to the bar.