Quagmire: Day 18

Word Count: 108,006

Summary of Events:

Jesse arrived home and tried to convince Rose he hadn't consumed any liquor, when he had — although he was unsuccessful. He went to interview policemen about the raid for a bit more of an in-depth feature on the raid, but found out that some gangsters were planning to steal the trucks with the collusion of a police officer instead. He had a discussion with Rose — including confessing that he had, indeed, had liquor the night before — and apologised. He then went to watch the attempted robbery and saw two groups of gangsters try to break in before fighting with each other and the police; in the end three trucks were successfully stolen before the police gained control of the situation, Jesse's mind wandered back to his war experience due to the carnage . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

"There was no birdsong, there was no life, no grass, no trees, absolutely nothing other than pure desolation, the air filled with a fear that one could almost taste as they waited for the shout.

Figures surged up out of the trench across the no man's land. He was too numb to put the rifle to his shoulder and fire at them as the men around him were doing, causing bodies to twist in anguish and fall.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and Jesse startled violently. The muted lighting of a cloudy day in France disappeared for the darkness of another night in Chicago. The officer startled slightly.

"Are you alright?" the officer asked.

"As good as I can be," Jesse replied quietly.

"Here's our tally of dead, everything's cleaned up if you want to have a look around," the officer said.

Jesse took the paper and looked at it. He'd just watched the deaths of another half a dozen men: two police officers and four gangsters. He'd been under the impression that there would be a lot more dead, but he was rather grateful that there weren't.

Folding the list, he pocketed it and turned around to see that all of the undertakers' vehicles had left and lights were on in the warehouse.

Jesse went through the open door and found a rather vicious, blood-spattered scene, as well as a lot of broken glass and spilled liquor. He was almost tempted to leave, but he refused to let himself. He noticed some officers holding out glasses and another was doling out liquor from the back of the last truck.

"You want some?" the pouring officer asked Jesse.

Jesse nodded and made his way closer, moving his eyes over the scene of spilled liquor — in some places mingled with blood — and broken bottles, noting places where bullets struck the truck, or bottles in the truck, causing there to be liquor stains down the sides, burst the tire, punctured the door and fender, or even glanced off of the floor.

The officer gave him the bottle and Jesse drained it without taking a breath. He gave it back to the officer, who tossed it to the floor so that it broke.

"Just another casualty," he said.

Jesse nodded as the officer reached back into the truck and grabbed another bottle.

Men eagerly held out their glasses for more. Jesse took an entire bottle for himself and threw it back rather quickly. He needed more to steel himself against the memories this was rekindling for him.

He went to take another bottle, but he stopped himself, he'd seen enough of the scene, he could just go home, write the article, and drink one of the bottles he had there to clear his mind of the horrors before going to bed."