Chief Inspector George Foreman was awakened from the last peaceful night’s sleep he was ever going to enjoy by the insectoid buzz of his mobile phone. A feeling of cold dread washed over him – no-one had called him at home when he was off duty since that fateful night 6 years ago. His gorgeous, loving wife Andrea and their three beautiful children had been kidnapped whilst he was on duty and he had scoured Phlegm City trying to find them, but to no avail. They, or what was left of them, were finally discovered hanging on hooks in the backroom of a butcher’s shop in the east side of the city.
Since then he’d taken a back seat at work and let his star officer Eggs Benedict run the show- something he did with consummate ease and style. Benedict was a one man scourge of all criminals in the city and had the whole force working together with killer efficiency. He had made life easy for Foreman, leaving him alone to wallow in a drunken cloud of grief and regret.
That arrangement was about to end abruptly. The call was from one of his men from the nightshift and the news was bad. The unthinkable had happened – Eggs Benedict was dead, killed by a mystery gunman in a drive-in shooting outside MacDonald’s, first thing that morning. Foreman hung up the phone. He remained there on the bed for some time, quietly weeping into his pajama sleeve.
His man downtown had told him that the Mayor was calling an emergency meeting. He wasn’t sure if he could even get up off the bed, but he knew that the Mayor would be counting on him at a time like this. He summoned some strength from a distant part of his deadened soul, and got showered and dressed.
They were all there when he arrived. The Mayor was standing impatiently at the window. He nodded to Foreman when he came in and began talking immediately…
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