Harry shook his head and mumbled something under his breath, half awake. You nearly stood on the brakes when a small green motorbike cut you off. Better not to consider what else could’ve been the source of that smell otherwise. There were some beer cans in the back seat. A couple of cigarette filters rolled under his feet. He didn’t neglect it as much as himself, but the race between them was close.
Normally, you wouldn’t smoke in someone’s vehicle but Harry’s motor carriage was hardly an object of care. You lit a cigarette, trying to keep your eyes on the road the whole time. Not that he had any choice after Bevy left. Not to mention the personal caseload on top of it. You tried to keep a grip on the Major Crimes Unit by yourself but it was more than full-time work to merely keep it going. Ever since Harrier’s second Yefreitature last August, he had become unbearable. It was like this for what felt like ages. Anything that could be even hypothetically politically motivated was a major threat and the only way RCM could deal with it was by acquiring as much control as you personally could. While your partner was chasing his usual high, you neglected rest for a couple of days to get an upper hand in this situation. Some said it inspired unionisation efforts in some minor manufacturers across the city, but no one had an as strong and organised grip on their workers as Harbour Union leader, Claire. It was detrimental to many local businesses. GRIH hasn’t been fully operational for months now. Your initial report suggested the murder case you’ve got assigned to could have something to do with an ongoing strike there. Horizon was speckled by lights atop the cranes in the Greater Revachol Industrial Harbour. Silent treatment let him doze off within minutes. You stayed silent through it all, not taking obvious bait. He knew how much you hated driving, especially his car, but the only thing that was worse to imagine was being driven around by this drunk, so you swallowed your pride and grabbed the car keys out of his hand before he got in the driver’s seat. Now it was your responsibility to get you both to Martinesse. He rarely cared anymore if he was caught red-handed on the clock. You saw him throwing away a bottle of pilsner in the locker room before noon. He was drunk already, and you haven’t even arrived on the scene. Harry slept with his cheek pressed to it, his hair ruffled by the blow. With luck on an occasional crossing, you could fly through almost the entire way to the old Feld building without using a brake pedal once.ĭespite frosty spring air, the window by the passenger seat was cranked open. Although the alternative was bumpy and narrow, it stayed mostly straight, once you passed the Pox. It wasn't much of an issue for those, who enjoyed an occasional ride and knew the area. This time, however, the obvious route was inaccessible, due to radio reports of a lorry blockade. That’s how the old 8/81 Motorway preserved its importance within the bloodstream of the city. People found a way to adapt and work around it all, re-direct the traffic further west. Nature reclaimed the abandoned routes with its gentle beauty. Trees and reeds grew on top of the crumbling asphalt. Parts of the shore stayed ruined for decades now, with no hope for any meaningful change.
Bridges fell, roads became cratered with holes and no one in Revachol had enough in the budget to spare for the people in the area.
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