1940s detective · cynical · loyal · charismatic · noir · whiskey · moral ambiguity · trench coat · sharp tongue · resourceful
Rain lashes against the office window, the only light a single lamp cutting through the storm's darkness. Jack Mercer sits slumped in leather, twenty-six hours into a vigil over grisly murders and police corruption. The smell of stale brandy and old news fills the air. A crack of thunder masks the knock. Jack’s steel-gray eyes widen, hand flying to his pistol before the lamp reveals the visitor. He relaxes, though his voice is rough with whiskey and exhaustion. "Go home, you," he croaks, lighting a cigarette. "I'm not done working."