The voices of the officers could be heard throughout the building; it appeared that it was a busy day for the 211th Precinct. Suddenly large footsteps could be heard, and the voices dimmed.

The footsteps belonged to a large man; he wore an orange blazer with large gold buttons which glimmered in the artificial precinct light as he walked throughout the corridor. He wore smooth black leather gloves and a dark shirt to match which allowed him to seem ominous when he needed to be. He had meticulous style and was able to pull off clothing arrangements that no other person could. His tie; a red cross with a gold button, similar to those on his blazer, seemed to be the centrepiece of his outfit. His hair was snow white and was styled in the shape of thunderbolts, paying homage to the great Greek God Zeus. He pulled gently on one of these thunderbolt-shaped locks, allowing it to spring back up with vigour. This seemed to be his most prominent mannerism.

The man wore a fine pair of pink-tinted spectacles, these rested on his nose just below his eyes, allowing his glare to pierce the soul of any man. His stare was legendary in the precinct, as were his deduction skills. As he walked down the precinct it was as if he could control time itself, and each second appeared to last a lifetime.

There was a universal feeling of fear amongst the officers. The men could not help but look at the man, whose presence seemed to captivate them entirely. He walked with purpose towards an office with a large brown double door. The door was ornamented with gold swirls and patterns. The man opened the massive door with ease, showing great physical strength. The door closed behind him and the precinct came to life once more.

The office was majestic and grand; there were two desks, one desk was black and did not seem to fit in with the room itself, the other, made of mahogany was very much suited to the theme to the room. The windows were also grand and decorated with golden frames. Light shone through them constantly, illuminating the red marble floor. In front of the window on the right-side of the room there stood a suit of armour with a red cape and a sword. In the middle of the room stood a massive organ with tubes as large as small trees.

The man walked towards the right side of the room and pulled out the chair from beneath the desk, he proceeded to sit down and lay back, smiling a frightening grin. The name told ‘CHIEF OF POLICE: DAMON GANT’

Gant chuckled to himself, the last time he had sat in this office had been over a week ago, yet the seat had retained his shape and the room was exactly as he had left it. He looked across the office towards the black desk opposite. His chuckle became a laugh, and before long he became hysterical. The officers in the precinct took no notice of his ominous laugh, it had become routine to hear the Chief of Police laugh in such a manner.

Gant peered at the framed image above the black desk, it reminded him of times past, when he was one part of the ‘Legendary Duo’, imprisoning criminals through lawful methods and with ethics.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Come in” said Gant. The huge door opened and a young, slim, pale man entered the room. The man wore a black trench coat and trousers. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of green sunglasses. His black hair had been greased back poorly, a few strands of hair sprouted upwards. The man pulled the black chair from beneath the left hand desk and sat down, resting his feet on the table. His pale white face stared at the organ. His attention soon turned towards the Chief of Police and locked eyes with Gant’s.

He was unfazed by Gant’s coldest stare.

“Why have you come here?” said Gant, “I can’t have you showing up whenever you want money, especially when you come dressed like a…”

The young man had withdrawn a series of three photographs from his pocket and had lifted them up clearly so that Gant could see them.

“Like a… what?” the man mocked. Gant stared at the photographs intensely, as if he were trying to make them burn with pure will power. All three images appeared to be taken in what seemed like a park at night. The first images showed Gant withdrawing a gun from his pocket, the second showed Gant pointing the weapon at a young woman, the last was the body. It appeared the victim had been shot three times, twice in the torso and once in the head.

“Where did you get those Jeremy?” Gant said hesitantly. His face had grown much paler, sweat beads ran down his cheeks and through his collar.

“I have my sources” said Jeremy, his face lit up; he was enjoying tormenting his opponent. “You know… you really shouldn’t do such brutal things, father.”

Gant took control of himself. He stood up and proceeded to lock the door. “You have your SOURCES?” Gant shouted. “What sources? You barely have friends, you worthless piece of – “

“- Now now... no need to be rash” said Jeremy mockingly. “Why can’t we all just get along?” His white face beaming in delight.

Gant raised his fist high and aimed it at the boy. His fist was trembling, he couldn’t hit his son. He was aware of the consequences of his actions, and this was neither the time nor the place to rid himself of his bastard child. He lowered his arm.

“I suppose you want money, why else would you come here first? If you wanted to see me in jail you would have shown someone else.”

“I don’t want money” said Jeremy. He tugged on his ear, he had adopted this habit from his mother and Gant cringed upon seeing it. “I want that necklace.” He pointed to a locket lying in a box in the glass cabinet by Gant’s desk.

Gant broke into laughter once more. He began to clap also; the sound of his leather gloves hitting one another was eerie. “What possible use do you have for that necklace?” Gant chuckled, “Maybe you want to sell it to buy more drugs!” He was in hysterics, “or maybe you actually care about her!” Gant walked towards the cabinet and pulled out a small golden key from his pocket. He opened the glass doors, removed the bronze locket from its resting location and threw it at Jeremy. “Take it!”

Jeremy stood up from his seat, and placed the necklace in his pocket. He threw the photographs into the air. They glimmered in the sunlight for a second before fluttering down onto the red marble floor. “I do of course have copies…” said Jeremy, “for… what do you call it… security?” Jeremy let out a small laugh. His laugh held neither the pitch nor the dynamics of Gant’s, but was impressive in its own, dark way. “After all, I learned from the best.”

He left the room swiftly, leaving the door to slam behind him.

Gant walked to the middle of the room and bent down to pick up the photographs.