When the Mafia Lord Falls
The horse stood there, completely unbothered, with an expression that screamed, I am better than you.
As if that wasn’t enough, The Drunkard appeared. A man with the distinct aroma of vodka, regret, and a cologne that I’m pretty sure was just windshield wiper fluid.
I rubbed my temples. I was a recently promoted detective with the Northvale Police Department. A career milestone that took years of hard work, late nights, and caffeine abuse. I’d stared down armed suspects, negotiated with unhinged criminals, and once wrestled a guy twice my size to the ground. But apparently, this Gate 17A, emotional support livestock, and the suffocating scent of vodka, was my breaking point.
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