Night spread smoothly across the city like a dark smudge of soot, blackening the horizon and blocking out the stars that she knew were there. Before they were married, Jackson had always commented on her eyes, saying that he could see the heavens in them. Tonight, she had arrived home early and found him searching for the heavens in the body of a blonde with fake tits. After eleven years of marriage, she had never expected this. She believed in happily ever after, in Prince Charming and his lovely princess and in one stroke of his cock, her husband had shattered those dreams.
And so, Darla Webb found herself in their community's local watering hole, surrounded by admirers who bought her drink after drink, shot after shot, taking her way past her limit. She didn't know when she crossed that boundary; she only knew that she had ceased to care about her cheating husband. He was a foreign object lodged in the tread of her shoe and she effortlessly plucked him out and cast him aside.
"Excuse me." It was his voice that sliced through the alcoholic haze: polite and gentlemanly. "May I buy you some coffee?"
A hue and cry arose from his sudden entry into the scene. "Hey, who are you?" "We saw her first." "Get the fuck out, you fucking limey bastard!"
She ignored them and turned to the man, giving him a drunken smile. "Yes, please." He took her hand and helped her down from the bar stool, gracefully catching her when her heel caught in the rung and pitched her forward. The others laughed at her drunkenness, but he did not. He set her on her feet and helped her into a chair, then spoon-fed creamed and sugared coffee to her until she could raise the cup to her lips.
"Better?"
"Yes, much. Thank you." The coffee wiped some of the bleariness away and she smiled at the handsome stranger. "Thanks for rescuing me."
"No need for thanks." His smile was warm and easy. "Listen, my apartment isn't far from here. Why don't we go there? I can make you some more coffee."
"That sounds good. Let me use the bathroom first."
While she was gone, he finished his coffee and patiently waited for her to emerge, noticing that other men were keenly watching. She came out, drying her hands on a square of paper towel and was set upon by the man who had called him a 'limey bastard'. He didn't know what came over him but within seconds, he was a snarling shadow of his former self, launching at the man and tackling him to the floor. The other men that had been chatting her up joined the fray and before long, the bartender was feverishly calling the police while chairs and bottles flew and blood was spilled.
It was nearly thirty-five minutes later when Sutton received the call from Mainwaring. "It's a fight in a bar called Motor City."
"I've heard of it before. Why are you calling me about a fight?"
