Post by Jeremiah Arkham on Jan 2, 2021 18:23:30 GMT -7
The bell that hung over the door of the corner grocer’s chimed as Jeremiah stepped out. He blinked through his glasses as his eyes adjusted from the brightness inside the store to the dim night streets again. He held a few paper bags against his chest with one arm while the other held his cell phone against his ear. He had a bluetooth earpiece, but he didn’t use it when he wasn’t at work or not expecting a call. So he held the phone to his ear and walked down the steps. He heard the bell ring again as the door closed behind him. He adjusted his bags and began down the sidewalk.
“Well, I’ve not starved yet,” his son chuckled into the phone, “that has to count for something, right?”
Jeremiah chuffs, “Does that mean you’ve been living off fast food and late night take out out there?” Nathaniel’s laugh only grew as Jeremiah teased him.
Nathaniel was currently upstate on a new case; it was the closest he’d been to Gotham City that year. His job sent him out everywhere in the United States and sometimes he was even consulted from outside the country. It was rare he was so close to home, but while it was nice to have him close for Jeremiah, the reasons were always a tragedy.
His son was a consultant for the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.
As he saw his car coming into view, his pace was slow. His bags weren’t heavy, but it was more his mind that was occupied. He hoped Nathaniel wasn’t having too hard a time out there. He never considered things well when the bureau was called in. Still he tried to keep his tone as light as Nathaniel’s.
“Hey, I get my proteins and vegetables,” he didn’t sound haggard, but Jeremiah knew he was so much like him. They could hide their fatigue in their voice.
He rolled his eyes playfully, despite the act not being seen and resettled his bags in his arms. “And a healthy dose of MSG,” he said as he finally made it to his small SUV. He cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear as he rummaged to find his keys in his pocket. “You’re only a fifty minute drive away. You could come down and I could make my special spaghetti.” He heard the wistful sigh and smirked. “Uh-huh, and homemade garlic bread,” he pressed all the more. He unlocked the passenger door and set the bags inside. “So what do you say?”
He shut the door and reached into his pocket again.
“I like your spaghetti. I could find time to come down sometime this week or after the case, whichever comes first. I’ll call you early in the morning?”
He pulled out the embroidered cigarette case Nathaniel had given him when he’d been just a boy and opened it. “Sounds good,” he pulled one out and placed it between his lips. “So tell me about your case.” He slid the case away and struck a match to light it and after a long puff, smoke filled the air.
He could footsteps walking towards him, but he paid them no mind as he focused on Nathaniel’s voice as he described how he’d brought down and the particulars of the crime. Perhaps to the outside was strange to see a father and son bond over a series of murders, but this was their profession.
Those footsteps were getting louder too.
“Well, I’ve not starved yet,” his son chuckled into the phone, “that has to count for something, right?”
Jeremiah chuffs, “Does that mean you’ve been living off fast food and late night take out out there?” Nathaniel’s laugh only grew as Jeremiah teased him.
Nathaniel was currently upstate on a new case; it was the closest he’d been to Gotham City that year. His job sent him out everywhere in the United States and sometimes he was even consulted from outside the country. It was rare he was so close to home, but while it was nice to have him close for Jeremiah, the reasons were always a tragedy.
His son was a consultant for the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.
As he saw his car coming into view, his pace was slow. His bags weren’t heavy, but it was more his mind that was occupied. He hoped Nathaniel wasn’t having too hard a time out there. He never considered things well when the bureau was called in. Still he tried to keep his tone as light as Nathaniel’s.
“Hey, I get my proteins and vegetables,” he didn’t sound haggard, but Jeremiah knew he was so much like him. They could hide their fatigue in their voice.
He rolled his eyes playfully, despite the act not being seen and resettled his bags in his arms. “And a healthy dose of MSG,” he said as he finally made it to his small SUV. He cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear as he rummaged to find his keys in his pocket. “You’re only a fifty minute drive away. You could come down and I could make my special spaghetti.” He heard the wistful sigh and smirked. “Uh-huh, and homemade garlic bread,” he pressed all the more. He unlocked the passenger door and set the bags inside. “So what do you say?”
He shut the door and reached into his pocket again.
“I like your spaghetti. I could find time to come down sometime this week or after the case, whichever comes first. I’ll call you early in the morning?”
He pulled out the embroidered cigarette case Nathaniel had given him when he’d been just a boy and opened it. “Sounds good,” he pulled one out and placed it between his lips. “So tell me about your case.” He slid the case away and struck a match to light it and after a long puff, smoke filled the air.
He could footsteps walking towards him, but he paid them no mind as he focused on Nathaniel’s voice as he described how he’d brought down and the particulars of the crime. Perhaps to the outside was strange to see a father and son bond over a series of murders, but this was their profession.
Those footsteps were getting louder too.
