I went to sleep with a bottle of blood in my hand and now there's blood all over my couch and when I got off the couch tonight I stepped on the remote and the blinds went up and the sun hadn't set yet and I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad night.
When I got to the station, Stonetree was eating blueberry muffins, and Schanke was eating souvlaki with extra garlic, and a suspect was bleeding on the floor and I hadn't had any breakfast because my last bottle of blood was all over my couch.
I want to be mortal.
I drove out to contact an informant, and had a really BAD flashback about LaCroix in the middle of traffic, and nearly married the Caddy to a semi, and the left front fender got creased. The informant didn't show.
I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad night.
Back at the station, Stonetree said I had to testify next Tuesday, in the daytime. Schanke teased me about the dent in the Caddy. Then Stonetree said I was too far behind in my paperwork. Who cares about paperwork?
I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad night.
I could tell because Schanke tried to get me to buy tickets to his church picnic. He said I could always sit in the shelter if I was worried about UV, and Myra had a friend she could fix me up with, and Nat was going with Myra's cousin, and why not?
I hate picnics, I said to Schanke. I hope it rains on your stupid picnic and you trip in the three legged race and break your neck.
The whole squadroom ordered Chinese delivered in for lunch. The special was garlic chicken. Guess who didn't get any lunch?
It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad night.
That's what it was, because after lunch I went after some punk with an Uzi, shooting people from an overpass, and he almost got away because some idiot with a videocam wanted to make it on 'I Witness Video', so I couldn't fly after the guy, and when I finally cornered him the punk put twenty bullet holes through my favorite tweed jacket. Then I went to The Raven and Janette said someone had seen LaCroix in town. LaCroix's dead, I told her. That's not what I heard, she said. You'd better be careful, Nicolas. He's very angry with you.
I wish I were mortal, I said.
On the way out some mortal punk spilled cabernet on my white shirt and the bouncer wouldn't let me hit him, and when I got outside someone had stolen the hubcaps off the Caddy and before I could call in, a traffic cop came by and said I was parked in a No Parking zone and then the station called to say the informant who hadn't shown earlier hadn't shown because he was under a bridge, dead, and I had to get down to the morgue.
I am having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad night, I told the dispatcher. He didn't even answer.
So then I went to the morgue to look at the body. His throat had been slit. There was lots of blood. Not to mention the stuff in the fridge. Nat said I couldn't have any. She made me some tea, instead, but she couldn't make me drink it.
When I got back to the office, Stonetree wanted my report on that drive-by last night, but I forgot. He also said to do the Mounted a favor and escort a perp out there for them, and I was nice as could be until the punk tried to make a run for it. They said I used excessive force, but the guy was only limping a little. The Mounted said, please don't do them any more favors.
It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad night.
I had to do paperwork the rest of shift, and I hate paperwork.
Tony Mariduchi's wife brought him spaghetti with garlic bread for dinner, and I really hate garlic.
My report was mis-filed, my pen ran out of ink, my disc drive crashed, and the reweavers called to say it wasn't worth fixing the bullet holes in my blazer any more. I hate bullet holes.
When I got off duty, I went to the morgue, and Nat's assistant asked me if I was taking Nat out for a bite and Nat tried to get me to eat something and I couldn't talk her into a transfusion.
Nat said, what's the matter, Nick, someone tell you this'd be easy?
It has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad night.
Nat says some nights are like that.
Even for mortals.
The Pewter Gryphon's Lair