"Your punishment is death."
"One hundred if you can drink them all right now!"
Denmark hit his fist against the counter and grinned. "Make that five hundred!" he said and started to drink one of the five, big glasses of strong beer that was standing in front of him on the counter. In mere seconds they were all empty.
Cheers were shouted and Denmark himself let out a roar. "Bring it! I can drink way more!" and five new glasses were put out.
The man, Denmark, or Mathias Christensen as he otherwise was called, was a real drinker. He could drink a big amount of alcohol without feeling the least drunk, but he didn't share it with anyone when it came to drinking games. He was always in need of money and since his gun had been stolen a few nights ago he desperately needed the money to buy a new one. Being unprotected in this town wasn't the best idea since there were lots of robbers and thieves that would do anything to get their hands over money.
Right when Denmark was on his last glass, the front door to the small bar opened up with a loud bang. Everyone's head turned to the door and the whole room got quiet.
"Is there a Mathias Christensen here?"
A big man with a bushy mustache and an angry expression in his face walked in with a couple of other men behind him. The police.
Denmark turned around and shyly answered. "Yes?" he said. He was only a small ant to the police so he better acted polite.
The mustache-man walked over to Denmark and looked at him from head to toe. "You're Christensen?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I had expected someone bigger. Very well." The mustache-man cleared his throat. "You're under arrest for murder. Come with me."
Denmark stared at the policeman. "W-what? No, that can't be right. I've been here the whole time." He protested when two younger policemen grabbed his arms and bound them behind his back. "You got the wrong man. I've been here for hours! Let go of me. I haven't murdered anyone!"
The mustache-man ignored Denmark's comments and just marched right out again in the cold winter. They didn't even let him take his coat. Swearing, Denmark tried to get away, but he got thrown in a wooden carriage with iron bars around. After they had locked him in, Denmark run over to the cold door where the policemen stood and kicked at the bars. "Let me out! It's fucking freezing here!" he shouted, but he was ignored yet again and then the carriage started to roll he fell forward and hit his head in the bars. He cursed when he fell down on his bum and got up again, but now there were no policemen to shout at.
He quickly realized it was useless to shout, so instead of wasting his energy on screaming his lungs out, he decided to sit in a corner and stay warm for as long as possible.
They arrived at the police station half an hour later. Denmark was too cold to disobey now and just followed the men inside without saying a thing.
They let him sit at a hard bench for an hour before he finally was led in to a dark room. They untied his arms and let him sit down at the chair. Denmark immediately started to blow warm air on his hands to they would get warmer but he kept his eyes on the two men that stood before him.
"Mr. Christensen. You stand before us because you have committed murder." They told him.
Denmark shook his head. "No, I haven't. What evidence have you got? I've been in the bar for hours. I told the policemen that."
"Can you explain to us then why we found your gun at the murder scene?" One of the men asked him and showed Denmark his lost gun, carefully wrapped in a handkerchief.
Denmark stared at it for a couple of seconds before he looked at the men. "It got stolen a few days ago." He muttered. "And who the hell's been murdered?"
"It is Lukas Thomassen. He and you are acquainted with each other I've heard." One of the men said.
Denmark froze. Norway? That wasn't true. Norway couldn't be dead. Not his best friend. "No… no, that's not possible. I… I saw him yesterday and we talked. When I left him he was alive."
"I'm sorry to say, Mr. Christensen, but he is, I'm afraid, dead and you're our only suspect and the fact that you confessed you saw him yesterday makes you even guiltier. I suppose no one saw you with him either?"
"I… No. We... we were alone. Please, you have to let me see him! I can't believe he's dead if you don't show him to me." Denmark shouted.
"Calm down now. You will see him soon enough. Right now you'll have to spend the night in jail. We'll discuss more tomorrow. But I must warn you. If you haven't got an alibi, it's most likely you'll spend your final days in jail." One of the men said and opened the door before calling on the policemen. They came back in an instant and grabbed Denmark's arms again. Denmark objected as they dragged him over to the jail and put him in the cell, but no one listened. They left him alone after locking the door and turned off the lights. Of course, it had to be freezing cold in that cell too, but this time he had a blanket to cover up himself with.
An alibi? He had one, but he didn't want to tell anyone. It had to stay a secret.