"This is HQ, calling the Black Dog. Black Dog, acknowledge!"
"This is Black Dog"
"Black Dog, we have visual confirmation of the suspect heading north. Try intercepting him at the corner"
"Roger"
Jet slowly took out his pistol from the holster. He was wearing a worn-out tweed, and his head looked a little blacker. He took a long, deep breath, and hiding his gun in his pocket, stepped out of the shadow.
A young man was walking toward him from across the street. He was wearing torn jeans, a dirty shirt, and dark shades. He was suspiciously staring at everyone.
He saw Jet. Jet looked right into his eyes. Jet slowly took out his pistol. The young man started running the other way.
Jet started running after him. "Stop… Freeze, scumbag! Stop or I'll shoot!" But the man had no intention of stopping. Suddenly, at a corner, he took out his own pistol and aimed it at Jet. Jet squeezed the trigger.
A few minutes later, the lights and sirens of the ambulances had brought everyone out of their houses. Hundreds of curious spectators were gathered around the police parameter. The man was lying on a stretcher, in handcuffs. A few paramedics were bandaging his right leg. A middle-aged man walked toward Jet, with a satisfied smile on his face.
"So… Jet… Another one bites the dust, eh?"
"Of course. Once I bite…"
"You never let go… I know. Everyone knows that. You could have killed him, you know…"
"Nah… He'snot a bad kid"
"What are you talking about? I thought you hated drug dealers"
"Well, Donnelly, sometimes you look at their face… And you know that deep inside, they're good kids"
"Ha ha… You're getting too sophisticated for my taste, Jet"
"Well… Anyway… I need to leave"
"Alyssa waiting for you?"
Jet gave him a rather aggressive look. He became like that every time someone talked about her.
"Yeah. See you tomorrow, Donnelly"
That day, Ganymede was s rather depressing satellite. The rain hadn't stopped since morning, and everything looked soaked in grey darkness. Jet felt like listening to some nice, smooth Blues. Alyssa and he would soon be in a shady underground bar, sipping whiskey and listening to that Harmonica player from earth. That guy made it look easy, the way he made you feel like crying, every time he blew into his harmonica…
I wish I could play, though Jet. I would play the Blues all day, and it would be even more interesting than chasing wannabe criminals.
He got home and parked his car. He couldn't see any light from the outside, but he wasn't worried, it wasn't rare for Alyssa to shut herself up in the darkness, and think. She would just sit there, with her large blue eyes looking at the ceiling, and she would just think. She never told Jet what she was thinking. He could only guess… Guess and admire.
He walked up the stairs, making as much noise as possible with his feet. He didn't want to catch Alyssa off-guard. Everyone wants some privacy… He hated it when people walked in on him. Right outside the brown, wet door, he loudly coughed a couple of times, then opened it.
The rain kept falling outside. Its sound was like the song of a tired mother, trying to calm her newborn. There was really a song… music… hidden music. As if a saxophone was playing in the clouds.
On the couch in the living room, there was a pocket watch. Next to it, a folded piece of paper. Jet felt that something was wrong. This wasn't right at all. Alyssa should've been there to greet him by now. Where was she?
"Alyssa!" he called. No answer. The rain outside was still playing. Part of Jet was actually enjoying it, while the rest of him was trying to focus on the situation.
"Alyssa!" he called again. Still no answer. He approached the couch. Something deep inside told him he shouldn't look at the paper.
He picked the paper up. One word. "Farewell". He read the word a few times. He stared at the paper, reading it over and over again. At some point he zoned out. He wasn't there anymore, hewasn't in his living room. He was far, far away. He didn't know where. But he WAS NOT there, he WAS NOT reading that word.
He sat down. He looked at the watch, then put it in his pocket.