Steve huffed in frustration as he left the run-down building on Lombard and Stockton behind, careful not to step on any nails as he slowly walked across the sagging floors, hoping the lumber beneath would hold his weight one more time.
Five houses into his search and so far, he had nothing to show for. The unis assigned to his search party had checked in here and there, their luck seemingly the same.
As the early evening began to roll in, the neighboring streets once again swelled with traffic and sidewalks filled up with pedestrians on their way home or off to dinner. It was those sights that made Steve feel painfully out of touch with the regular public these days.
As he scanned the streets like a vigilant Sentinel, days like this one began to make him wonder if he could ever return to a normal life after his time in homicide, where 9-5's didn't exist, nights turned into days turned back into nights and sleep was a rare commodity found only between cases.
As the wind blew his black dress coat wide open and sent his tie airborne, Steve regretted for the umpteenth time that he opted to leave his beige overcoat at home when they headed back downtown in his car earlier. Knowing that the chill he was feeling would do nothing to improve his already downtrodden disposition and failing hope to ever catch Albert, he slowly made his way down the sidewalk and back to his waiting police car.
After getting a call into Mike a little while ago to appease his partner's growing apprehension about all of this, he checked his watch, woefully realizing that it was almost time to radio headquarters again. The next house to inspect was a couple blocks south of here, having him ponder whether or not to wait the few minutes until he'd reached his next destination before sending another 10-20.
Sighing, Steve circled the building back to the alley where he'd parked the Galaxy, trying to keep it out of sight in case Albert was nearby. As time was ticking away incessantly, he felt the pressure of having to apprehend their suspect weigh him down heavier by the minute.
His stomach couldn't begin to fathom having to make that visit to Randy Anderson's wife after all these days of intense manhunt across town, just to tell her that her husband was killed and that he hadn't been able to do a damn thing about it.
Walking up to the chartreuse Galaxy, Steve unlocked the driver's side door and leaned into the cab to reach for the radio. Inhaling deeply, he let his eyes drift over the darkened alley that was bordered by tall apartment buildings on either side and blocked off by the back end of a motel a few hundred feet out. With nothing but rusty fire ladders lining the dirty brick walls ahead and overfilled garbage containers on either side; the melancholy from this dilapidated area was beginning to wear on his mood that evening.
"Inspectors 8-1B to Headquarters, please respond."
Standing by the side of his car with his left arm resting on the doorframe and right hand holding up the mic, Steve glanced down at the thick manila folder on the passenger seat, mentally preparing to hit up the next house, hoping not to turn up empty again.
"Go ahead, Inspectors 8-1B."
Steve was about to answer when a faint noise right behind him sent chills down his back. Looking around, he had enough time to recognize Albert, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, before his head was bashed into the doorframe of the Galaxy, making the world go dark.