Chapter 3

Kevin pushed open the creaky door of the old, rundown building that had become a sort of local bar to him. The windows were concealed to discourage prying eyes, giving the exterior a desolate appearance that contrasted with the vibrant life inside. He nodded at the bartender, taking a seat at the counter. The bar was already filled with its usual crowd of hipsters and yuppies slumming it, but tonight, two intoxicated girls stood out from the rest, their loud voices drawing attention.

As he sat there, Kevin couldn't help but drift back to the events of the day. The murder investigation they were working on had taken longer than expected, and he couldn't shake off the unease he felt about the case. Damian, his partner, had criticized his gut feeling, chiding him for not presenting concrete evidence to support his belief that it was murder.

They had reported their findings to the lieutenant, who considered the daughter of the deceased as a "spoiled rich girl," probably not involved in the crime. Kevin wasn't so sure, but he couldn't ignore his partner's skepticism. He knew he had to find something substantial to convince everyone that his instincts were not just a wild hunch.

The girls' laughter at the bar brought him back to the present, and he sighed, pushing away the thoughts of the investigation for the moment. He ordered some food and a drink, trying to distract himself from the haunting echoes of doubt that lingered in his mind.

After a few minutes, a waitress approached with a beer and a plate of wings.

"How are you doing, Kevin?" she asked, placing the items on his table. He shrugged.

"Can't complain."

"Are you sure about that?" she laughed, a few strands of blonde hair falling onto her face.

"Well, I could, but no one would listen."

Just then, the girls at the bar erupted into laughter. Kevin turned to look at them, and the waitress made a face, clearly annoyed.

"Speaking of complaining, those two could give lessons on it. All they've done since they came in is complain."

"They're probably from the university," Kevin commented.

The waitress made a dismissive noise and tapped on the table. "You better eat those before they get cold." She flashed him a wide smile and moved away, stopping at another table to engage in conversation.

Kevin watched her walk away, appreciating her graceful movements. He wondered if she had been flirting with him, but he wasn't adept at deciphering such signals. However, he could judge chicken wings quite well, and these were delicious. The bar door swung open again, ushering in a gust of cool night air. Kevin glances sideways and observed a man entering. His mind began drifting back to the ongoing case. Ms. Yoon had seemed very different from her son who appeared to be utterly devestated. Rowoon had mentioned that she required sedation, which could explain some of her behavior, but not everything. There were moments when Kevin detected a fleeting look in her eyes, a tightness around her mouth, suggesting she was hiding something.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kevin observed the man pulling one of the girls out of her chair. A mental alarm in his head rang, bringing Kevin back to the present.

"No, Bumpy, I think you should stay here," one of the girls pleaded. The other girl didn't respond, emitting only incomprehensible sounds as she was clearly too intoxicated to stand, let alone make a rational decision about going home with that man. She might not appreciate Kevin's interference later, but he couldn't sit idly and allow her to become someone who would end up at the police station reporting a rape.

In one fluid motion, Kevin stood up and pulled out his wallet, dropping money on the table. He returned the wallet to his pocket and approached the group casually. "I don't think you want to do that, dude," he said, raising a hand to block the man from leaving the bar.

"It's none of your business," the man retorted.

The man attempted to push past Kevin, dragging the stumbling girl along, but Kevin stood his ground. He couldn't be easily pushed aside. "What, is she your girlfriend? She seems pretty easy."

"No, she's just a drunk girl. You should be thanking me. I'm preventing you from committing a crime."

"What are you, the fun police?"

Kevin laughed and shook his head. "No, I'm a police officer." The man lunged at Kevin, throwing wild punches, but Kevin effortlessly dodged each one. His movements were smooth and precise, and he seemed to anticipate his opponent's actions before they even happened. With a swift duck, Kevin delivered an elbow jab to the man's gut, causing him to grunt and stagger backward. Undeterred, the man charged at Kevin again, but Kevin sidestepped, sending him crashing to the floor, creating a mess of knocked-over chairs. Ignoring the chaos behind him, Kevin glanced at the amused bartender.

"Sorry about that, Jim."

The bartender shrugged. "I'll just add it to your tab."

Kevin lowered his hand to help the man up from the floor. "Apologize to these nice people and then go home. Sleep it off," he said firmly.

The man groaned, attempting to stand, but Kevin pushed him back down. "Apologize first. I don't actually care if you go home, but you should."

The man tried to rise again, and Kevin pushed him down with more force. "Don't make me repeat myself," Kevin warned.

Finally, the man muttered something that could have been an apology. Kevin thought about keeping him down until he apologized properly, but decided against it. The man stood up slowly, making another feeble attempt to approach Kevin, who remained composed.

"I wouldn't even think about it if I were you. Just go home," Kevin advised.

The man sneered but eventually turned toward the door and left. The bar was silent as the door swung shut behind him. The waitress exhaled audibly, relieved, and hurried to set the chairs and table back in order. Kevin helped her, aware that the mess was partly his fault.

"What should we do with them?" she asked in a hushed voice, gesturing toward the intoxicated girls.

Kevin observed both girls. They seemed small and frightened, incapable of handling the situation. He pointed to the slightly more coherent girl and walked toward the bar, leaning on it and facing her.

"Where does she live?" he asked, his voice calm.

"I don't really know where she lives. I've never been to her place," the girl replied.

"What's her name?"

"We call her Bumpy," the girl laughed, clearly drunk. "It's a funny story, actually. What happened was..."

"I don't care. I need her real name. Her actual name."

The girl appeared confused, staring at him blankly. Her intoxicated state prevented her from providing any useful information, but Kevin had to try. Eventually, she opened her mouth.

"What was the question again?"

Kevin sighed, running a hand through his hair. It seemed that their efforts were going nowhere. Leaving her alone on the street was not an option, as she would be an easy target for anyone passing by. And she was in no condition to take a cab. The only remaining choice was to take her to his apartment. He held her up slightly, allowing her to stumble alongside him on the sidewalk. At this pace, they would be fortunate to arrive home before sunrise. After a few minutes of walking, she abruptly halted. Kevin turned to face her as she swayed beside him. Without warning, she dropped to her knees before he could catch her and vomited into the gutter.

"Great," he muttered to himself. "Just great."

Once she finished, she leaned back, collapsing onto the sidewalk. Kevin knelt down beside her. "Are you done?"

She nodded, still swaying in her seated position.

"Are you going to be alright?"

Again, she nodded, or rather attempted to nod, resulting in a random bobbing motion that caused her unkempt hair to cascade across her face. There

was nothing to identify her, no jewelry or clothing that could provide any clues about her identity. He simply wanted one thing, anything, that could lead him to who she was so he could ensure her safe return home.

Resigned, Kevin leaned over and lifted her in a fireman's carry, gripping her leg and arm firmly. This way, they would reach home more swiftly, he thought to himself. Perhaps after he settled her in bed, he could search her belongings. If she went out drinking, she must have brought some money with her. Hopefully, after some rest, she would regain enough clarity to find her own way home. If not, he would take her to the police station and let them handle the situation.

As they exited the bar, Kevin stood on the sidewalk, scanning the surroundings. The man from earlier was nowhere to be seen, and he sighed with relief. Balancing the girl in his arms was challenging enough without having to contend with an angry man. It was best to let him go home and lick his wounds. Hopefully, in the morning, he would realize that he had narrowly escaped a dangerous situation by not taking the girl home. However, such individuals rarely seemed to learn from their mistakes. The girl was small and fragile, clinging to him like dead weight, her legs entangling with his as he struggled to walk.

"What's your name?" Kevin inquired, trying to make conversation.

She looked at him, but her eyes failed to focus. Her mouth opened, attempting to form words, but no sound emerged. She made another futile attempt, resulting in garbled utterances.

"Where do you live?"

Initially, she remained silent, seemingly contemplating her response. Kevin began to wonder if she would say anything at all when she finally spoke, her words slurred, "I live at my house."

They were making little progress. He couldn't leave her alone on the street, vulnerable to any passerby, and she was incapable of taking a cab. His only option left was to take her to his apartment. He adjusted his grip on her, allowing her to walk with his support. At this rate, they would be fortunate to arrive home before sunrise.