Tatum in Steel

A Puddle of Beer and Piss was on the bar floor along with a shattered glass. The light flickered on and off with the rumbling of the Subway not making much of anything brighter. The Tables were worn down and the Bar was near cracked to no existence, but it still functioned. It was Marle's Tavern and Grille.

"Another." Detective Tatum slurred in the drunken tone he had stumbled with more recently. An aged man of no more than 6'5", wearing a trench coat and run down clothing. He wore a Black Shirt and Denim Jeans with Holes, smoking a Cigar as he finished drinking his Whiskey. Clover Looked over at him with a Mincing Glare.

Clover was a Bartender here and works the night shifts, the worst shift to work. Typical Bartender Wardrobe working with a white shirt and pants and Black vest. He had a thick beard and a bare skalp as his huge size seemed underestimated by some of these drunks that stumbled in. The one he hated the most was Detective Amos Tatum. The Cocky Drinker who barely could drive afterwards.

"You've had enough, Tatum." He told him. He finished cleaning the glass he held and put it on the counter. He looked over at Amos and then pointed to the door. "Leave, Tatum. Nothing for you here tonight."

"Come on!" Tatum replied loudly as he slurred with too much of a drunken care. He wanted to get more Alcohol, but Clover refused him some.

"No! Go home or I'll take you home!" Clover told him. Tatum was slumped against the wall snoring and about ready to fall. He didn't delay in falling asleep, so Clover hurried and came to him to take him home. He took him outside to his Ford Model T and prepared to take off. He turned on the Car and drove off down the street, meeting ways with Berlin Avenue.

They finally made way to Tatum's Home, by which Clover Remembered. He took him inside the house and took him upstairs. He then laid Tatum on his bed and turned off the lights. Clover left the home and returned back to the Tavern. Clover Smiled as he turned down back to the Bar, but as he arrived, the Tavern was blown up. Clover swerved and made way into the Grass as he witnessed a very large ball of flame rise up into the sky.

"Oh God Damn piece of-" He muttered under his breath. The Bar was his wife's and he was going to die. He then thought of the Idea that he could blame it on the troublesome Mages.

The Next Afternoon

Tatum Woke up with a Hangover the Size of a Bowling ball and an aching stomach that made him barf on the bed. He went downstairs and got a pack of Ice from the fridge and applied it to his head.

"Damn Headache!" He yelled as he tried to wake up. He stumbled a bit as he walked to the door. When he got outside, he sat down on the steps and watched the train as it passed him by his house.

What's the Date? He puzzled himself for a moment as he thought about the date. Yes! It's The Seventh of June, 1915.

Tatum got up and took a small walk to the mailbox as he thought more about the time. 6:42 AM, Bar blew up last night, Mages commit thirty more crimes all over the country, Jazz has become a large factor finally of the world.

Tatum had the knack of telling time more than anything.