Probably the longest short story I have written so far at 19 pages. My first attempt at a detective mystery story. Initially I wanted to do a full novel. But still not quite there yet with my writing maybe one day.
Also still deciding on which genre I like the best either Horror, Mystery, Or Science Fiction. One reason I love doing short stories is it doesn't matter, you don't have to just choose one genre. Anyway I hope you like my first attempt at a Mystery. I got two more brewing. Might be same character as Jack haven't decided yet. Anyway hope you all like it.
Fun note: The original title was going to be called Skeleton Gloves. Not sure why I changed it to Jack's Last Drink but anyway I think it fits the story better.
Jack’s Last Drink By P.C. Snider
Former Freelance Detective Jack Blackwood is sitting in the far corner of his town’s dimly lit local pub. He’s having his usual rum and coke. He’s dressed all in black—a black fedora and a black trench-coat. The bar is one of those dive bars—Not a very busy night. Pretty much just him, the bartender, and the jukebox.
As the door opens, he utters a sigh, and a cool breeze flows through the bar, sending chills down his spine.
He shivers again and looks outside the bar’s window. He notices ice forming on the windows.
A woman enters the bar. She is wearing a red dress, and a fur overcoat. She has long blond hair, blue eyes, and is slowly walking towards Jack.
He didn’t feel like talking tonight; he has a lot on his mind. He needs to either think things through, or forget them all together. The latter being the preferred decision, hence having the rum and cokes.
He knew as soon as she came over, she would want to start a conversation with him. He plans his next move to not to say anything to her no matter what she says.
She stands right next to him.
He tenses up. Determined not to say anything.
Michelle the bartender that evening asks her. “What kinda drink can I get ya, Emma?”
She gestures to Jack’s drink. “I’ll have what he’s having.”
“An old fashioned rum and coke, it is.”
Jack sighs.
“Is there a problem?” Emma asks.
Jack doesn’t say anything; just continues to sip his drink.
The bartender says, “Don’t bother Jack. He’s been through a lot. I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by his sigh.”
“Ugh Fine. But I still think that was very rude.” Emma said. “He should be paying for my drink.”
“He doesn't owe you anything Emma, he doesn’t even know you.”
“Fine.” She takes out eight dollars out of her purse, and hands it to her. Emma then takes off to the other side of the bar with her drink in hand.
She wonders what could Jack have been through to not want to talk to her? She’s a single woman, no kids, and very attractive. Recently divorced... As she sits down in the far corner of the bar by herself to nurse her own rum and coke she glances back at Jack with curiosity. Maybe because I’m divorced. She thinks to herself, and sighs to herself just as Jack did.
Emma has had a lot of men interested in her. Especially after her divorce. But she never was interested in them. She was focused on her career as a writer.
But there is just something about Jack she can’t help but wonder. Must be the writer in her talking.
“Another one Jack?” Michelle asks him.
His voice is a bit slurry sounding now. “Yeah, sure. Why not? Blah.”
“That’ll be eight dollars. I know the feeling, hun.”
He takes out his wallet, a leather black wallet with a skull logo on it. Pulls out eight dollars even, and slides it on the bar towards Michelle, he puts the wallet back in his coat pocket.
“No tip?” Michelle asks.
“Sure.” He sighs as he takes his wallet back out of his coat pocket again. He hands her another three dollars.
“Never sure how much to tip, is that alright?”
“Sure Jack. No problem. Anything helps.” She responds.
Jack glances back over to Emma, the woman in the red dress, and fur overcoat. Now he’s wondering why she keeps glancing at him from a distance. As if he had no idea she was looking over at him.
Don’t look at her. She will just expect you to go over and talk. Remember the game plan. Keep your head down, keep drinking. He thought to himself.
Why did she happen to come into this bar? Tonight of all nights.
He takes another sip of his drink.
“Ugh.” He mutters.
Michelle comes over as if on queue.
“Can I help you with anything Jack? Anything at all?”
He asks her to come closer to him so he can whisper this time.
“Tell me what you know about the woman in the red dress, and fur overcoat.”
“Her name. Is Emma. Emma Sinclair.”
“Yeah I heard her first name earlier... Go on.”
“She’s divorced. No kids. Lives by herself. In a very expensive 2 bedroom apartment. Just her and her cat.”
“I wouldn’t go near her if I were you.” Michelle warns him.
“Why not?”
“As I mentioned before, she’s divorced. There’s always a reason behind why they’re divorced, and normally it’s not a good reason.”
“Have you ever been married?” Jack asks.
“Nope, and don’t plan to either.” Michelle scoffs at the idea.
“You know what divorce is like too already don’t ya Jack?” She responds.
“Unfortunately, I do.” He takes another sip. “Sigh.”
So much for not saying anything, and keep on drinking. He thought.
“Sorry for mentioning that.” Michelle said. “I know it’s still fresh in your mind about being divorced. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Yeah, well it’s over now. Let’s not bring it up anymore. Sounds good? Keep it in the past where it belongs.”
“Sounds good.”
Meanwhile Emma is witnessing this conversation from a far.
“Hmm. He doesn’t seem to have any trouble talking to her.” She mutters while sipping her drink.
“How do you like living by yourself now?” Michelle asked him.
“It’s an adjustment. That's all. Once I get used to it again. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Jack said.
“Got me a nice little bachelor apartment on the east end.”
Jack takes another sip of his rum and coke.
“Conversation over?” He asks.
“I’m good, if you’re good.”
“Yep.”
“Okay then.”
At least Emma seems to be minding her own business now. He takes one more peak over her way to make sure.
It turns out she had brought a diary with her. She was writing in it with her head down, and sipping on her drink.
Must be a writer. That’s pretty cool. Jack thought.
Wonder what she’s writing about.
He decides this will be his last drink of the evening. He asks Michelle to call for a cab ride home. She helps him by calling a local cab company to come and get him.
He also decides to have a cigarette out front while he waits. As he leaves he could not help but notice a pair of Skeleton Gloves in the far corner of the bar. His heart was pounding faster at the sight of them. He heads outside for a cigarette, and thinks a bit before his cab arrives. Despite the heavy snow still falling.
Best to head home before any trouble happens with Emma the writer. He thinks to himself as the cab pulls up in front of him.
The cab driver opens the passenger door. “Get in buddy!”
#
The snow is falling heavily. The wind is cold. Jack has to keep holding his fedora from flying off his head as he waits for his cab. The name of the bar he was at, is lit up in neon lights Michelle’s Pub.
Maybe a better name for the bar would drive more people. Jack wondered.
Jack’s cab pulls up in front of him. The driver opens the passenger side door.
Jack hesitates to get into the cab.
“Common, ain’t got all night!”
Jack gets into the back seat behind the driver.
“Where to buddy?” the driver asks Jack.”
“40 McDonald Blvd. Please.”
“No problem!”
The driver starts the clock on his dash board. Start up the cab, and put the automatic gear shift into drive.
“Do you like talking, silence, or music?” The driver asks Jack.
“Whatever you feel like.” Jack responds. Really not caring about any of the options.
The cab driver turns on the radio. Old style blues music starts playing.
Thank god, he didn’t choose country. Jack thought.
Not really a blues fan either, but Jack can stand it compared to country.
He really tries to be open minded with things such as music. But for some reason, he cannot stand the country.
He prefers rock n roll. If anything, But again blues will do.
“Thanks for not putting on the country...” Jack said.
“Hey no problem, I’m a blues man as you can tell.” He cranks up the music louder.
“You can call me Jack.” He said.
“Okay, Jack it is!”
The driver slams on the brakes. Lots of red and blue lights blinds both the driver, and Jack. The road is blocked off by police cars, both marked and hidden police cars.
Jack is still dizzy, from a night of drinking. But conscious enough to know what’s happened.
“Think this is gonna be awhile?” He asks the cab driver.
“Yeah, I think so unfortunately. I can pause the meter if you want, or try and see if I can back up and go around. What do you prefer?”
“I prefer you pause the meter, and wait for me while I check out what’s going on.”
“ I don’t think that is a good idea.”
“I do.”
Jack opens his door and stumbles out of the cab. “Wait for me.”
“You’re the customer. The customer is always right.”
Jack, holding his fedora hat from flying off his head, stumbles towards the police cars.
As he’s stumbling towards the police cars he can’t help but notice a trail of blood leading the way there. The blood is coated into the snow.
There is a group of police officers at the scene.
He taps on the shoulder of the closest one to him.
The officer looks up, and spins around. Startled by the tap of the shoulder.
“Jack!” He yells in delight.
“You’re back!”
“Nope. No I am not. I am still a retired Freelance Detective. You know that officer Brian.”
“Well why are you here then?”
“I wanted to see what happened that caused my cab driver to slam on the breaks and prevent me from reaching my apartment.”
“Understandable.” Brian said.
Jack brushes by him further into the scene. There is police tape everywhere and a woman lying lifeless, dead in the middle.
He walks closer to the body, and sees in her right hand clutching a pair of Skeleton Gloves covered in blood.
“Oh no. Please god, no.” Jack mutters to himself.
“Not him. Not him again...”
He stops himself from throwing up, and faints by swallowing the little bit of vomit that was trying to come up from all the drinking he had done.
Brian sneaks up on Jack from behind.
“You know who she was?” Brian asks.
Jack looks over the body, he notices a diary in her coat’s pocket.
It was the same diary that Emma Sinclair was writing back at the bar. He noticed the cover even from the distance between them.
Brian turns the body over.
“This Emma?”
“It appears so... Unfortunately.” Jack said.
Brian places the Skeleton Gloves, the diary, and her purse in evidence bags, for later inspection for the forensics team.
“Forensics is gonna love these items.” He said.
“You better get outta here Jack, before the captain gets notified that you’re here. Being retired and all.”
“Guess you’re right.” Jack said.
“Good seeing you Brian.”
“Likewise.”
“Try lay off the drinking, okay buddy? The stuff’s poison you know.”
“We will see.” Jack said.
He stumbles back to his cab holding his fedora hat same as before. As he leaves he glances once more at the crowd around the body, he could have sworn he had seen Michelle there, but she took off so fast running he wasn’t sure. No it can’t be her... He thought. That would be crazy, what would her motive be?
The cab was still there waiting for him.
The driver opens the door for Jack to get in.
“The meter still paused.”
“Take a look buddy.” The cab driver said.
Jack glances at the meter. It has not budged cent more since he took off.
“You’re a good man.” Jack said.
“Thanks, I try to be.”
“Let’s do a u-turn get outta here and get you home.”
“Sounds good.” Jack said. “I’m wiped.”
The cab driver starts the meter again, does a u-turn, squeals the tires in the snow, and heads to Jack’s apartment.
Not too long after, they finally reach his destination. His apartment.
#
“That will be forty dollars please.” The driver turns his head around and says to Jack.
Jack reaches into his wallet as he had done back in the bar. Luckily he still has quite a bit of money available. He was never a rich guy, but he wasn’t poor either. He liked it that way. ‘Mo Money, ‘Mo Problems, he was always told when he was younger.
“Here ya go my good man.” Jack hands him forty-five dollars.
“Sorry couldn’t be more than a five dollar tip.”
“Anything helps. Have a good night Jack.”
“I never did get your name.”
“Benny.”
“Benny Smith.” The driver grins a wide grin showing very white teeth.
“Thanks Benny.”
“What happened back there?” Benny asked.
“You don’t wanna know. Don’t worry about it.”
“Alright. Sounds good.”
“Alright I gotta get some sleep. Peace.” Jack holds up the peace sign as he closes his door behind him, and heads to his apartment.
#
He heads up the stairs to his apartment on the third floor. As he fumbles for his keys, he notices a note slid under the door.
“Ugh. Bet rent is going up, or it’s a hydro bill.” He mutters to himself.
He finds the right key, and opens the door. He looks down and he sees a pair of Skeleton Gloves, along with a note. There’s no blood on this pair of Skeleton Gloves. That is quite interesting. He thought.
He picks up the note, which says the following: Hope you haven’t forgotten about me... Detective. I haven’t forgotten about you. You might have retired. But I haven’t. Signed, The Skeleton Glove Killer.
“Holy crap. It is him.”
Panic, anxiety, and depression all at once start to flow through him.
He grabs a bottle of water from the refrigerator, heads to the bedroom. He leaves the Skeleton Gloves where they are but he kept the note on him.
He reads it to himself again.
Hope you haven’t forgotten about me... Detective. I haven’t forgotten about you. You might have retired. But I haven’t. Signed, The Skeleton Glove Killer.
“I am going to have to stop drinking.” Jack says to himself.
“Guess I’m not retiring afterall.”
“I’ll get started tomorrow.”
He crashes on his bed with all of his clothes on and heads off to sleep.
#
It’s the next day. Jack ends up sleeping in till about noon. It’s Saturday afternoon. The first thing he decides to do is get the local phone book out and find a local AA group. Also a therapist might be a good idea as well.
The year is 1955. Cell phones were not a thing yet. Hence, needing a phone book. At least Jack has a decent landline rotary phone that he can use in his apartment.
Jack’s apartment is a two-bedroom apartment. One room was for his bedroom, the other he had turned into an office for freelance Detective work.
Downtown Toronto, Ontario has always been crazy with bad people. The Skeleton Glove Killer is no exception.
Jack remembers him all too well from a case he worked on years ago.
He had thought they locked him up for life. A flashback catches him off guard. Once he had caught the Skeleton Glove Killer in a dark alley on a Wednesday night, and he was just about to leave a pair of Skeleton Gloves in another dead woman’s hand. Jack had cornered him.
“I can’t believe he’s back again after all these years.” Jack says to himself.
“Wonder how many victims he has claimed by now.”
Don’t think about that Jack. It will drive you crazy.
It’s not your fault he got out of prison.
He decided to quit drinking as of last night. He remembers in order to sober up, and go back to work as a freelance Detective. I gotta catch this guy. He thought to himself.
He decides to get showered, get dressed, call a local AA group, and a therapist.
He’s made both appointments for Monday. One after another.
After calling the AA Group, and Therapist. He makes another decision, going to a local cafe for breakfast, and a coffee. His stomach has been rumbling all day even during his sleep.
He’s thankful the local cafe has all day breakfast considering it’s the afternoon now.
He puts on his black trench-coat and black fedora hat, and heads out the door.
#
While at the cafe’ he’s sitting by himself, having a breakfast sandwich and a small coffee. He can’t help but overhear a conversation this couple is having next to him at the next booth.
“I heard through the grapevine. “Emma Sinclaire, was murdered.”
“Yeah I heard that too.”
“The killer had left a pair of skeleton gloves in her right hand.”
“Skeleton Gloves, eh?”
“Yeah, isn’t that weird?”
“I would say so.”
“Wonder who the guy is behind all these murders?”
“Right. Hopefully someone catches him soon. Before he gets more victims.”
Jack finishes his breakfast sandwich, and ends up taking his coffee to go. Don’t worry I will catch this Skeleton Glove Killer. He thought. I did it once before.
He decides on a walk around the park. To clear his head. Remember the first AA meeting at noon. Therapy at 2pm. Another coffee break at 3pm. Work on Skeleon Glove Killer case. Hopefully in the meantime he will take a break from killing for a bit, but worse case scenario he does murder another woman, it might give him more clues as to figuring out who he is and his actual motive for all of this craziness, madness, whatever you wanna call it.
He continues pacing around, and around the park as if doing laps in track and field. Trying to remember the last time he had caught the Skeleton Glove Killer.
But the event, the time, place, all too hazy for him.
Maybe things will be better once I’m completely sober. He thought.
It’s almost noon. He decides to get walking to his AA appointment. Jack has never driven. Was always scared of driving since he was younger. His parents tried to get him to get his drivers license, but something kept telling him not to.
#
Jack arrives at the AA meeting right as it is getting started. The chairman notices Jack coming through the front door right away.
The room goes silent.
Jack looks around probably about only five or so people at this meeting.
Guess a lot of people don't want to quit. He thought immediately, and second guessed entering the building in the first place.
“Come on Jack!” The chairman said, grinning a wide sinister looking grin.
“I was wondering when I would see you here.”
“Yeah, me too, honestly…” He muttered to himself.
The person next to him, a girl, probably in her mid twenties, noticed what he had said, and replied, “Don’t worry, we all wonder what's coming in don’t we?” She prodded an old man next to her.
The old man also says, “Oh yeah, this is my fifth time here. I still hesitate coming in here.”
Promising sounding group. Jack thought.
“You’ve already missed the introductions unfortunately, Jack.” The chairman said.
“If you care to know anyone’s name that is speaking, don’t worry. It will still come up during the session I am sure.”
“Sure, that’s fine, whatever.” Jack muttered.
As the meeting goes on, Jack starts scanning the room cautiously, looking for clues as to any possible suspects for who The Skeleton Glove Killer is.
He takes out the note from out of his trench-coat pocket, Hope you haven’t forgotten about me... Detective. I haven’t forgotten about you. You might have retired. But I haven’t. Signed, The Skeleton Glove Killer.
During the meeting he notices one of the speakers has a pair of Skeleton Gloves hanging out of his coat’s pocket.
That’s gotta be him. Jack thought. Resisting the urge to get out of the chair, and charge at him, taking him down right then and there.
But just because he happens to have a pair of those. Doesn’t automatically make him the killer. A voice ran through his mind.
The man finished the usual spiel about how long he has been sober now, and the girl next to Jack ends up getting up to speak next. The man with the Skeleton Gloves sits right next to Jack, gives him a sinister looking smile, and a wink that makes Jack almost cringe instantly in his seat.
Definitely gotta be the guy. He’s gotta be.
He tries to remember the last time he had almost caught him again, but it was so long ago, he had forgotten what he had looked like, also it was dark, and raining that evening he slightly remembers.
During the girl’s speech the man next to him slips him another note and whispers, “Meet me at the park down the road after. We need to talk.”
Now Jack starts to have a bit of a panic attack, but manages to subside it by taking some deep breaths.
It’ll be fine. Just a talk not a fight.
As the meeting comes to a close, he follows the man outside. Completely forgetting about his therapy appointment. He’s too concerned about what the conversation is going to be.
#
As they walk together side by side to the nearest park. The man says, “I’m not the killer you’re looking for Jack. But I know who he is. That’s why I have a pair of the same kind of gloves as him. I noticed you noticed them earlier.”
“Who are you?” Jack asked. His cold breath is now quite visible through the below freezing air.
“That is on a need to know basis for now, I cannot risk my identity with you having that information. Too dangerous, as the killer knows I am on to him.”
“Okay, that’s fine.”
“So what now?”
He hands Jack a crumpled up photograph. “This is the person you’re looking for.”
Jack starts to unfold the crumpled photo. The man stops him immediately. “Not here, not yet Jack. Wait till you’re back home, you will have your answer then.”
“Alright, sounds good. Why are you helping me?”
“We will just say it’s personal.”
“Alright, thanks.” Jack offers him a handshake. But he refuses.
“Sorry Jack. Can’t do that. Same reason as my name. But I wish you best of luck. Hope this brings you closer to catching this person. I will see you around... perhaps.”
“Better get home Jack.”
“Arlighty, sounds good.”
“Peace.”
“Peace.”
\ Jack heads on home, again forgetting all about his Therapy appointment. See nothing to worry about.
#
He finally reaches the apartment. Takes out the crumpled photo, and runravels it as fast as he could, his heart pounding fast in anticipation. Finally, I’ll know who the Skeleton Glove Killer is.
As he unravels the photo, the phone rings.
“Ugh.”
Jack ignores the first ring.
It rings again.
“Fine, I’ll pick it up.”
He grabs the phone, “Hello?”
“This Jack Blackwood?”
“Yes it is!”
“This is Max. Your therapist... You missed our first appointment today...”
Jack sighed. He had known he had forgotten something but didn’t know what. Now he remembers.
“Sorry. I was meeting with someone after the AA meeting about the case I was working on.”
“Yeah, I know I watched you take off instead of coming here.” He laughed about it.
“Are you upset?” Jack asked.
“Nah, it happens all the time. But we need to reschedule, tomorrow alright?”
“Sure.”
“Same time?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks Jack.”
“No problem.”
Jack hangs up the phone, and takes a look at the photo.
He couldn’t believe who it was.
It was Michelle... The bartender. She was holding a pair of Skeleton Gloves while having a rum and coke.
The End.
Copyright 9/15/2025
