“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Calligan inquired.

They were standing outside a plain looking building. A sign over one window advertised a new novel that had just been published, and a soft light shone through its windows.

“Relax. We’re just going to walk in, have a few drinks, and maybe talk to some of the colorful people inside. Besides, all anyone will know is that we went to pick up the latest best seller.” McCullough replied, reassuringly. “And if you’re worried about the people inside, don’t be. This place gets more traffic from cops than you might think, and I don’t mean to shut it down.”

“Alright, fine.” Calligan sighed, and they both entered the shop. They were immediately greeted with neatly organized rows of bookcases. McCullough passed through them casually, whistling to himself as Calligan followed hesitantly. At the back of the store, McCullough passed his hands along the spines of several novels, before pausing and pulling one outwards.

The bookcase swung open, revealing a large burly looking man standing behind it. He wore a loosely fitting suit, but it did little to disguise the obvious mass of muscle that lay underneath.

“McCullough, back again I see. Who’s this guy?” He asked, growling somewhat.

“Relax Johnny, this is my pal Calligan. He was feeling a little thirsty and wanted to know a good place to get a drink. So of course I took him to the best place in town.” McCullough replied, unphased.

“Well, if he’s with you I guess he can come in, but I don’t want any trouble.”

“Johnny, I’m hurt. Why would I ever cause trouble?”

“I don’t know. Why don't you ask the last guy you got in a fight with here? We had to haul him out.”

“You had to haul him out? He sure was belligerent wasn’t he?”

“He had six broken bones, Mac.”

McCullough laughed. “Well, he was belligerent to me anyways.”

Johnny sighed. “Just come on in already, and keep the violence to a minimum. I don’t want to have to break up any fights tonight. Understood?”

“Yes sir.” McCullough replied, throwing up a mock salute as he stepped through the open doorway. Calligan was quick to follow. They entered a small room of unadorned cement, with a small table and a single chair. Beyond it lay a dim narrow passageway with a flight of steps leading down.

Traversing the passageway, the detectives found themselves in an even more dimly lit but cavernous atrium. Paintings, indistinct in the light, lined the walls of the room, and inornate tables and chairs were scattered around a small stage in one corner. There, a miniscule band tapped out the faint rhythms of what could possibly be mistaken for jazz.

McCullough paid attention to none of these things, though, instead making his way toward the bar in the center of the room. It was also plain, shrouded by customers more shady than the room itself. Behind it stood the bartender, casually cleaning glasses with a cloth and keeping a keen eye on his customers.

McCullough made his way to an open stool in front of the bar with Calligan shadowing him warily, an uncomfortable expression on his face.

“What’ll it be?” The bartender asked, approaching them.

“A shot of scotch.” McCullough replied.

“What about him?” The bartender inquired, looking at Calligan.

“I’m suddenly not very thirsty.” He replied.

The bartender gave him a suspicious look before shrugging and strolling away to procure some scotch.

“Will you relax already?” McCullough asked, turning to Calligan. You’re making people suspicious.”

“The feeling is mutual. Everyone in here looks like a thug or a hoodlum.” Calligan replied. “Why did I agree to come along again?”

McCullough turned to face the stool beside him. On it sat a man. His clothes were drab but typical, hanging loosely over his narrow frame. The man’s face was equally narrow, somewhat resembling a rodent, and his eyes seemed to dart suspiciously in every direction but never in their direction.

“There’s someone I want you to meet. Calligan, this is Rat, a proud member of the cesspit of scum and villainy that inhabit this place.”

“I heard that!” He cried, his head whipping to face them.

“I’m sure you heard everything we’ve been saying. You were doing a really bad job looking like you were ignoring us.”

“What do you want, Copper?”

“See how civilized he is, Calligan? Won’t even give a proper hello. Anyways, despite the way he acts, Rat’s one of my most useful informants. He always gives me what I need, even if it takes a little... persuasion.”

“Listen Mac, I already told you that I’m done. I’m not going to give you any more information. They almost killed me after last time.” Rat replied frantically .

McCullough smiled genially. “But Rat, this isn’t like last time. I just need a little information from you. You know what goes on in the streets, I’m sure you can tell me just what I need to know.”

“Will you stop calling me that? I’m not a rat and you know it. Saying stuff like that could get you killed around here.”

“It won’t get me killed. Besides, I’m not asking for you to rat anyone out. Like I said, I only want information.”

“Go take a flying leap.” With that, Rat turned away, reaching down for his glass in front of him.

McCullough sighed, lighting up a cigarette. He took a couple puffs from it before asking, “Are you sure that’s the way you want it to be?”

“Better whatever you do to me than to be dead.” Rat replied.

“I’m not so sure about that.” McCullough muttered as he pressed the still lit cigarette onto Rat’s hand even as it still clung tightly to his drink. A faint hiss of pain escaped his lips, but otherwise he sat in obstinate defiance.

Seeing Rat’s firm resistance, McCullough smiled. Placing one hand gently on the back of Rat’s head, he slammed it down. The motion was so fast that Calligan could barely register what had happened before he heard a crack and the breaking of glass. As McCullough lifted Rat’s head back up, his face was covered with blood with broken shards of his drink lodged firmly in it.

“So, are you going to tell me what I want to know?” McCullough asked menacingly.

Before Rat could say anything, the bartender walked over.

“Hey, none of that here.” He insisted, puffing out his chest slightly.

McCullough looked at him silently for a moment, before reaching into his pocket and sliding some bills onto the bar. The bartender nodded in acknowledgement and casually returned to cleaning glasses.

“Anyways,” McCullough continued. “Are you going to talk?”

“You already got my answer.” Rat answered defiantly.

Rat’s face was forced downward once again, with his blood splattering across the bar. His face was now nearly unrecognizable from what it was just a couple of minutes previously. His nose was obviously broken and shards of glass had dug deep into his face.

“You’re looking pretty rough there, Rat.” McCullough sneered. “Look at all those wounds. Here, we wouldn’t want them getting infected, would we?”

McCullough grabbed his own drink, pouring the contents down over his face. Rat shrieked in pain, falling off his stool and writhing in agony.

“Come on now Rat, you’re making a scene.” McCullough said, reaching down and hauling Rat up by his tie. “Though you could make this easier by telling me what I want to know.”

“I already told you…” McCullough’s fist slammed into Rat’s teeth again and again, his fist a veritable blur. He kept going until Calligan put a hand on his shoulder.

“That’s enough.” He said firmly. McCullough nodded, dropping his fist, and Calligan stooped down in front of Rat.

“We just want some information. We didn’t want you to get hurt, and you don’t have to get hurt any more if you just tell us what we want to know.” Calligan cajoled.

Rat sighed, then spit out a tooth.

“What do you want to know?” He asked reluctantly.

“A man was murdered recently, killed by some sort of new drug. Would you know anything about that?” McCullough said.

“Maybe.” Rat replied.

“What do you mean maybe?”

“Well, there are some new guys in town. Who they are, nobody knows for sure, but they’re moving in on the Donahues’ turf; and quick. They’ve got their hands in everything: gambling, prostitution, drugs, you name it.”

“So you think they’re responsible?”

“There are so many new kinds of drugs on the streets because of them, who else could it be?”

“Any ideas on how we can get in touch with these people?” Calligan asked.

“Like I said, nobody knows who these guys are. They came from out of town and seem to work from the shadows. They do have some local gangs doing their dirty work, but even they’re locked tight.”

McCullough stood up, smoothing out his suit jacket. “Well it looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.” He said. “And remember Rat, sometimes it’s just easier to talk, you lose fewer teeth that way.” With that, the two detectives stalked out.