Harvey Axel #1

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Turbinail

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(This is a one shot, if you like it I may write more of the series. Thanks, Turbinail)

The police officer puffed his round cigar. In his tiny chair, you could barely see his face through his huge bulging stomach. The office was loud and booming with culprits, prisoners, suspects, officers, victims, you name it. The female officer sitting next to him, Officer Victoria Hasley was on the phone, talking loudly to her boyfriend. The police officer's name was Harvey, Harvey Axel.

Yeah, yeah, you've probably never heard of him, but ages ago, he was famous. He was a world renown detective and police officer. At his office, he was known by every one, and I mean EVERY ONE. With skater style stringy brown hair and a bushy mustache, his face could be recognized through any of even the toughest crowds, but he had let himself go.

Alcohol, drug and substance abuse, he soon found himself down the wrong path, the path he had told all the criminals he had caught not to do, but of course, it was all for the fun of it. In a hotel room in Toronto, Canada, he died. His heart exploded, literally. Drugs, and alcohol lead to one of an artery blowing up near his heart. Like a bomb, it destroyed everything, including his heart. But, many years before that, he was a good man, and a darn good detective.

Many Years Earlier

No Caption Provided

The English man rubbed his head. Another migraine. Substance abuse was catching up. Harvey had told no one, not even his wife, Marie Anne Axel, famous Broadway singer. The case he was working on was difficult and should have been left with all the other cold cases, but it hadn't, yet. Harvey was going to find out who had committed the crime, he always did.

His eyes hurt, a cigar was needed. Blowing a puff of smoke at the file, he lied back in his seat. Next to him, a woman walked over, taking the cigar out of his hand as he tried for another puff. "No smoking in the office, Harvey." She said. Her voice was high pitched and her electric blonde hair lied in a braid on her shoulder.

"EMMA!" He shouted. The woman was annoying and Harvey had no clue how she had become the leader of the department. Above him, the light swung back and forth. The building was old and creaky. Harvey adjusted his tie, gripping the file in his hand, feeling the urge to slowly just tear the manila file into a billion little itsy bitsy pieces that he could scatter all over his desk.

He had to finish the case though, he just had too. The crime had hit too close to home. A Jamaican man had been beat to death with a golf club, he was robbed and he was murdered four doors down from Harvey's home. It had literally hit too close to home. Harvey was tired, and put the file down. "I'm done!" He shouted. He set the file down and walked from his desk.

He walked to the water cooler in the corner of the office. There was a new officer, his name was Leonardo Wood, he was a young and highly racist man. Every time Harvey would walk up to Leonardo he would always have a new joke about blacks or Hispanics. This time, Harvey had noticed something in particular, a small knife wound in his right arm. The Jamaican man had been found with a bloody knife in his hand, this was too close. Leonardo was part of this case now, and not in a good way.

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cbishop

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