Too Old For This Shit

Albright was a small town, and news travels fast in small towns. So, when Charlie Gilchrist, the town's 72-year-old mayor, was found dead in his home half-way through his fifth term, there was one word on everybody's lips: "murder." But who could have done it? What kind of sick bastard would shoot an old man? Detective Wilson didn't know, but he was certain of one thing: he was too old for this shit.

Wilson had been working the case for days, but still had no leads. No hair. No fingerprints. No sign of a struggle. Nothing. Just two clean shots to the back with a 9 mm. – whoever did it was a pro, but what was a pro doing in Albright? Wilson leaned back in his chair and massaged his graying temples. There just wasn't any reason for it. Everyone knew Charlie, everyone liked Charlie. Even the city council was mostly made up of his old friends. Wilson just couldn't get it to make sense, and when things didn't make sense, there was only one thing to do: drink.

Detectives Wilson and Grady sat in their favorite bar, McCullough's, and drank. Drank and talked. "So who do you think shot the old coot?" Grady asked, before downing a shot of whisky.

"I don't know," Wilson admitted throwing back his own glass, "but whoever did it was real cold blooded. I just don't get it. Who could do something like that?"

"Dunno. Not everybody cared for the man, you know."

"What do you mean? He's been great to this town."

"No, we've been great to this town," Grady said, slamming down his third shot and showing no signs of slowing, "My dad was great to this town. Built up that hardware store from nothin'. Nothin'! All good ol' Chuck Gilchrist ever did was bring in one chain store after the next."

"He brought jobs."

"Yeah, and he took jobs. Besides, jobs ain't the fucking alpha and omega. There's somethin' called civic pride, ya know? What about all the local stores that got muscled out? Huh? My dad died penniless thanks to those fuckers!" Grady's lip trembled as he drank yet another shot of whisky.

"Hey, easy there," Wilson said taking on a consoling tone, "don't go yellin' at me."

"You're right, man. Sorry. It's just… you know how emotional I get when I think about my dad."

"It's all right. I didn't mean to bring it up. I just wish I had some leads, ya know? How hard could it be to find someone in this town with a nine and a motive?"

The two sat there drinking in silence for the next twenty minutes until finally Wilson rose, muttered, "I'm too old for this shit," and left.

The next morning, Wilson came to a decision. His muscles tightened with nervous energy as he drove to the station. Adrenaline flooded his brain as he walked through the door, he wanted to get this over with -- just rush straight into the chief's office and lay it on him, but he needed to be sure. He needed to know he wasn't making a huge mistake. "Grady," Wilson yelled in the direction of Grady's desk, "we need to talk"

"What is it?" Grady asked as they entered the deserted break room. Something like fear flickered across his features.

Wilson sighed and grabbed a doughnut from the table, "Grady, we're friends, right?"

"Y-yeah," Grady stuttered.

"So there's something I wanna ask you, and it's very important that you tell me the truth, OK?"

Grady nodded slowly.

"Grady, do you think I should retire?"

"What?"

"I keep sayin' I'm too old for this shit, and you know I have grandchildren on the way, and Greta has always wanted to travel. It just seems like the right time, ya know?"

"B-but what about your case?" Grady stammered.

"That's why I'm talking to you, would you mind taking it on? I'm gettin' nowhere, so it's not like you could do worse."

"I-I guess I could do that," Grady said with a weary sigh.

Wilson gave a wide smile and hugged his friend, "great, because I'm thinking of resigning today. I'm not getting any younger, and I need time to start campaigning."

"Campaigning?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna run for mayor."