Bullets and Blues (a brief excerpt)

The bird from the clock popped out like a jack-in-the-box to let me know six o' clock had finally checked in with Father Time. Millie, my receptionist, had taken off at five, leaving me the office to myself for an hour. I signed off on the last of my reports to be filed then flipped close the folder and slid it off to the side of my desk. As I pulled open the top, right-hand drawer and fetched the familiar bottle of my best friend, I stood and walked over to the globe sitting in the corner by the window. I tilted the top, causing it to separate and reveal several short whiskey glasses within. I took one and closed the globe before pouring myself a helping of the amber liquid from the bottle. I walked to the window behind my chair and glanced down into the rainy streets where I saw people briskly walking to their destinations, most under cover of an umbrella or newspaper.
There was a knock at the front door but I ignored it. Millie would have locked it and set the sign to 'closed'. She knew the last hour here was for myself, not clients. Clearly, someone felt their time was more important than my own.
The knocking persisted and my casual, feigned ignorance turned into a grimace. They weren't planning on leaving anytime soon. I turned and set the bottle and half-finished glass on my desk before crossing the room and stepping out into the reception area. It was slightly smaller than my fifteen by fifteen foot office. Millie's desk was off to the left, immaculate as she always left it. She had even turned off the lights, letting only the faint glow of my desk lamp and the dreary light of the rainy day stretch towards the hallway door, an ambition that fell just short. Someone was expecting me to still be here.