[center][color=darkgray][b][h1]J O H N  D O Y L E[/h1][/b][/color][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FQNFcYvILJE]♫♫♫[/url][/center][right][b][color=darkgray]Saturday, June 11th. 12 PM
Downtown Charity, Charity Beach, Florida
Boardwalk[/color][/b][/right][hr]
John had just about finished his drink when a stranger came sauntering by his table. A young woman in...[i]combat boots[/i] that spoke in a thick accent Doyle couldn't quite place. Certainly wasn't from around here. "Well uh," He sat up slightly, his old bones creaking as he reached up to tip the brim of his cap. "Thank ya kindly." He said, watching her for a brief moment as she took her own seat somewhere behind him.

He considered striking up a conversation with the young lady, more to pass the time and distract himself from his thoughts than anything else. After mulling it over for a short time he decided against it- better not to bother anyone and stew in his own business. John slunk back into his seat, returning to the terrible posture he seemed so intent on sticking to.

Some ghost of feeling touched Doyle's forehead, like a long and sharp tendril weeding its way into his brain. It itched at his mind, a painfully uncomfortable thing, and it dragged to the forefront a series of loud bangs and the gurgling of blood. John whipped his head around to look about the boardwalk, damned sure he was [i]hearing[/i] the gunshots. So sure that his hand had already snaked its way down to the revolver on his hip. But it was all in his head.

"Damn." He breathed, forcibly placing both hands, palms down, on the table in front of him to keep them from wandering away of their own accord. He waited there until the bullets and manic, almost alien screaming came to an end. Until his mind had quieted once more. "What in the hell was that?" He muttered to himself, bewildered and a little afraid. He'd had friends that came back from the war that talked about hearin' things, but...but it'd never been John. He'd always come back okay.

[i]'Might be high time I find one'a them therapist types.'[/i]

He was still stuck in his little world after the episode until he heard someone say his name. It snapped him out of it right quick, even if he looked a bit disheveled as he met the eyes of [i]another[/i] Charity Beach detective. A lady, this time. Wasn't too bad on the eyes, either, if he was ten years younger n' didn't have a ring on his finger. "Good'ta meet ya, Detective." Doyle greeted, pushing up from his chair to offer her a handshake.

Doyle was a more than a little surprised to be meeting another city detective so soon. He'd only finished speaking to Morgan a little over an hour ago, so the chances that there was new information were slim at best. On top of that, he hadn't told anyone he'd be down on the boardwalk, so everything about this little meeting was...strange, to say the least. But John wasn't going to mention it. Instead, he waved to the seat opposite his. "You wanna take a seat?" He asked, falling back into his own. "I don't mean'ta sound rude, Detective, but what's all this about?"