John Bluster's St. Patrick's night

Keep in mind, i'm not a writer. I just had nothing better to do.
Also, pardon any spelling and grammar mistakes, i wrote this in twenty minutes.

March 18th, central Chicago, 02:14am
"Sweet, sweet Virginia" John thought to himself as he took the first drag of a freshly-lit Marlboro red, it was far too cold to be out sniffing around crime scenes at this time of night, especially in Chicago. The street had been blocked off and in the distance, patrons of various Irish bars could be seen shuffling out after an entertaining "St. Patty's day". John never liked the term "St. Patty", no self-respecting Irishman would, it was an Americanized mockery of a national pass time. Still, John swatted away the thought, he had far more entertaining business to attend to.

Wrapped in a grey overcoat and touting the stolen badge of a rookie detective he came across a few days prior, John casually strolled past lines of striped tape and flashing squad-cars up to a burly, middle-aged man wearing a charcoal pinstriped suit. "MacDowd? Michael MacDowd?" John asked, touting a light Brooklyn accent. John didn't need to ask, he already knew who he was, he knew all about him. He could tell from his posture that he used to play college football, most likely a linebacker, he could see in his eyes that he'd been awake for almost twenty hours and he could tell from his breathing that he smoked a pack a day, probably menthol. "yeah?" Michael replied, "Who the hell are you?" looking inquisitively at the tall 30-year-old with the 5 o'clock shadow. "Brian, Brian Harkin sir." John replied in confidence "Homicide, 13th precinct. mind if i take a look?".

Michael had a look of confusion in his eyes, John had anticipated this, he wasn't worried. "aren't you a little out of your jurisdiction, Harkin? 13th is on the other side of the city.". "I know sir, but I was in the area. St. patty's day and all that", john's mind screamed a little after saying that. "Sure" MacDowd sighed "I suppose with the biggest drinking day of the year in full swing, we can use all the help we can get.". John's face lit up with glee "Thanks sir, I promise i won't disappoint.". John skipped over to the scene of the crime, there lay a corpse underneath a dark green woolen blanket.
Before john raised the blanket, he stopped to ask Michael a question, "Has the body been i.d'd yet?" Michael responded positively. "The body is that of one Lee Sylvester, small business owner from across town. the cause of death is fa-", "I don't need to know, sir." John interrupted.

John looked at the ground around the body before lifting the blanket, taking in all the surroundings and getting a feel for the area. "Four" John thought to himself, as he gripped the green wool and raised the blanket to show the top half of the corpse. "Three" The body had two bullet wounds, one in the left shoulder and one behind it's right ear... "Two". John stood up and looked around himself at the skyline, dark buildings, contrasted by the orange sky of a light-polluted city. "One", John muttered to himself. "one? what do you mean by one, Harkin?" Michael asked. "Never mind that sir, you have a sniper on the loose.". "A sniper? How on god's earth did you get that from four seconds of looking at the body?"

John dropped the butt of his dead cigarette and promptly lit another one, taking a long drag before exhaling a cloud of thin smoke, commonly associated with cigarettes. "Easy" john replied, then taking a deep breath. "The corpse has two bullet holes, one in the left shoulder and one behind the right ear. the size of the exit would on the face is commonly seen in the victims of 7.62 ammunition while the other round is still lodged in the shoulder of the victim, i wager right in the shoulder blade where it most likely shattered. which leads me to my next point, the sniper was approximately four blocks away from four stories up. i figure this due to the angle of the initial shoulder round, it was fired from a much higher position than our six foot one victim. the round behind our victims ear is due to the force of the initial bullet twisting the victim around. the fact that the sniper could make a headshot on a spinning man from such a distance would lead me to believe he has training, marines most likely. Probably using a government issued rifle too, most likely an M40 which uses... guess what? 7.62 ammo. lastly, judging by the debris from the ground left from the victim's shoes as he spun around to take the second round, the sniper is to the west of here in the bouvier textile warehouse, which is the only building more than three stories for about five blocks." John sharply inhaled some air and took another drag of his cigarette while MacDowd looked on in amazement. "how the hell did you even notice all that?" Michael gasped. "Didn't you?" John replied as he walked away from the scene "I'll be seeing you around, detective" John called out as he ducked under more cautionary tape... The night was just Beginning.

I like this, I like it a lot. It's started off well, with an interesting setup and I like the protagonist.

Hope you continue, because I'll read more.

"FUUUUUUUUUUUUU-NGAH!" John grunted out as he flew through the air and hit the dull grey rooftop, respectively. 23 feet by his calculation, not a nice height to fall while in full sprint. John got off his back and dusted himself down, he knew he had to keep running, he was only one more building away from the textile factory where he hoped the shooter was still hiding in. It had only been five minutes since his run in with detective MacDowd but almost an hour since the initial shooting, John knew time was running out, the killer had probably escaped by now, rifle and all. At this time of night it wouldn't be hard to sneak about the city unnoticed, especially on st. patricks night where the police would have more pressing matters to attend to, like a fifth of whiskey. still, John trudged on, knowing that he can at least find solace in scraping for evidence, putting one more step closer to finding the shooter and besting the police yet again.

He never wanted to work under the thumb of the law, he thought they were too incompetent. Not that John wanted to be the punisher, no, he just thought he could do their job better then they could... hell, John thought he could do most jobs better then the professionals that did it. But there was a reason that John never became a doctor or an actor or a professional gambler, he didn't like the spotlight, wasn't a fan of recognition. He made his money from underground gambling dens, wether it be Chicago, London, Dublin or even Rome he'd use his talents to convince people he was a down-and-out gambling addict, and then wipe the floor with them. It worked, most of the time, other times he'd have to talk or fight his way out of a crack den filled with pissed off pimps and drug dealers, he's got the knife wounds and cracked ribs to prove it.

John eventually works his way into the textile factory, the doors were all locked so climbing in an unlocked window was his only choice in or out of the building. It was dark and very dusty, sixteen hours of cutting up terracotta every day would do that to a place. John covered his mouth with the lapel of his coat and slipping on the masquerade mask in his pocket continued up the stairs into the darkness. Eventually John came to a locked door, at this point it was all or nothing, kick in the locked door and alert whoever was on the other side, or turn back and wait for the police to show up. There didn't seem to be any other way into the room, and with a heave and a swift kick to the door's lock John thought "Fuck it!".

With a loud snap and a quick creak, the door swung open, and on the opposite side of the room was... absolutely nothing.
John was too late, there was nobody here, not even any evidence, save for some gunshot residue sprinkled on the ground. "Whoever was here tonight definately knew what they were doing." John said to himself as he left the room. He knew he needed to leave quickly, before the police arrive. The shooter would just have to wait until tomorrow.

the above only made me realize that i prefer writing dialogue