Chad sat in the
room, wondered what name such a room might carry. Interrogation room? That
seemed wrong. He awaited his attorney, not the police.
He sat in one of
three chairs, each fastened to the floor. A thin, metal table—also fastened to
the floor. A door. Four walls. Nothing more.
The door opened.
His lawyer entered. She cradled a thick, brown file folder. Her polished heels
clicked against the bare floor while she approached the table. She sat and
removed a few stapled papers from her folder.
“Valdus Qasim,”
she said, “agreed to drop the charges against you if you agree to stay away from
him and his place of business. You also have to pay for the broken mirror.”
Chad’s eyes
narrowed. “What broken mirror?”
She shrugged.
“Qasim said you broke a mirror when you broke into his office and attacked
him.”
“I never touched him.”
“That’s not what
his four or five witnesses said.”
“Look at me.” Chad
gestured at his beaten face, split lips, lost teeth, and swollen eye. “I attacked him?”
Another shrug.
“Just because you lost the fight doesn’t mean you didn’t start it. Qasim’s
witnesses all reported the same story. If you don’t accept his terms, you’ll go
to court, and you’ll lose.”
Chad cradled his head
in his hands. “How much does this mirror I supposedly broke cost?”
“About four
thousand dollars.” She didn’t even blink.
Chad slowly
redirected his eyes at her. “How much?”
She didn’t bother
to repeat herself.
Chad stood, paced.
“So I pay Qasim four grand for the privilege of kicking my ass, and I have to
stay away from him even though he probably knows who killed my brother.”
She silenced him
with a glare. “Stop. Accusing. Qasim. You don’t know anything. You have no evidence.”
“I have a torn
check from my brother’s checking account, made out to Qasim.”
“That proves nothing.”
She stood. “I’ll tell the DA that you accept Qasim’s offer.”
“What if I don’t?”
“Then find another
lawyer.” She marched towards and opened the door. “Stay put while I finalize
this mess. Also, an Agent Teller wishes to speak with you.”
Chad sank into his
previous seat. “Teller from Internal Affairs?”
The door slammed
shut behind the lawyer.
Chad’s head
pounded. If Teller came here, to the police station, to interview him, then
Detective Redwood would know that Chad contacted Internal Affairs.
The door opened. A
well-dressed and very pregnant woman stepped inside, shut the door, and took
one of the available seats. “Mister Heel?”
Chad nodded.
“Teller?”
“Agent Teller.”
“Right. I keep
forgetting how much everyone loves the sound of their titles.”
“My department has
Agent Redwood under investigation. I’m here to take whatever statement you’ve
prepared.” She removed an old fashion tape recorder from her pocket, set it on
the table, and pressed the red record button.
Chad shared
everything he knew, even the parts that incriminated him. He only omitted
Ernie’s name.
Teller waited for
him to finish before she shut off the recorder and stood. “Thank you.” She
headed for the door.
“Wait!” Chad shot
from his seat. “What happens next?”
“None of your
concern.” Teller opened the door. “My department will continue its
investigation. You, in the meantime, will stay away from Redwood and Qasim.”
She left.
Chad’s lawyer
returned shortly thereafter, led him towards a window near the station’s front door, where Chad signed a few papers and collected his wallet and
cellphone. He stumbled
zombie-style out the door and towards the nearest bus stop (his Prius impounded).
Melissa would lose
her husband’s life insurance money if Chad couldn’t prove that David never
committed suicide. Melissa’s cancer would soon claim her. Her son, Chad’s
nephew, Matthew, needed that money.
Chad couldn’t turn
his back on this mystery.
Should he tell
Melissa what happened? She would feel guilty for the brutalities that Chad
suffered. Matthew might grow up to pick a fight with a mob boss. Did Chad want
Melissa to know that David cheated on her?
He couldn’t just
let it go, though.
His cellphone
rang. He answered.
Qasim’s thick,
Russian voice breathed through the phone’s speaker as hot air from an oven. “My
friend. We must speak.”
To be continued . . .
(Author’s note:
The next installment of this miniseries shall arrive next Monday. This
Thursday, I will post to this blog a separate short story called, “Pills.” See
you then, and thanks for reading!)
I publish my blogs as follows:
Short stories on Mondays and Thursdays at martinwolt.blogspot.com
A look at entertainment industries via feminist and queer
theory, as well as other political filters on Tuesdays at Entertainmentmicroscope.blogspot.com
An inside look at my novel series, its creation, and the
e-publishing process on Wednesdays at Darkwana.blogspot.com
Tips on improving your fiction writing Fridays at FictionFormula.blogspot.com
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