It’s been too long.
The door closes with a soft click, and the chief takes a seat, leaving the other two pricks standing. “Mr. Falco,” he begins. “May I call you Antonio?”
I fucking hate that name. My jaw tics. “It’s Twitch.”
The chief smiles politely. “Twitch, then.” He pauses a moment. “You want to tell me why you’re here?”
I can’t help myself. I grin and mutter, “You want to suck my dick, old man?” His face turns severe, and I chuckle. “Then maybe you should stop with the niceties and get Quaid back in here.” I glance up at the two fuckers standing guard behind the old man. They glare down at me, and I blow a kiss to one then wink at the other. “Never did well with authority, chief.”
The chief sits taller. “That’s not necessary. Quaid is—”
I cut him off. “Yeah, he fucked up. I know. I get why you don’t want him in here. There’s only one problem with that, pops.” I lean back in my chair, slouching a little. “I’m not saying a single fucking word without my boy Quaid.” I’m getting bored. Lifting my hands, I shake my wrists, the handcuffs jingling musically. “And get these goddamn cuffs off me, yo. Where the fuck am I going to run to in here?”
I made my play. Now we wait.
My stare heavies on the chief.
I’m not afraid of you.
The chief eyes me curiously. “Mr. Falco,” he starts. “Twitch.” He pauses a moment, before asking a calm yet firm, “Why are you here?”
I hope curiosity will get the better of him. “I’m just a man wanting his life back.”
He blinks at me. “I’m sorry. I don’t quite understand.”
My response is to simply lift my arms to chest height and gently shake my chains.
I’m not talking, bitch.
The chief sighs. “You’re asking a lot of me. And you’ve yet to give me anything that makes me think our connection will be of mutual benefit.”
But I glance up at the sergeant, looking over his body suggestively. “I bet you like being bent over and spanked, huh, big boy?” The sergeant’s face turns purple and my eyes smile. “Make your wife cuff you then play with your asshole? That how you get off? Does she know you crave cock? Trust me, most women don’t mind. They love to watch.”
“Twitch, what are you doing?” The chief’s getting nervous now. He should be.
The sergeant impresses me. Although his jaw tenses and his face turns an unusual shade of red, he breathes deeply and centers himself. He looks as though he wants to lay into me, but he just watches me. Fair enough.
He’s not going to help me prove my point.
I turn to the other guy—Detective Deep-throat—and eye his crotch. “What about you, sunshine? I bet you were a wrestler in high school. Convinced yourself that all the hard-ons you got while rubbing against another man’s ass was a result of the fight. But they weren’t, were they?”
“Mr. Falco,” the chief barks in warning.
The detective is close to cracking. I need to up my game. My gaze lingers on his mouth. “It was the struggle you enjoyed. Two big men fighting for dominance, waiting for one to fall to his knees…” The dude shifts on his feet, and I breathe out an amused, “You getting turned on by this, faggot?”
He lunges at me and time slows to a crawl. My eyes shut in the unique pleasure of the fight, and I smile as he all but jumps over the rickety table to get to me. My chair is thrown backward, and it takes what seems like hours for my back to hit the floor. Anticipation has my heart racing and, fuck, I wish I could participate in this dance. Pain explodes at the apple of my left cheek, and although it throbs for a moment, soon, my face numbs.
All it takes is a few well-timed seconds.
The sergeant and chief pull him off me, and the detective is escorted from the room, glowering at me and uttering, “I’ll kill you, cock sucker.”
With my hands behind my back, the chief grips my upper arms, pulling me up and sitting me back down in the feeble chair as I tell the detective, “I’m already dead, pretty boy. Do your worst.”
My chest heaves and my heart races from adrenaline. I work at steadying my breathing, when the chief asks a baffled, “Why?” He doesn’t know what to make of me. I’m about to lay it down.
“I’m a dangerous man.”
The chief snorts, clearly unamused, before he paces then hisses, “You’re a goddamn smartass with an attitude problem.”
He’s pissed. I don’t blame him. “I need you to understand.”
Frustrated, at his wit’s end, he pauses his pacing and turns to glare at me. “What? Understand what?”
“That I…” I raise my right hand, the detective’s pistol resting lightly in my palm, handcuff dangling from my wrist. “…am a dangerous man.”
His face turns white as a sheet, and he opens his mouth to speak, to shout, who knows, but I shush him. Slowly raising my empty left hand, I hold the pistol out in the other and place it in the center of the table, sitting back, before explaining to the older man, “You think you got me locked down. I need you to understand that you can’t cage an animal like me. There’s always a way out, and it might take time, but if it’s there, I’ll find it. You need to know I’m here because I’m letting you keep me here, but I can walk out at any time.” I jerk my chin toward the gun on the table. “Eight caps in that baby, and only five of you here at present.” My eyes hood in boredom. “You think I’m playing? I want something from you, and you best believe you’ll be getting something in return. After all of this is over, you’ll see it was you who got the higher end of the bargain.”
The chief doesn’t give himself away. He remains solemn, reaching out slowly, taking the detective’s gun from the table before moving to sit across from me. “What do you want, son?”
Son.
Get a load of this bitch. Nothing makes my blood boil faster than that term.
Standing so fast that the dinky chair flies back, I bring my arm up then slam it down, beating my fist on the goddamn offensive table so hard the boom echoes throughout the little room, and roar, “I want my fucking life back.”
My chest heaves with unsteady breaths. This has to work. I need to make this work. I don’t have a plan B. Both of my hands rest on the table, and my shoulders slump as I dip my head and mutter, “I want my life back.”
The door bursts open and three men storm in. I’m ready for them. My posture defensive, I will break these motherfuckers if they come at me. The detective looks ready to take me down again, the sergeant looking to the chief, but it’s Quaid who notices the cuff hanging from my wrist right away. The chief waves the men off before turning to Casper and saying, “Officer Quaid, it seems we require your assistance.”
Before the detective leaves, the chief hands him his gun and utters quietly, “You best be keeping an eye on your things when Mr. Falco is around. The boy’s got sticky fingers.”
The detective’s pale and stunned face has the door closed on it, and I laugh on the inside.
Quaid sits next to me, leans forward and asks, “You good?”
The chief takes a seat, and I respond loud enough for him to hear me, “Yeah. I’m thinking the chief and I are on the same page now.”
The old man looks tired. “Not quite, but I’m definitely intrigued.” He runs a hand down his face. “Okay, you want your life back. What are you going to give me?”
I take the piece of paper out of my pocket and hand it to him. He opens it and reads silently as I tell him, “These men on a silver platter.”
He glances at the list and frowns. “How? I know these men.” His cautious eyes meet mine. “They’re untouchable.”
“With what I know”—I slouch back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest, and I grin savagely at the boss man—“we can make even gods bleed.”
It’s still dark. The cold has me grinding my molars together, my jaw locking tight, to stop my teeth from chattering. I don’t know how long has passed since Julius rolled over, taking the warmth of the cove