I'm seeing a lot of comments but no fills. So, yeah, here we go:
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The interrogation room was like most interrogation rooms - sturdy metal table, single bright light overhead, two heavy metal-and-plastic chairs, a single door, and a two-way mirror.
Harry leaned back in his chair and sighed impatiently.
"Got somewhere to be?" the agent asked, sneering.
"Not anymore," Harry shrugged. He was late enough that Marcone would worry. He didn't miss their dates anymore, not unless it was life or death - or someone managed to kidnap him, like the agents had essentially done.
"A few years ago you were...not exactly a model citizen, but on the right track. You paid your bills eventually, you helped the police solve the weirdo crimes. You had all kinds of vehicle citations, but that's hardly a big deal. Then you start getting spotted with Marcone. And then you start getting implicated in much more serious crimes - murders, arsons with fatalities, disappearances...it looks pretty bad."
"It looks like you're grasping at straws," Harry said with a tight smile.
"Marcone is a monster. You hang out with the devil and you start acting like a demon, Dresden. But it's not too late. You can still do the right thing."
Harry sputtered with laughter. "What, wear a wire?"
"Something like that."
"I'm not interested in having the government listening in on my conversations," Harry said flatly.
"We're not interested in your conversations. We're interested in Marcone's."
"The only business we talk about is protecting Chicago, which I do proactively, not reactively."
"What else do you talk about, then?" came the innocent follow-up question.
"Sports," Harry lied with a toothy grin.
"...Don't insult my intelligence."
"Don't ask questions you know I'm not gonna answer. By the way, you have no right to keep me here without a charge, and you have no charges or even reasonable suspicion. If you did, I'd have a lawyer or you'd be in really deep shit."
The agent threw a folder down. Harry glanced at it curiously but didn't touch it.
"Go ahead. Take a good look."
Harry flipped the file open. A happy little family photo was clipped to a crime scene picture, showing the eviscerated corpse of the man in the family. His stomach flipped, and he turned away.
"What, delicate constitution? This is what Marcone does," the agent snapped, shoving the file at Harry. "Look at it!" He turned to the next set of photos - a guy playing with his daughter, and then the guy with his throat slit.
They were almost all like that, the juxtaposition of the man with his family and the man, dead. The last three, though, were women. Harry shoved away from the table and out of the agent's reach.
"I don't know anything about that stuff! And you can't prove it, or you'd have locked him up!"
"No, we can't prove it! But we know it's him, just like you know it's him. And you can help us put him behind bars, Dresden. You can make the streets safer."
That wasn't right. Harry glared at the agent. "Who were those people?" he deflected.
The agent started talking about their families, but Harry waved a hand dismissively.
"Everyone has a father, and a lot of people who don't deserve children have those, too. What did they do?" Harry pushed, moving back into the agent's space, using his height to physically intimidate.
He heard the euphemisms and dismissed them immediately. They weren't on the average citizen side of the law.
"You wanna talk about making the streets safer? Since Vargassi disappeared, you know what the crime rate has been in Chicago? About a 60% reduction from when Vargassi headed the Outfit. That wasn't the bloated, useless cops at work, and it sure as hell wasn't the FBI. Violent crime in particular is way down, and gangs no longer recruit minors in any large amount. Minors are also ten times less likely to be the victim of a violent crime now than they were ten years ago. That's making the streets safe, agent. You should find a new tactic."
He shoved his way out of the room, hearing the lightbulb pop and shower glass on the floor, not caring a whit about it. He was certainly unhappy with the images, but he didn't know what to tell or ask Marcone. He feared the truth would be the worst answer he could receive, or that Marcone would lie to keep him close.
Harry got into his car and took a deep breath. Driving angry was a surefire way to break his car. He'd talk to Marcone, but he'd do it with his eyes wide open.
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Open Your Eyes [1/1]
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The interrogation room was like most interrogation rooms - sturdy metal table, single bright light overhead, two heavy metal-and-plastic chairs, a single door, and a two-way mirror.
Harry leaned back in his chair and sighed impatiently.
"Got somewhere to be?" the agent asked, sneering.
"Not anymore," Harry shrugged. He was late enough that Marcone would worry. He didn't miss their dates anymore, not unless it was life or death - or someone managed to kidnap him, like the agents had essentially done.
"A few years ago you were...not exactly a model citizen, but on the right track. You paid your bills eventually, you helped the police solve the weirdo crimes. You had all kinds of vehicle citations, but that's hardly a big deal. Then you start getting spotted with Marcone. And then you start getting implicated in much more serious crimes - murders, arsons with fatalities, disappearances...it looks pretty bad."
"It looks like you're grasping at straws," Harry said with a tight smile.
"Marcone is a monster. You hang out with the devil and you start acting like a demon, Dresden. But it's not too late. You can still do the right thing."
Harry sputtered with laughter. "What, wear a wire?"
"Something like that."
"I'm not interested in having the government listening in on my conversations," Harry said flatly.
"We're not interested in your conversations. We're interested in Marcone's."
"The only business we talk about is protecting Chicago, which I do proactively, not reactively."
"What else do you talk about, then?" came the innocent follow-up question.
"Sports," Harry lied with a toothy grin.
"...Don't insult my intelligence."
"Don't ask questions you know I'm not gonna answer. By the way, you have no right to keep me here without a charge, and you have no charges or even reasonable suspicion. If you did, I'd have a lawyer or you'd be in really deep shit."
The agent threw a folder down. Harry glanced at it curiously but didn't touch it.
"Go ahead. Take a good look."
Harry flipped the file open. A happy little family photo was clipped to a crime scene picture, showing the eviscerated corpse of the man in the family. His stomach flipped, and he turned away.
"What, delicate constitution? This is what Marcone does," the agent snapped, shoving the file at Harry. "Look at it!" He turned to the next set of photos - a guy playing with his daughter, and then the guy with his throat slit.
They were almost all like that, the juxtaposition of the man with his family and the man, dead. The last three, though, were women. Harry shoved away from the table and out of the agent's reach.
"I don't know anything about that stuff! And you can't prove it, or you'd have locked him up!"
"No, we can't prove it! But we know it's him, just like you know it's him. And you can help us put him behind bars, Dresden. You can make the streets safer."
That wasn't right. Harry glared at the agent. "Who were those people?" he deflected.
The agent started talking about their families, but Harry waved a hand dismissively.
"Everyone has a father, and a lot of people who don't deserve children have those, too. What did they do?" Harry pushed, moving back into the agent's space, using his height to physically intimidate.
He heard the euphemisms and dismissed them immediately. They weren't on the average citizen side of the law.
"You wanna talk about making the streets safer? Since Vargassi disappeared, you know what the crime rate has been in Chicago? About a 60% reduction from when Vargassi headed the Outfit. That wasn't the bloated, useless cops at work, and it sure as hell wasn't the FBI. Violent crime in particular is way down, and gangs no longer recruit minors in any large amount. Minors are also ten times less likely to be the victim of a violent crime now than they were ten years ago. That's making the streets safe, agent. You should find a new tactic."
He shoved his way out of the room, hearing the lightbulb pop and shower glass on the floor, not caring a whit about it. He was certainly unhappy with the images, but he didn't know what to tell or ask Marcone. He feared the truth would be the worst answer he could receive, or that Marcone would lie to keep him close.
Harry got into his car and took a deep breath. Driving angry was a surefire way to break his car. He'd talk to Marcone, but he'd do it with his eyes wide open.
Re: Open Your Eyes [1/1]