Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 48018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
We do damage as we see fit, and we see fit to do a lot of damage. Bobby was always violent and reckless, but together we are worse than either one of us could ever be singly.
I kick the door to our next target open. Bobby’s taught me how to kick near the strike plate in a way that makes the door fly open wide. It’s super dramatic, and incredibly fun.
The door blasts out of the strike plate, hits the far side of the wall on its rotation, and comes off the top and middle hinges. I turn to Bobby with a huge grin.
“That was a good one, huh?”
“Real good, Riley.” He grins back.
That’s the last thing I hear properly. There’s a sound that is so loud it seems to obliterate my ears, and a flash of light so bright my entire vision goes opaque.
“FREEZE!” That word is boomed around me.
I freeze.
Somewhere in the smoke, Bobby has been snatched away. I am left behind, surrounded by a ring of barrels.
“HANDS UP. ON YOUR HEAD. ON YOUR KNEES.”
The orders ring out in quick, clipped, aggressive succession.
I am surrounded by cops, and I know that one wrong move will bring down a hail of bullets, followed by oblivion.
I don’t know where I am, precisely. Could be any precinct or field office. These rooms are all the same, and I’ve had a hood over my head since they took me.
“Long time no see, Riley.”
I don’t remember the name of the asshole with the greasy, balding head who is talking to me as if he knows me.
“Yeah,” I agree. “I’d like my lawyer, please.”
There is only one rule for a civilian when dealing with the law: do not talk to cops. Ever. Under any circumstances. That goes double for federal agents.
He cocks his head, rubbery lips contorting in a smirk. “You don’t want to share a few words with us? For old time’s sake?”
“Lawyer, please.”
I am sure Angelo will have one on the way to us already, and I know Bobby isn’t going to talk. I’ve never felt so confident when in trouble before. If anyone is a weak point, I am, and I know Angelo will attend to the weak point first.
The lawyer they bring me isn’t one of Angelo’s. I know that the second he walks in the door wearing a cheap suit and smelling of stale cologne. There’s an air of bologna and desperation about him, not to mention shifty tea-brown eyes.
“Riley Cooper?”
“That’s me,” I say.
“I’m Adam Pickles,” he says, giving me a clearly fake name from the outset.
It’s such a weird lie. Something is going on. I don’t know what, but I know for sure he’s not my lawyer. He might not be a lawyer at all.
He sits down opposite me and gives me what I am sure he thinks is a steely gaze. He has no idea what that phrase even means. I have withstood Angelo Vitali’s ocular inspections. No other man will ever compare.
“You were caught carrying out a crime that we know is linked to the notorious crime lord, Angelo Vitali.”
Notorious crime lord. Those words sound incredibly lame coming out of his face, like Angelo is some cheesy supervillain.
This guy is definitely a cop pretending to be a lawyer. They really are desperate. It’s pretty pathetic. I am trying not to smile, trying to play along with this fucking charade. I was a federal agent, and though I know my agency sucks, these cops are worse. They’re not thinking straight, too concerned with trying to get a confession of some kind, something that will lead to Angelo’s arrest. They won’t get it from me.
“You’re going away for a long fucking time if you don’t turn on that scumbag. I can convince the DA that you were brainwashed. Stockholm syndrome. The argument is there. What’s not there is a path forward where you get to keep living your life as a criminal. You’ve fallen from grace, Riley. You don’t have to hit the bottom. That comes with the chair.”
They’re laying these threats on thick. I try not to yawn in his face. I don’t want to antagonize him. I want him to think that he’s making some kind of impression on me, scaring me.
“Wow, and what would I have to do to get this deal?”
“You give us the location of Angelo Vitali, and full details of every crime you’ve committed in his name. In return, you get reduced charges, and a reduced sentence. You’ll serve some time…”
“As a fed, in prison,” I say flatly.
“Can’t be avoided. You can be put into protective custody.”
Protective custody is nothing but a smaller, less escapable room to be jumped in. These people are trying to get me to throw my life away and make a choice that has to end in death. If I turn Angelo in, if I wanted to do that, he’d kill me. And if he didn’t kill me, the inmates in prison would. I’d fight some of them some of the time, but it wouldn’t be enough. Eventually someone would get a shank into me and that would be the end of everything.