| "One Headlight" | ||
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Unknown location Unknown time I remember being afraid. The thought railroads through my head (alongside the constant thumping) as the man in front of me asks if I remember anything. �Yes�sort of� I manage out. The room I�m in is not very bright as the lights are dimmed down. Which is good because my head is still humming from the girlfriend hitting me and whatever drug she put into my system. �What were you doing at the bar?� �Where am I?� I have a right to know. I think. I do have rights still, right? The man shook his head with an agitated look on his face. �Tell me what you were doing at the bar Detective Tarnes.� He has a slight accent, something I can�t quite place. I mean, it�s not like it�s Brooklyn vs Long Island, I could pick those accents out with a bottle of tequila in me. It�s something else, something a little fancier. British, maybe. �Tell me where I am first.� He looked at me in a way that made me feel very uncomfortable. He sighed softly and pushed his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose. �This is not a negotiation. This is an interrogation. And interrogations can be brutal,� he leaned forward, �if one doesn�t cooperate.� He stood back up, �now, I will ask you once more before we move on to more unpleasant things�what were you doing at the bar?� Now I�m a little concerned again. I don�t know who this guy is, who he works for, where I am, or anything and he�s asking questions about something I�m not quite sure I want to talk about. �Detective�answer the question.� �I want to know who you are, where I am, and why you�re keeping me against my will. I have rights�� �You don�t have rights here,� he scoffed. �You don�t have anything. Matter of fact, you�re lucky you�re still alive.� Because the girlfriend hated me. I saw it in her eyes, those pretty dark green eyes. She wanted to kill me. But something held her back. Maybe this guy? Maybe this was her boss? �I�m growing tired of this Detective. Tell me what you were doing�� �I was following someone,� I say evenly, pulling gently on the straps that hold my wrists down. �Who?� I shook my head, �don�t know his name.� �What did he look like?� I take a deep breath. He already knows who I was following. �He had funny colored hair.� The man nodded. �Why were you following him?� �He was involved in an investigation.� �What kind of investigation?� �A murder investigation.� �Whose murder?� �It�s an ongoing investigation I can�t really�� �WHOSE MURDER?� he shouted. �A Russian immigrant, owned a club. He was murdered two months ago and the guy I was following was my only lead.� The man seemed to freeze though he tilted his head just the tiniest bit. He was thinking and I could almost hear the gears turning in his head. Then he simply turned and walked out. Did he know about the murder? Was he involved? Jesus fucking christ � what if this guy orchestrated the whole thing? What if he was the boss for my guy and the girlfriend? And all those other people? God. What the fuck did I get myself into? Return |
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