Something Wicked 🏳️‍🌈 (bxb)

4: Hot dude falls off clock tower

Sylvia pulled a red thread from my bullet-riddled hoodie. "Are you trying to look like a criminal? You're wearing the clothes they arrested you in."

"I rent a Vogel Technologies trailer with two other dudes. Who stink. I get paid shit, barely enough to cover rent, let alone food." I tugged at my sleeve. "How am I supposed to buy clothes? And how did you know I was arrested in these clothes?"

She prodded me along the corridor in reply. "I'll get you some groceries. And a phone. I'd rather not call Charity Graves too often. She said I was shrill."

She paused at the door to the interview room and pushed a bottle into my hand. Tiny brown pills.

No fucking way. Mamá's whole life was medication, sedation and prescriptions. No fucking way was I gonna follow in her footsteps, ever.

I shook the little bottle in front of Sylvia's nose. "None of this sedative shit is going in my body."

"It's not a sedative. The doctor said it would stop the blackouts, that's all. It won't affect you in any other way."

Fuck. Was my life gonna be perpetually taking the less shitty of two shitty choices? I stuffed the pills into my hoodie pocket as Sylvia swung the interview room's door open.

Except, it wasn't an interview room. It was an open-plan office. Full of cops. Like, totally fucking stuffed floor-to-ceiling with cops. All of them staring at me like I was a cockroach on a carpet.

My heart began to ratchet, my quads grinding with the instinct to run. I couldn't even rely on awesome hair for much-needed armor; I found myself nervously scratching at my buzz-cut, looking like the flea-ridden felon I was.

"This is Jason Torres. He's the—"

"As-salaam 'alekum." A little dude in the corner of the office swiveled his chair to assess me, slim and sharp-eyed. Classic Saudi kid. "Marhaba, Ghul Al'Ahmar."

"Wa'alekum as-salaam," I replied as graciously as I could while being stared down by six cops. "Marhaban bik."

"This is Rayan. He's interning for a couple of months."

A wiry Latina officer piped up. "Does Dante know that the Red Demon's here? No point anyone else interviewing him."

"Thank you, Gabi." Sylvia hurried me along the line of bemused cops. "Dante was called away to another job."

I scratched at the regrowth around my ears like a dog with lice. "Who's Dante?"

Gabi snatched up a copy of the María Times and started poring over the front page. "Dante's leading the Alcor case. If Dante's not gonna interview the Red Demon, I'm not gonna."

What the fuck was Sylvia doing bringing me here? The Alcor case was totally fucking moribund if the lead officer couldn't even be bothered to show up to interview the only living Alcor witness.

Sylvia breezed on past Gabi, dragging an office chair to Rayan's desk. "Maybe Rayan can interview you, then report to your parole officer."

Sylvia pressed a kiss to Rayan's forehead, straightened his sweater, and swept outta the office in a cloud of Chanel, hopefully to yell at Dante the intel guy for not gracing us with his presence.

Rayan eyeballed me as I sat spinning on the office chair. He was kind enough to throw me a bone. "If you're not useful to the Alcor case, I got a bunch of financial crime cases involving Saudi companies. Might need some pointers."

Gabi marched over and shoved a sticky note under Rayan's nose. "I need you to do a search, ese. Just gimme this guy's address and employment history."

"Yes, Ma'am." Rayan began to type the suspect's name into the Police Database, fingers blurring as they flew over the keys.