Squeak

You Must Do Time

Erik

"Why did you kill him?"

"Fuck you. Where's my girlfriend?"

"Why did you kill him?" Detective Smart repeated.

"Fuck you. Where's my girlfriend?"

"Your girlfriend is busy giving a statement."

Who does this fucker think he's trying to fool? Jezebel is a lot of things, but dumb isn't one of them. I know she's demanding a lawyer as we speak.

"I want my lawyer," I said, taking a drag of my cigarette.

"Sorry. Our phone lines are down," Detective Smart replied with a sardonic smirk.

"How shitty," I remarked.

"What was your motive? Was it money? Pastor Holmes had a hefty insurance policy on him."

Good for Jezebel.

"I want my lawyer."

"He was shot in his bed last night at the nursing facility."

Only a demented son-of-a-bitch who wants to cause a scene would do something like that.

"I want my lawyer."

"You sound like a broken record.

"And for your last name to be Smart, you sure are dumb as fuck. I want my lawyer."

There was a knock on the door, and I was nearly relieved to see my father until the corner of his lips twitched slightly. It was barely noticeable, but I caught it. It screamed, "I got you just where I want you."

"Leave us," he demanded. I rolled my eyes when Detective Smart gave a minuscule head bob before scurrying out of the interrogation room.

"Weird fucker. How much are you paying that guy? I'm sure he sucks your dick, too."

"I leave that last bit for your mother," he said breezily. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat in the chair across from me. I stubbed out my cigarette, blew the smoke in his face, and laced my fingers together before resting my fists on the metal table.

"I'm not getting that lawyer...am I?"

The corner of his mouth ticked again. "Why waste time on rhetorical questions, my beautiful son?"

"No. Don't do that. Don't call me that ever again."

"I'm healing nicely."

"I didn't ask," I remarked.

"That's right. You didn't, but you should've. I would've succumbed to my injuries if it weren't for your mother."

"That was her out. She should've taken it."

He nodded as he reached across the table to retrieve the pack of cigarettes. He lit one and puffed on it as if he had all the time in the world.

"You didn't have to kill Pastor Holmes, you know."

"I didn't kill him."

"No, you didn't, but the evidence will show that, more likely than not, you did."

"What evidence? I was at home with Jezebel."

"Can you provide proof?"

"I—"

I paused. I had removed all the cameras from the house before Halloween. Other than my word and Jezebel's word, no one could corroborate my whereabouts. Jezebel would be seen as an unreliable witness.

"Continue," I urged.

"Let me lay it out straight for you. You're going down for Pastor Holmes' death. There's gunshot residue on your clothing that you left behind at the house. Your fingerprints are on the shell casings found at the scene, and your fingerprints are on the weapon I turned over to the authorities. I wore gloves, in case you're wondering. I also left some of your hair at the murder scene."