Chapter Forty-Two

 

RYAN

 

It's not my first time in an interrogation room. Hell, it's not my first time this week. I don't know what these locals are planning, but I don't like it one bit. I don't know how long it's been, not exactly. They're sweating me.

But I know it's been long enough that Davis's not still waiting for me at that damned 24-hour spot. By itself, that means that Brian's in a bad spot. Everything past that is just icing on the cake.

Not for the first time, I wonder how much longer they're planning on keeping me in here, without any word from the outside. Without even telling me what they wanted.

My question is finally answered, though, when a big guy with a square jaw and a flat nose comes through the door. He's got a broad neck and broad shoulders, but he doesn't carry an ounce of fat on him. Built like a fire hydrant.

"Ryan Beauchamp. Aged twenty-seven, from Cleveland, Ohio originally. You've been down here for a while, though. Business?"

"I guess I just needed a change," I tell him.

"Well, Arizona sure is a big change from Ohio," he says, smiling to himself. "You want to tell me what you were doing in that apartment, Ryan?"

I consider what to tell them for an instant. For now, the truth will have to do.

"I got a call. Brian said he was in trouble, so I went to his apartment."

"That's good. Good. Because we've got witnesses that place you tearing the place up looking for him."

"Good. Can I go?" I hold my hands out for him to unlock. It's a meaningless gesture, because I know there's going to be a 'but' at the end.

"Not quite yet, son," he says. He couldn't be more than ten years older than me. "We've got a few more questions for you."

"Okay, shoot." I lean back into the seat, my hands as close to my lap as the cuffs will let them get.

"You say you got a call. He was in trouble. Is that right?"

"I just said that, yes."

"What kind of trouble did he say he was in?"

"He didn't. He said I needed to get there as soon as possible."

"But you must have had some idea, right?"

The guy hasn't introduced himself and it's frustrating me. Who the fuck is this guy? Is he even a cop? I really have no way of knowing, unless he tells me, and he doesn't seem interested in telling me anything. Just asking more questions.

"I don't understand what you're trying to ask."

"It's simple, Beauchamp. I know, if I called my brother, I'd say 'Ryan, I've got a problem, you see, my television isn't working.' And then you'd come over, because you're… what, a television repair man?"

"Sure. No, he said there was trouble."

"And you didn't have any idea what kind of trouble it could be."

"He sounded strange, but otherwise, no. He sounded like someone was telling him what to say. Or, what not to say."

"So you did know what kind of trouble, then."

"I didn't say that. I said that he sounded off, and I could make a guess at what was off about it."

"Right."

The guy writes something down and looks up at me through his heavy eyebrows like a shrink. I don't like it. He's asking useless questions. He's not waiting for me to give anything away, not far as I can tell.

He's waiting for something else, and it's probably something going on outside this room. That makes me extremely nervous. What the hell were they trying to hold over my head?

Still, the bracelets around my wrists say I can't leave until they tell me I can, so I get to stay.

"So take me through what happened when you got there. We found you armed—"

"Which is my right according to Arizona state law, by the way," I interject.

"Which is your right, afforded to you by the state of Arizona, yes. In a room full of blood. Christ. It looked like you slaughtered a pig in there, Ryan."

"I just got there, same as your boys. I didn't do anything in there at all, pig or not."

"That's not what we've heard. Folks across the way, they made it sound a hell of a lot like you were all over that room. They couldn't positively say whether or not your brother was there at the time, but they were very sure about you."

"And I was there. I checked around to see if there was any sign of what had happened to my brother."

"Other than the blood, you mean."

I roll my eyes. "Obviously other than the blood. What is this, your first day? Are you a disgruntled, out of work English professor who needs to play word games all the damn time to make up for the fact that nobody would hire you? What the fuck is it?"

The guy sits back and smiles for a minute. He likes that he's gotten a rise out of me, and I guess I understand why. It's step one to trying to knock down my story.

The problem is, there's nothing to knock down yet. I haven't had to lie, haven't had to mislead the guy. I haven't even avoided any questions.

"You know, Ryan, you have quite a lot of people looking for you."

The last part carries with it an implication that hits hard. I try to keep my face neutral, but I'm not confident that I manage it.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean that some folks from Washington, they say that you're an illegal trafficker of narcotics."

"Well, then they're mistaken. I own and operate a bar. Right on the edge of town. You might have seen it? Come on by some time, I'll pour you a drink."

"I'm aware of that cover story, Beauchamp, and I know as well as you do that is bullshit."

"Think what you want. I came down here because I wanted to go straight." The words came out easy. Easier still, because there was a tiny ring of truth to them, even after these years.

"Of course. You're right. Tell me about Ohio."

"Cold in the winter. Hot in the summer. Not as hot as here."

His lips press together. "Cute. Tell me about the arrest."

"I fell in with the wrong crowd, you know the story. I'm sure you've read the file."

"Of course I have," he says. He smiles again. He feels in control, and he feels that way because he is in control. "But I want to hear your side of things."

"I plead guilty. Read the file."

"I want to hear it in your words," he insists. I'm starting to dislike the guy. Well, if I want to get out of here, I might as well play along.

"I worked for a guy. He paid cash, and my job was to stand around and look tough."

"I heard you did more than look tough."

"I'm getting to that, boss, give me a minute. Now, there was this guy. Mike, I think his name was. We called him Slim, on account of he wasn't. So Slim, he owed some money. Twenty bucks, I think? Thirty? It's been a few years." I shrug.

He taps his fingers on the table. "So what happened with Slim?"

"Well, the boss—Brzezinski, he's still serving time up in Ohio—he says, I gotta make an example of this guy. So I draw the short straw, I guess, and it's my job. I'm not supposed to kill him, yanno? It's not like he's got the money in his goddamn pocket."

"Okay."

"So I went around and asked him for the money. He gives the usual bullshit. 'I ain't got it, but I can get it,' 'I need a couple days,' that sort of shit. Slim says that shit all the time, and he never pays up."

"So you…"

"We got a little friendly, sure."

"You know what happened to him after that?"

"Not really."

"You want to?"

"Sure, since we're such good friends now, and all."

"He's dead. Found him with a needle in his arm and his eyes practically popped out of his head. Puddle of blood from where he smacked face-first into the ground, bigger'n your brother's."

"So what now? Any other questions, or can I go? Or are you going to charge me with something?"

The guy looks at his watch. "Not so fast, Beauchamp. We've still got another forty-three hours we can hold you. But the good news is, you don't have to wait near that long. Someone's come to get you. Some fed."

I almost let myself get hopeful for a minute.

The guy turns to the door. "Send 'em in!"

A big motherfucker and an old man walk in. The big guy claps my new best friend on the shoulder. "Thank you, we'll take it from here."

The guy stands up, pushes his chair back. I still don't know his name, and it makes my teeth itch. The old man trades spots with him as the big guy guides the local boy out of the room.

"Hello, Ryan." The old guy looks about as friendly as a steel rake. "I'm A.T.F. inspector Martin Donaldsen, and I'm placing you under arrest for the trafficking of unlicensed firearms."