Asa

 

I hated police stations. Still, I thought that, since, on this occasion I was going in of my own free will and to help the law, I might feel differently about it. I didn't. It wasn’t about why I was there. It was that there was an atmosphere to the place. Like with hospitals. You didn’t have to be ill to hate being in one. Still, I at least felt that this time there was a chance that a visit to a police station might not end up being one of the worst days of my life.

 

"Not buying it, Mr. Covert! Not buying it!"

 

This was now hour four, and a few things were becoming swiftly clear to me. Firstly, this was not going to be as easy as I had imagined, and I had not imagined that it would be that easy. Secondly, my antipathy towards police stations was not going anywhere fast. Thirdly, it's possible that a qualification for being an investigator with the organized crime unit is being a grade-A asshole.

 

"I'm not trying to sell you anything," I grated back to the investigator, trying hard to keep the rage out of my voice and not punch the man in the face.

 

"Are you trying to be clever, Mr. Covert? Hear that Agent Hamlin?" Agent Quint, leaned back in his chair and addressed his colleague. "He's not trying to 'sell us' anything. Maybe that's because we're not in the market for hooch."

 

Hamlin inclined her head. She had said almost nothing since entering, in contrast to Quint, who had barely shut up. That was not the only way in which they were a contrast. Quint was a sallow, rat-faced man in an ill-fitting suit, he was in his late forties, and he had the skin of a pumpkin nine days after Halloween. Hamlin was a stunning brunette with the sculpted features of a goddess, porcelain skin, and an incredible figure hugged by an immaculate skirt and jacket. Under other circumstances, I would have been hitting on her. Come to think of it, if it wasn't for Corinne, I'd be hitting on her even in this situation. But, instead, I looked straight through her. I could see that she was a very sexy woman, but felt nothing. It's funny how meeting the right person can completely change how you view other people. At least, it would have been funny at any other time, but right now I was struggling to find anything funny.

 

"I think we're going to go through this again," said Agent Quint.

 

"Fine."

 

"What's that you said?"

 

"I said, 'Fine'."

 

"Oh, so it's all right with you, is it?" Quint asked, with mock sincerity. "Because I was really worried about getting your permission to continue this interrogation. Let's go back to the start. You're willing to give us the goods on Frank Rassi, Mafia kingpin, and, in return, you get immunity from prosecution for illegal sales of alcohol and running a protection racket?"

 

"I don't run a protection racket." The last thing I wanted to do was to get into an argument with this man, but I didn't want anything on the record that might suggest I had admitted to that.

 

"You sell protection?"

 

"So does a security firm," I pointed out. So do the police, when it comes to that. They just get paid differently. A protection racket is when you threaten to beat someone up or to torch their business unless they pay you."

 

"You seem to know a lot about it," Quint interrupted.

 

"Because I protect people from it," I countered quickly. "One of the things from which I protect people is protection rackets. I've never threatened any of my clients, and if they don't want my help, then that's fine. My services are free to those who buy booze off me."

 

"Quite the good Samaritan," Agent Quint sneered. "And your contention is that this benevolent work, plus your alcohol selling, is the limit of your illegal activity."

 

"I don't always ride my bike according to the speed limit," I admitted. I wasn't trying to be cocky, I didn't want to say anything I'd have to backtrack on later. "And, recently, I stole a car, but that was an emergency, and it has now been returned."

 

"And that's it."

 

"Pretty much."

 

"LIAR!" Quint slammed the table with his hand. "You want to know what I think?!" He had already told me multiple times, but Agent Quint was a man who liked the sound of his own voice. "I think you've got a finger in every pie around here. I think there's not a crime that happens in this area where you don't take your cut. I think you're into drugs, extortion, and whatever else is going on. I think you're looking to expand your biker gang, and you want the Mafia competition out of the way. And getting us to dispose of them is a hell of lot easier than doing it yourself. That's what I think."

 

"His only permanent home is a motor home behind a bar," came a quieter voice from the corner.

 

"What?!" Quint rounded on Sheriff Dugas, who had been standing, watching without saying a word.

 

Dugas met the agent's gaze levelly. "I'm just saying that, for a man with a finger in every pie, taking a cut from every crime, he's not exactly living in luxury."

 

"I didn't say he was good at it!" Quint snapped. "Besides, some people struggle to keep hold of their money."

 

"Yes," Dugas nodded. He might have hated Quint even more than I did, and he was not even trying to hide his contempt. "Taxes, and so on."

 

"Maybe you'd rather wait outside," Quint said, adding nastily, "This isn't really policemen's work."

 

"It's my potential CI you're assessing," Dugas said, still not unsettled by Quint's confrontational manner. "I'm staying."

 

I'm not an expert on the rules for the legitimizing of CIs (Confidential Informants), but, from the look on Quint's face, I could tell that Dugas knew his rights extremely well and wasn't going anywhere. Which, I had to say, I appreciated. He might not like me, what I stood for, or my relationship with his daughter, but he had taken me on as his responsibility, and he would stand by me. I could have used a man like Brian Dugas in War Cry.

 

The thing was, none of this was going as planned. Predictably, Dugas had done things by the book. He had called in before we set out, and the agents were there on our arrival. I had assumed, and I guess Brian had too, that they were there because I was going to be handing out details on a gang they had been trying to take down for a while, but, as it turned out, they were more interested in me and War Cry. Why that might be, I couldn't be sure. A man like Rassi was sure to have his contacts in the cops, but could they extend this far? More likely, this was the perennial problem of crime statistics. Real cops, like Brian Dugas, care about preventing crime and putting those responsible behind bars, but the upper echelons - the commissioners, etc. - only care about the figures. Right now, they had a known criminal in their custody -me. If they could pin a bunch of crimes on me and War Cry, maybe get me to turn on the rest of my gang, then they could mark a bunch of crimes as solved. The fact that neither I, nor War Cry, were responsible was neither here nor there. They just wanted the statistics. The fact that I was offering them evidence to help in catching the man whose gang was likely responsible for all those crimes was of equally little interest to them. Why would they try to catch another criminal when they already had me? That was just a waste of energy, and a man could get himself hurt doing that sort of thing. This was the sad reality of policing, and it was the reason that so many felt forced to turn to men like me for protection.

 

The only thing that made me feel slightly better about this unpleasant peep behind the curtain of law enforcement was that it was obviously angering Brian Dugas even more than me. Policemen are used to being accused of corruption, and there is nothing that angers an honest cop more than the people who drag down their reputation.

 

"Well?" Agent Quint got to the end of his assessment of all the things I had done or was planning to do for what had to be the tenth time.

 

I shrugged, still struggling to keep my composure. They were just waiting for me to snap, or to do or say something on tape that they could use in court to paint me as the mad dog biker they so wanted me to be. "I'm sorry. But it's just not true. I'm no saint, but the stuff you're talking about, I wouldn't touch. It's not who I am, and it's not what we do."

 

"Ah," Quint leered. "There's that word again. ’We'. I think it's about time you expanded on that."

 

It was bound to come up. They wanted me to name and shame all the members of War Cry. Of course, they had most of them on file, and, since we didn't meet in secret, it would have been easy enough to get the rest, but having me name them added a veneer of guilt. It would make them complicit in whatever these assholes finally pinned on me. Maybe it was empty symbolism, but either way, there were some things you just didn’t do.

 

"I'm sure you know most of their names."

 

Quint sat back. "You want me to believe that you have useful information on one criminal, when you refuse to name others? How am I supposed to trust you?"

 

"There's a difference between giving names of friends who've done nothing wrong, and getting a Mafia kingpin off the streets."

 

Quint sneered again. It was an expression that suited his face. "I think if you give me the names, then we can do immunity. But if you're not willing to do that as... call it a goodwill gesture, then..." He threw up his hands.

 

I simply met his gaze.

 

Quint wagged a finger at me. "I don't get you. I don't get you. You say you want immunity. I offer it. You turn me down. I don't get you. I don't know what you're after, and I can't trust that."

 

For the first time, Agent Hamlin now stepped forward. "Perhaps I should have a word with Mr. Covert in private."

 

"I think I'll stay, if it's all the same to you," Dugas said, sticking to his guns.

 

Hamlin shrugged. "Well, in that case, I feel that we've done all we can do. Let's find a cell for Mr. Covert, and get him charged."

 

Dugas snarled. "You're going to turn down my CI request, just because I won't leave you alone with him? Something which I am in no way obligated to do? You're going to send the man to jail over that?"

 

"I'm going to send the man to jail because he broke the law," corrected Agent Hamlin. "Repeatedly. And by his own admission. You surely don't have any objection to that."

 

"He's more use to us as a CI, and you damn well know it."

 

"Only if he cooperates," Hamilin said smoothly. "And he seems to be completely unwilling to do so at the present, which makes him no use to us. But I have to ask myself - it's my job to ask myself - what if there's something in this room that's stopping him from telling us everything he knows?"

 

Dugas glared. "You're saying that he's not telling you what you want to hear because I'm here."

 

"It's a possibility. It's equally possible that my colleague, Agent Quint, may have, in the diligent pursuit of his duty, so enraged Mr. Covert that he is holding back information out of perversity. Either way, getting both of you out of the room will allow me to have a more useful, as well as a more frank and productive, interaction with Mr. Covert. Don't you think?"

 

Dugas clearly didn't think anything of the sort and was opening his mouth to say so, when I interrupted.

 

"It's fine. I'm happy to talk to her alone." It wouldn't help me if Dugas put himself on the wrong side of these people, and it certainly wouldn't please Corinne if her dad totaled his career this way.

 

Dugas shot a glance at me. I think he may have even been grateful for my interruption, though he sensibly disguised it.

 

"Fine," he said at last. "If you think it'll help."

 

"I do," Hamlin replied, as calm and collected as ever.

 

"But, you know, there is one possibility you've overlooked, as to why he's not telling you what you want to hear," Dugas said, as he headed for the door with Quint behind him.

 

"Indeed?" Hamlin asked. "And what is that?"

 

"It's not true," Dugas replied plainly. "What you want him to say isn't true; and at some point, you may have to come to terms with that."

 

Having delivered this last blow, Brian Dugas left the interview room with the rat-faced Quint on his heels.

 

"That's better," Hamlin said, turning to me as the door closed. "Now we can get properly acquainted."

 

"How nice," I replied.

 

"You know, a woman in my position could do a lot for a man like you." Hamlin seated herself on the edge of the table, her slim leg swinging slightly. "Come to think of it, I suspect that a man like you could do a lot for a woman in my position. Or, indeed, in pretty much any position."

 

Her swinging leg went further with each swing, so that now her foot rubbed against my inner thigh at the apex of every arc.

 

"I think you'd be happier if you co-operated, Asa. I'm damn sure I would. You want to make me happy, don't you?"

 

At this point I wasn't sure if she was using the promise of sex to get me to own up to all this stuff I hadn't done, or if she was hoping to get sex in return for going easy on me. Either option was a hell of a lot better than the choice I had previously been facing: tell lies about my friends, or go to jail.

 

I didn’t want to be arrogant but it wasn’t the first time I have been in situations like this. I was a good-looking man, in a rough-cut sort of a way, and I took care of myself in a way that, apparently, made me pretty appealing to the opposite sex. All too often, we imagine that it's only men who could be bought with sex, but women had desires too, and a man like me could fulfill them. Of course, it would be hard to believe that a woman like Agent Hamlin was hard-up for male companionship, but, for a woman like that, one who lived by the rules, a man like me was a whole other kind of thrill. She was a woman who got off on breaking the rules and going after something forbidden.

 

But I already had someone like that in my life, even if I was fated never to lay eyes on her again. There was only one woman who filled my mind at the present: Corinne Dugas. It wasn't that I was going to turn down Agent Hamlin's offer because I didn't want to cheat on Corinne, it was that, having met Corinne, Agent Hamlin's offer didn't seem all that appealing. Who wants to sell themselves for sex anyway?

 

Agent Hamlin's swinging foot came to a stop, resting on my thigh, then slowly travelled up to press pointedly against my crotch. I removed it and was gratified to see Hamlin somewhere between shocked and offended.

 

"Something like that could easily be misinterpreted as you trying to coerce me," I explained. "And I'd hate for you to get into trouble on my account."

 

Hamlin stood back up abruptly. "Would you?" This was clearly a woman who was not used to men turning her down. Which came as no surprise to me. She was stunningly beautiful and almost painfully sexy. A week ago, what she had tried here would have worked on me instantly, and we would, even now, be putting on an X-rated show for anyone behind that two-way mirror. But things had changed since then. I had changed.

 

"If you're just going to ask me the same things as your colleague, then you might as well show me to my cell," I said. "I told him the truth. I'm not going to admit to stuff I didn't do, and I'm not going to incriminate my friends. Not even to please you."

 

Minutes later, I was being unceremoniously dumped back in the holding cells. As I settled down to wait, I took the time to think about Corinne and hope that she was doing well and would manage to reconnect with her father and sister. I hoped that everything would work out for her in my absence, because, if the look on Agent Hamlin's face was anything to go by, that absence was going to be a very long one indeed.