The Man Who Couldn't Be Bought (A Miles Franco Short Story) by Chris Strange

Author:Chris Strange
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781465911094
Publisher: Chris Strange

CHAPTER TWO

The two detectives made me wait in the interrogation room while they got my paperwork together. I brooded as I sat in the dark, claustrophobic room, then took to giving evil glares to the reflective one-way glass on the off chance one of them was watching me. I’d just taken to pacing the room when Detective Reed finally returned and allowed me to go.

The walk of shame through the police station was slightly less demeaning this time, mainly due to the lack of handcuffs. The hookers were still sitting in holding, the harsh light showcasing every wrinkle and faded bruise. They made screeching cat-calls as Detective Reed and I went past, but I didn’t respond. My job sees me walking the darker streets of Bluegate a lot, and I wasn’t keen to antagonize any more people than I had to.

Detective Reed didn’t talk to me, which suited me fine. The pantsuit she was wearing was strangely alluring, and I had to keep a tight rein on myself to keep my gaze from slipping to the hint of cleavage that appeared above her purple V-necked shirt. Sure, beautiful women scare me, but I was still a man, and one in the middle of a dry spell the size of the Sahara desert. Detective Reed didn’t appear to take any notice of my glances, which was probably for the best.

We stopped in front of an overweight uniformed cop sitting behind a plate glass window, the one who had taken my things when I’d gone through processing.

“Miles Franco,” Detective Reed said to the man. “Give him his stuff back.”

The cop swiveled around in his chair without looking at me and shuffled through several paper bags. He finally reemerged with a grunt and a bag with ‘Myles Falco’ scrawled on it in black ink. Goddamn cops. They really needed to up their admission standards.

“Wallet,” he said, pulling it from the bag and sliding it beneath his window to me. “Key ring with three keys. Cell phone. Folding knife.” I pocketed the knife before he could have second thoughts and confiscate it. It was a good knife, with a carbon steel blade about five and a half inches long. It was a tool, not a weapon, but I could see the disapproval spreading across Detective Reed’s face.

The cop started to scrunch the bag up and throw it away, but I spoke up. “I had some coins.”

The cop frowned at me as if I was deliberately trying to make trouble. “Bag’s empty. Check your wallet.”

My wallet was as empty as it always was. It was more for show than anything. “I need my coins.”

Detective Reed checked her watch and made an irritated noise. “Check the shelf again, Will. This one’s stubborn.”

The cop scowled but did as he was told, hefting his considerable weight off the office chair. He disappeared beneath the desk for a few seconds. I could hear him shuffling around, and he finally reemerged with a handful of silver coins.

He tossed them toward me then slapped a clipboard with a release form down in front of me.

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