They Tell Me I'm The Bad Guy by R. D. Harless

Author:R. D. Harless [Harless, R. D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-11-07T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15Sticks and Stones Can Break Your Bones but Words Will Fuck You Sideways

I woke up when the sedatives wore off. Took a piss in my metal toilet; the fluorescent lights above came on halfway through. I nearly gave the cameras the finger but caught myself. The prize at the end of this tunnel of horseshit had to take priority.

But the thing that bothered me was why Rosemary couldn't read my mind. Were her and Blue just lying about it? And where the fuck was Will?

I finished and flushed the toilet. "Was Will Bowman brought in by Agent Red?" I asked the cameras. Nobody answered. Fine.

Thirty seconds later, a speaker came on. "Guillory, your cell temperature readings are increasing. What are you doing?"

"Thinking about Agent Parks. Hey, was a guy named Will Bowman brought in by Agent Red?"

The speaker in the ceiling replied, "That question can be answered in your conference this morning."

"I have a conference?"

"Opening up Number Fourteen," someone in the hall announced. The metal-on-metal squealing of the door to my cell opening woke me up better than coffee.

"Guillory," one of the guards said, "Move to the back wall and put your hands out, palms flat, against the wall."

I complied without saying anything, my mouth full of bad breath and desperation for the first cigarette of the day.

I got walked down to the showers in shackles. I had a shower by myself with four armed men watching my progress. I got told to hurry up while I brushed my teeth. And I fucking took all of it because it was the only smart thing to do if I didn't want this to be my permanent routine.

After the allotted hygiene time, they walked me down the Power Line in a stiff grey prisoner's jumpsuit and shackles to the interrogation rooms, which were all nicely labeled as 'conference rooms' instead of 'interrogation rooms' to make stupid guys feel like everybody here was really their friend.

The guards sat me down in a steel chair at a steel table in a beige cinder block room. One wall had a big mirror on it, and anybody who had ever watched a cop show knew there were ten guys in a room watching me. A ceiling-mounted camera in the corner with a blinking red light recorded everything.

Some limp dick non-Poster agent came in and shook my hand and put a pad of white paper and a pen on the table. He turned on a pocket recorder and gave his unimportant name, the date, all that crap, and had me give my name, birth date, and all my unimportant crap. He told me I could have an attorney present and anything I said could be used as evidence in court. I told him I didn't need an attorney, I just wanted to help them get Tracey. Because that was what an innocent guy would do, like an idiot, and I wanted these shit heads on my side.

The guy asked me to write my story, everything I knew about Tracey, everything that had happened since she contacted me.

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