Page 65 of Dirty Behavior

I found myself drawn to how much hair was protruding off his skin like bark peeling off an old tree. Sitting there, I stared at his creepy fingers, trying to count each and every follicle.

I don't have time for this. . .

Or them.

“Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?”

The detective's jaw crooked out as his forehead exploded in rippled waves. “Do you think this is funny?”

“Oh come on now, don't be rude, Jones. That was a simple question, no need to suck your balls up your ass.”

Iwasa smart ass and I was glad he could see it. The sooner these pricks recognized I wasn't going to hand them what they wanted, the sooner they could let me go.

I needed the detectives to realize that trying to get anything from me was like trying to draw blood from a stone. I was dried out, crusted through to the core. They weren't getting shit.

The detective's tongue glided with frustration over his lip, his eyes rolling in the sockets as he changed his tune. “Dante, this is Detective Carol, he's been working with me on your father's case.”

Holding out his hand, the other man nodded as if this was some fancy introduction. Shaking my elbows, I twisted my arms out from behind my back. “I'd shake your hand, but. . .” Shrugging, I jerked my head over my shoulder. “I seem to be a little tied up right now.”

Detective Jones grunted, tugging a key from his pocket then stepping behind me. “Dante, we don't have to do it this way. We're not the bad guys here, we're trying to find out who killed your father, I'd like to think you want the same.” His fingers worked over the cuffs, eyes meeting mine.

There was a message postulating deep inside as his pupils retracted and brows lifted high. He was requesting me to submit, to breach the loyalty I swore to my family, and give him something to work with.

I shook my hands out as the metal broke free, the pins and needles prickled my skin in discomfort. “Isn't that the burning question detectives? Who killed my old man?”

Slipping into the chairs in front of me, both men eyed each other like I wouldn't understand what their soundless expressions were saying. But I knew, I knew exactly what they wanted from me.

They wanted a name, an answer to a question they couldn't figure out on their own.

And they were right, I did know.

But I wasn't going to tell them that. Fucking pricks.

I didn't have time for them and their fucking cop drama. This wasn't going to be some long, drawn out trial where I'd take the stand and point a finger at Remo from high in the booth.

I was going to be his judge, jury and executioner.

Me and only me.

“Dante, what can you tell us about what happened?”

“I don't know shit, sorry fellas.” Opening my hands, I let them drop back to the table. My eyes twinkled with a shit-eating grin, lips pushing out to pout. “I haven't been around for quite some time, you know that.”

Both the men twisted to face each other again, flicking their eyes right back on me. Detective Jones slowly opened the folder, teasing the edge of the hidden papers inside.

“Do you know what I have in here?”

“Nope, and I don't care.”

“You sure about that?” His brow arched high, head pitching down into his shoulder.

“Am I under arrest?”

“Have we read you your rights?”

Swallowing hard, my hands balled up on reflex. This guy was starting to piss me off. I had other things to do,better things to dobesides sitting here, getting taken for a ride on his carousel. I wasn't here to play, I wasn't here to feed them the shit they needed.

If they were such good detectives, they wouldn't need me to solve their case.

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