Page 37 of Ruined

I don’t remember the name of the asshole with the greasy, balding head who is talking to me as if he knows me.

“Yeah,” I agree. “I’d like my lawyer, please.”

There is only one rule for a civilian when dealing with the law: do not talk to cops. Ever. Under any circumstances. That goes double for federal agents.

He cocks his head, rubbery lips contorting in a smirk. “You don’t want to share a few words with us? For old time’s sake?”

“Lawyer, please.”

I am sure Angelo will have one on the way to us already, and I know Bobby isn’t going to talk. I’ve never felt so confident when in trouble before. If anyone is a weak point, I am, and I know Angelo will attend to the weak point first.

* * *

The lawyer they bring me isn’t one of Angelo’s. I know that the second he walks in the door wearing a cheap suit and smelling of stale cologne. There’s an air of bologna and desperation about him, not to mention shifty tea-brown eyes.

“Riley Cooper?”

“That’s me,” I say.

“I’m Adam Pickles,” he says, giving me a clearly fake name from the outset.

It’s such a weird lie. Something is going on. I don’t know what, but I know for sure he’s not my lawyer. He might not be a lawyer at all.

He sits down opposite me and gives me what I am sure he thinks is a steely gaze. He has no idea what that phrase even means. I have withstood Angelo Vitali’s ocular inspections. No other man will ever compare.

“You were caught carrying out a crime that we know is linked to the notorious crime lord, Angelo Vitali.”

Notorious crime lord. Those words sound incredibly lame coming out of his face, like Angelo is some cheesy supervillain.

This guy is definitely a cop pretending to be a lawyer. They really are desperate. It’s pretty pathetic. I am trying not to smile, trying to play along with this fucking charade. I was a federal agent, and though I know my agency sucks, these cops are worse. They’re not thinking straight, too concerned with trying to get a confession of some kind, something that will lead to Angelo’s arrest. They won’t get it from me.

“You’re going away for a long fucking time if you don’t turn on that scumbag. I can convince the DA that you were brainwashed. Stockholm syndrome. The argument is there. What’s not there is a path forward where you get to keep living your life as a criminal. You’ve fallen from grace, Riley. You don’t have to hit the bottom. That comes with the chair.”

They’re laying these threats on thick. I try not to yawn in his face. I don’t want to antagonize him. I want him to think that he’s making some kind of impression on me, scaring me.

“Wow, and what would I have to do to get this deal?”

“You give us the location of Angelo Vitali, and full details of every crime you’ve committed in his name. In return, you get reduced charges, and a reduced sentence. You’ll serve some time…”

“As a fed, in prison,” I say flatly.

“Can’t be avoided. You can be put into protective custody.”

Protective custody is nothing but a smaller, less escapable room to be jumped in. These people are trying to get me to throw my life away and make a choice that has to end in death. If I turn Angelo in, if I wanted to do that, he’d kill me. And if he didn’t kill me, the inmates in prison would. I’d fight some of them some of the time, but it wouldn’t be enough. Eventually someone would get a shank into me and that would be the end of everything.

“I’d like my actual lawyer now, guys,” I say, looking into the two-way mirror that I know has to hold a whole passel of police. “This guy’s a dud. It’s like you’re not even trying here.”

Fakey McLawyer-face gets up and leaves without a word.

I sit for a while, nobody even offers me a soda. There’s no good cop or bad cop, because they know I know enough not to fall for any of that bullshit.

Eventually, the door opens and a woman in her forties walks in. Her high heels mark the linoleum with every step she takes. She has a sleek blonde mane, and she’s made up to perfection with what in this context might as well be warpaint. She has a general air of disdain and the sort of attitude that makes men’s balls shrink just from being in her presence.

She looks a lot more like the sort of person a cop would think Angelo would choose as a lawyer.

“They tried to coerce a confession from me with a fake lawyer,” I tell her immediately.

“I’m aware of the practices of this precinct. They’re on notice. Now. Tell me everything.”

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