Snitch
You Asked For It
Lieutenant Michealson's red face peers at me across a cold metal table. His thick hands clench each other tightly.
"What the hell was that back there?"
I shrug, picking at my nails. "You asked for it. You asked me to tell you where they were. I never said which side I was on."
Michealson rubs his face. “I was trying to get that felony off your record."
“The way I see it, I did you a favor: you got a few of the druggies off the streets. Besides, you know I was carrying a weapon. That felony wasn't goin' anywhere and you know it."
Michealson squeezes his hands. “Once you see that judge tomorrow, you're gonna get scared straight kid.”
“Well, considering this is my—what? Fourth run in with you--I don't think that judge can scare me. Will my lawyer be there?”
Michealson nods. “She's not happy.”
“Well, so be it. Mean time, what else did you want?"
Silence hangs over the table, a dark cloud that never quite goes away in here. Michealson's eyes meet mine. A bead of sweat trickles down my back. Finally, he stands.
“Good luck tomorrow. I'll come to the hearing. Maybe the judge will be good to you, considering you did what I needed.”
He waddles from the room. A guard comes for me, making sure my handcuffs are secure. County lock up isn't so bad. The federal pen? I'm more terrified than I care for Michealson to know.
Notes
Check out Aightball's Nook for more on my writing and journey to publication.