Snitch
Lesser Charge
A ruddy face hovers over me. Stale cigarette breath coats my face and I blanch.
“With what you know—“
“With what I know? I could bring Omaha to its knees.” I cross my arms over my chest and slide down in the chair with the fake leather seat. “What’s in it for me?”
Lt. Michealson runs a thick hand through his thinning brown hair, mouth set in a line. “You go to rehab, plead to a lesser charge.”
I lick dry lips, trembling hands running up and down my arms. Sweat drips down my face my face.
“I want protection. If I do this, I’ll be killed as soon as I leave the station.”
Michealson leans on the table, which creaks in protest. A bead of sweat trickles from his temple and splashes on the table.
“Fine. Where do we go?”
I pull in a breath. “Last I knew there was a safe house on Howell St. Aaron picked it because it wouldn’t stand out.”
I lean over the table and clutch my stomach. Michealson thrusts a waste basket under my mouth in time. Sweat pours from my body as I shake. I take off my shirt, trying to cool down.
“I’ll get that lesser charge put through tonight.”
The door is like coffin lids slamming as Michealson leaves the room. I lean my head on the cold table, pulling in a breath. Maybe it will be my last breath. Jail won’t keep Aaron from killing me.