Teddy?”
“Yeah,” Teddy says. “Maybe I do, you fat son of a bish.”
Jack asks, “Where were
you
last night?”
“What time?”
“About 3 a.m.”
“Fucking your mother.”
“You were at the Atlas Warehouse.”
Jack watches Teddy thinking. Mulling over that if they have him at the scene, it’s either a snitch or a witness. If it’s a snitch, he’s one of the crew. If it’s a witness …
“Your mom’s a drag in the sack, man,” Teddy says. “Gives lousy head. But I guess you’d know that.”
“You were at the warehouse.”
“Your sister, on the other hand …”
“You left a gas can behind,” Jack says. “Got your prints on it.”
He’d told this lie once to a young amateur who had blurted out, “Bullshit, I was wearing gloves!”
Teddy doesn’t go for it, though.
“Wasn’t me,” he says.
“Don’t be a dumb shit,” Jack says. “We got you. Why take a hit for Kazzy Azmekian? He wouldn’t take one for you. Give us Azmekian, we’ll get you some credit with the DA.”
Bentley chimes in, “Theodore, you have priors. Unless you do something to help yourself, you could be looking at double-digit time here. You could be dating Rosie for ten, twelve years.”
“Or you could write us a statement,” Jack says. “Like, now.”
Teddy lifts his middle finger, sticks it in his mouth and sucks it, then points it at Jack.
Out in the hallway, Jack says to Bentley, “We gotta get a statement. We can’t let Guzman testify.”
“Man knew what he was getting into,” Bentley says.
“Teddy’ll have him banged out.”
“I’m not losing an arson-murder,” Bentley says.
Jack shakes his head. “Either we get Teddy’s statement or we just say fuck it.”
Bentley looks at the floor for a long time. Finally says, “You do what you think you have to do.”
The selective use of the second person doesn’t elude Jack.
He asks, “We’re together on this?”
They look at each other while Bentley thinks it over. Then he says, “Yeah.”
They go into the room. Bentley leans against the wall in the corner as Jack sits down across the table from Teddy. Jack turns on the tape recorder, says, “You don’t know how to write, you can give it to us on tape.”
Teddy leans over the desk, gets into Jack’s face.
“You don’t got no fuckin’ gas can, you don’t got no fuckin’ prints,” he says. “What you got is a fuckin’ witness, and by the time this thing gets to trial … well, don’t you just hate it when bad things happen to good people? Ain’t it a real
bish
?”
Jack turns off the tape recorder. Takes off his jacket and lays it on the back of the chair.
Jack’s a big guy. Six-four and muscled. He comes around behind Teddy, says, “Teddy
Coooool
.” Then cups his palms and slams them against Teddy’s ears.
Teddy screams and slumps down in the chair, holding his hands over his ears and shaking his head. Jack picks him up and tosses him against the wall. Catches him on the rebound and bounces him off the other wall. Does this three or four times before he lets Teddy fall to the floor.
“You set the fire, Teddy.”
“No.”
Jack picks Teddy halfway up, then drives his knee into Teddy’s chest. The air comes out of Teddy’s lungs with a grunt that makes Jack sick. But it’s like,
Do the job and do it right
, so he knees Teddy two more times then shoves him down so that his head bounces off the concrete floor.
He backs off and Teddy goes fetal.
“Don’t you just hate it,” Jack says, “when bad things happen to good people?”
“You’re crazy, man,” Teddy moans.
“That would be a good thing for you to keep in mind, Teddy,” Jack says. “Now, are you going to give it up or do we start again?”
“I want a lawyer.”
Jack knows he has to move him, and quick. Teddy gets a lawyer, he’ll find out there’s a murder rap hanging out, and then it’s over.
“Did you say something?” Jack asks. “Because you’re really tripping, man.
“Yeah,” Teddy says. “Maybe I do, you fat son of a bish.”
Jack asks, “Where were
you
last night?”
“What time?”
“About 3 a.m.”
“Fucking your mother.”
“You were at the Atlas Warehouse.”
Jack watches Teddy thinking. Mulling over that if they have him at the scene, it’s either a snitch or a witness. If it’s a snitch, he’s one of the crew. If it’s a witness …
“Your mom’s a drag in the sack, man,” Teddy says. “Gives lousy head. But I guess you’d know that.”
“You were at the warehouse.”
“Your sister, on the other hand …”
“You left a gas can behind,” Jack says. “Got your prints on it.”
He’d told this lie once to a young amateur who had blurted out, “Bullshit, I was wearing gloves!”
Teddy doesn’t go for it, though.
“Wasn’t me,” he says.
“Don’t be a dumb shit,” Jack says. “We got you. Why take a hit for Kazzy Azmekian? He wouldn’t take one for you. Give us Azmekian, we’ll get you some credit with the DA.”
Bentley chimes in, “Theodore, you have priors. Unless you do something to help yourself, you could be looking at double-digit time here. You could be dating Rosie for ten, twelve years.”
“Or you could write us a statement,” Jack says. “Like, now.”
Teddy lifts his middle finger, sticks it in his mouth and sucks it, then points it at Jack.
Out in the hallway, Jack says to Bentley, “We gotta get a statement. We can’t let Guzman testify.”
“Man knew what he was getting into,” Bentley says.
“Teddy’ll have him banged out.”
“I’m not losing an arson-murder,” Bentley says.
Jack shakes his head. “Either we get Teddy’s statement or we just say fuck it.”
Bentley looks at the floor for a long time. Finally says, “You do what you think you have to do.”
The selective use of the second person doesn’t elude Jack.
He asks, “We’re together on this?”
They look at each other while Bentley thinks it over. Then he says, “Yeah.”
They go into the room. Bentley leans against the wall in the corner as Jack sits down across the table from Teddy. Jack turns on the tape recorder, says, “You don’t know how to write, you can give it to us on tape.”
Teddy leans over the desk, gets into Jack’s face.
“You don’t got no fuckin’ gas can, you don’t got no fuckin’ prints,” he says. “What you got is a fuckin’ witness, and by the time this thing gets to trial … well, don’t you just hate it when bad things happen to good people? Ain’t it a real
bish
?”
Jack turns off the tape recorder. Takes off his jacket and lays it on the back of the chair.
Jack’s a big guy. Six-four and muscled. He comes around behind Teddy, says, “Teddy
Coooool
.” Then cups his palms and slams them against Teddy’s ears.
Teddy screams and slumps down in the chair, holding his hands over his ears and shaking his head. Jack picks him up and tosses him against the wall. Catches him on the rebound and bounces him off the other wall. Does this three or four times before he lets Teddy fall to the floor.
“You set the fire, Teddy.”
“No.”
Jack picks Teddy halfway up, then drives his knee into Teddy’s chest. The air comes out of Teddy’s lungs with a grunt that makes Jack sick. But it’s like,
Do the job and do it right
, so he knees Teddy two more times then shoves him down so that his head bounces off the concrete floor.
He backs off and Teddy goes fetal.
“Don’t you just hate it,” Jack says, “when bad things happen to good people?”
“You’re crazy, man,” Teddy moans.
“That would be a good thing for you to keep in mind, Teddy,” Jack says. “Now, are you going to give it up or do we start again?”
“I want a lawyer.”
Jack knows he has to move him, and quick. Teddy gets a lawyer, he’ll find out there’s a murder rap hanging out, and then it’s over.
“Did you say something?” Jack asks. “Because you’re really tripping, man.
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