Hinky (17)

"Are you wearing a wire?" Yates knew they'd send in somebody to see if he would talk. He hadn't thought it would be his ex-wife.

"When did you get a sense of humor?," she replied. "The last thing a blackmailer wants is for the blackmailee to be sent up the river."

"At least you were always honest." Yates could actually talk now without inducing painful spasms.

"God, is that what you think?"

"What exactly are you doing here?" Yates was losing patience. He had a limited tolerance for her at the best of times.

"A payment's coming due and I want to know how you're going to handle it."

"Don't know that I can. Might be awhile before I get out of here."

"Swear to God, Yates, if I don't get what's coming to me the pain you're feeling now won't begin to compare to what I inflict on you."

"You been reading the Bible?" She used to be a devout church-goer before she turned to sex and money.

"As a matter of fact, I have. Got a problem with that?"

"Not me," he told her.

"I got to the hotel room before he did and there was nothing else to read."

"Whatever gets you hot," Yates muttered.

"I want my money. You'd better give it to me."

"I'm guessing we're all gonna get what's coming to us, so why not you?"

On that note, she left without saying goodbye.

More to follow...

Copyright 2009 Stephen Mitchell

Hinky (16)

If cops are easy to spot, that special breed of individual who matriculates into I.A.D. is even easier to recognize. That was Yates' opinion and it was confirmed, yet again, when he opened his eyes to see two guys in cheap sport coats standing at the foot of his hospital bed.

"Sacco and Vanzetti, I presume?" His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper.

"You know who we are," said the one on the left with a buzz cut and an American flag lapel pin.

"Got a name?" Yates asked reaching for a water glass, which required a great deal of effort and caused him a considerable amount of pain. The I.A.D. cops made no effort to help.

"Didn't Horvath brief you?" asked the other one. He was older but seemed to defer to the younger military specimen.

"Haven't spoken to him," Yates answered while making sucking noises through his straw.

..

"You mean since he went to your apartment?"

"It all seems so long ago," Yates said distractedly as he tried to replace the water glass on the roll-away tray table. He couldn't quite manage it and the glass fell to the floor smashing into pieces. The two cops took no notice.

"I'm Michaels" said buzz cut. "He's Marlowe."

"My condolences to the both of you."

"They said you got a mouth," said Michaels. Marlowe nodded in confirmation.

"Who's they?" Yates wanted to know.

..

"We're not here to answer your questions," Michaels said with a smirk.

"And I'm not here to answer yours." Yates felt as though he might lose consciousness but tried to focus.

"Buddy, you don't have a choice," Marlowe chimed in. "Either you got answers or you got more trouble than you know."

"Oh, he knows. He's known for a long time, haven't you, Sergeant Yates?"
..
"If you think Horvath is something, you don't really need me. Right, fellas?" Yates could feel himself slipping away into unconsciousness or death or whatever comes next. He fought to hold on.
..
He saw the two cops exchange glances, obviously caught off guard. Michaels started to say something but all Yates could hear was Ray Charles singing "Georgia on my Mind".

..

More to follow...

Copyright 2009 Stephen Mitchell