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Another day, another interrogation room.
To be honest, I’m kind of happy to see it after spending days handcuffed to a hospital bed. I might as well try to enjoy being out and about while I can. Pretty soon, that mirrored wall ahead of me will be replaced with bars. This table will be a shitty cot and the chair I’m on will be a rusty old toilet. I hope my cellmate is cool. And hopefully not creepy, but, then again, my luck…
The door opens and a female officer walks in. She holds a folder in her hand and moves slowly, favoring one leg over the other, but that doesn’t make her look any less intimidating.
“Hello, Mr. Murray,” she says as she sits down across from me. “I’m Officer Sally Gilmore.”
“Hello, Sally,” I say.
She glares at me over the rims of her glasses. “Officer Gilmore.”
So, that’s where Anna gets it.
“Sorry,” I say. “Hello, Officer Gilmore.”
“How are you feeling?” she asks, her eyes briefly flicking downward at my gut.
“Sore,” I answer. “And surprisingly itchy.”
“That’ll go away. Eventually. Be thankful the bullet went right through you instead of bouncing around your torso and shredding all your insides into cat food.”
I clear my throat at the visual image. “Okay.”
“Mr. Murray, they sent me in here to present your options to you,” she says, her voice fast and dry. “That’s not usually in my job description, but given recent events, the Chief, the ADA, the Mayor of Boston, and Internal Affairs are keeping this case close to the chest. Details are need-to-know only.”
I nod slowly, bracing myself for the worst. “Makes sense.”
Her hand flicks the folder open. “Long story short, the ADA has agreed to grant you full immunity—”
I pump my arm. “Yes!”
“As long as…” she continues over me, “you agree to divulge any and all details of organized criminal activity in the city of Boston and the surrounding area you might be aware of. Past or present.”
“Done. Let’s do it.”
“And…” She glares hard at my interruption again. “Starting right this moment, you are on permanent probation.”
I blink. “I’m what?”
“If you so much as get a speeding ticket, you will be arrested and given an automatic minimum twenty-year prison sentence with no eligibility for parole.”
“For a speeding ticket?”
She sneers. “For aiding and abetting the Irish mafia in drug trafficking and murder.”
“Oh.” I sigh. “Right.”
“Also, fraud,” she adds. “Lots and lots of fraud.”
“Yeah…”
“An impressive amount of fraud.”
“I get it.”
She turns the folder toward me, revealing a document full of legal jargon, including a shiny black pen just waiting for me by the dotted line.
“Do we have a deal, Mr. Murray?” Sally asks.
