Chapter 12

            Inside, Darius sat with his wrists bound in handcuffs. He was wearing his clothes from the night before- a good sign. Herbert looked him up and down. His left eye was swollen shut, framed in a purple splotch. He looked sweaty and scared, but he smiled when Herbert came in.

            “Christ,” Herbert said, his heart sinking. “They must've nailed you pretty good for a shiner to show up on your face.”

            Darius' smile widened. Then his mouth fell slack. “Yeah.”

            “The hell did you do?” Herbert shook his head and looked at the two-way mirror.

            “You're gonna like this.”

            “Christ...”

            “They picked me up in the North. Lookin' for clues, I guess.”

            “At his house?”

            Darius laughed. “I got liquored up, man. All that...all that shit last night was fuckin' with my head. I dunno what the fuck was goin' on. I kinda blacked out and I came back cuffed in the squad car.”

            “Christ.” Herbert slapped his hand over his eyes. “You goddamn idiot.”

            The handcuffs binding his wrists rattled as Darius shrugged.

            “When did they take you in?”

            “Well, I was in and out...kinda half-awake, you know? Still kinda drunk now, even. Can feel that hangover coming on, though.”

            “Has anyone tried to ask you any questions?”

            “Yeah.” Darius nodded. “That motherfucker who came into the shop the other day...he was askin' all kinds of questions.”

            “You say anything?”

            “Nah. I just kept tellin' 'em I wanted my phone call. Called the shop and here we are...”

            Herbert rubbed his eyes. “Goddamn it, D. Why couldn't you just leave it be. You had to go and play detective. Now look at where it got you...”

            Darius grinned. “Still better than livin' on the street. They gotta feed me here, ya know?”

            “Great that you can find the silver lining,” Herbert sighed.

            “Keeps ya sane.”

            “I guess.” Herbert rubbed his chin. Stillness settled in the interview room. His mind was turning. They couldn't have much time left to talk. But what could be done? There would be no daring escape. Darius didn't seem to mind being a prisoner in any case. Maybe this was the safest place the kid could be. There was no telling if there were going to be other hits out on them. At least behind bars, Herbert knew Darius was safe.

            “Well, what're you thinkin'?” Darius finally spoke.

            “I'm gonna talk to the lawyer. See what he can do about it. He's some hotshot. Has an office around here. Maybe I can persuade him to help you out.”

            “Aight.” Darius nodded. “How you gonna persuade him?”

            “Jesus, I don't know. I'll figure something out.”

            “Sure, sure.”

            “Don't worry, D. I'm gonna take care of everything.” Herbert felt a swelling in his chest. He wanted to tell him everything was going to be okay, that nothing bad was going to happen to either of them. But he knew that was a promise he couldn't make, that couldn't be kept. There was no telling what was coming next. If Trotman would play ball. He stood and looked down at Darius with sadness in his eyes. Darius smiled up at him, unperturbed, eyes wide with hope and trust and confidence. Herbert tried to smile and clasped a hand around one of Darius' biceps and gave it a squeeze of reassurance.

            The door swung open, bringing in a gust of cool air. Herbert hadn't realized how hot it had gotten in the room, or how much sweat had accumulated on his forehead and in his armpits.

            Samson stood in the doorway and cocked a thumb behind him. “All right. I think that's enough. Time to go.” He escorted Herbert out of the interrogation room.

            Herbert looked over his shoulder for one last glance at Darius, who showed his teeth in a wide grin. Herbert nodded and allowed himself to be guided down the hallway out of sight.

            “Well, that was a nice visit with your son, right?” Samson said without looking back. “Can't say we're all bad. Us blue boys'll cut you some slack every once in a while.”

            Herbert said nothing as the detective led him back to the lobby.

            Samson stopped in front of the door and finally looked at Herbert. “You have any questions for me? Anything I can clear up for you about this process?”

            “No.”

            “All right then, you have a great day.” Samson held out his hand for Herbert to shake.

            Herbert looked at the broad callused palm with disgust. The detective tipped his head slightly, his eyes gleaming with malice. Furrowing his brow and swallowing his pride, Herbert took the man's hand and gave it a single pump. Samson's voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “Remember what I told you. Let it be.”

            Inching his way through traffic, Herbert clenched his jaw. His throat felt lined with sandpaper. Every street was lined with bars. They jumped out at him, calling with neon promises. He pressed down on the gas and swerved down the road.

            The elevator shot to the top of the building. Herbert stormed the lobby. The receptionist made a feeble attempt to stop him on his war path. He stomped down the hall and threw open Trotman's door, the receptionist chirping protests and profuse apologies behind him.

            Time stood still as Herbert met Trotman's eye. There was genuine shock in his expression beyond the mild surprise of the interruption. It was as though he had seen a ghost. Things clicked into place and the wheels in Herbert's mind started turning immediately. The receptionist clutched at the crook of his arm and tried to escort him out.

            Trotman spoke, his voice quiet and hoarse. “He can stay.” He cleared his throat and motioned for Herbert to sit. “Have a seat.” He turned an eye to the receptionist, who lingered in the doorway glaring at the back of Herbert's head. “That will be all.” The door clicked shut.

            A pregnant silence filled the office. Trotman folded his hands on his desk and glanced over his knick-knacks and paperweights like a king surveying his kingdom. Herbert stared straight ahead, his eyes two smoldering coals burning low and hot in his skull.

            Finally, the silence too heavy to bear, Trotman cleared his throat. “What can I do for you Mr. Winslow?”

            “I'll bet you're surprised to see me.”

            “Barging into my office without an appointment? Indeed I am.”

            “Well, excuse my manners.” Herbert sniffed and leaned forward to rest his forearms on the tops of his knees. “Something interesting happened to me last night.”

            “Oh?” The lawyer fiddled with a gold-plated pen.

            “Yeah. I come home to an...unexpected guest. But I took good care of him. Gave him a place to sleep. He didn't need a blanket. Just a sheet.”

            “Well, I don't see how this concerns me...”

            “You know damn well.” Herbert growled. “And the only reason why I don't put a dozen bullets in that big fat gut of yours is because you have something I want.”

            “I won't be threatened in my own office!” Trotman raised his voice. “You're playing a dangerous game, Mr. Winslow.”

            “I don't make threats.” Herbert's voice remained even. “You're going to help me, Trotman. You're gonna get my son out of jail. I don't care how many more of your little boyfriends you send my way. I'll fill them all up with holes. You're doing this for me.”