“How many times have we gotta go through this song and dance, Agent Boyle? You know for a fact I’m the most upstanding citizen in this whole damn city.” It gets to him when I mess up his name, even though he tries not to show it.
“We’re not in the city of Bayonne’s jurisdiction, Mr. Volkov,” Agent Doyle says, pacing around the interrogation table once again. This time, though, I can see a certain excitement in his eyes, and I have to admit that it’s not entirely unfounded. He has a hell of an upper hand here.
“You’re in the county lockup, and well within my jurisdiction now.” He takes a few steps forward, crossing his arms and sneering at me. “But you really should be more careful at those wild parties of yours — it looks like you got into one too many fistfights with your criminal associates.”
He’s talking about my swollen lip, black eye, and the trickle of blood running from a cut in my forehead. Not to mention all the bruises I can feel forming on my chest from the pummeling I’ve taken since getting in here. The moment I was behind a closed door, Doyle turned his pigs loose on me. The young bucks at the county sheriff’s office were eager to get their hands on a man like me. Doyle “turned a blind eye” to me for a good half hour before returning to start the official interrogation.
But I wasn’t going to let him have the satisfaction of seeing me in pain, so I spat what blood I had in my mouth onto the floor and kept that same old grin on. After all, I still have all my teeth. It’s driving him nuts, too.
“First of all, we have your men roaring up to a murder investigation, potentially endangering the crime scene and any evidence that may have been essential to the investigation, besides harassing officers of the law.”
“Trying to pin something some friends of mine did of their own accord on me after letting me go last time? That’s just shoddy detective work.”
Doyle’s fist clenches, but as long as the little red light is on the camera that’s pointed at me, I know I can goad him as much as I like, if he wants to keep his career. There’s a lot more buttons I know I could push on Doyle, but I also know that the camera’s gonna get shut off sooner or later, and this is a man who doesn’t bat an eye at burying immigrants in unmarked graves.
“You proceeded to put together a rally orchestrated by the Union Club in an attempt to align Bayonne citizens against law enforcement, are you aware that some would call that ‘rabble rousing,’ Mr. Volkov?”
I laugh at that, though it hurts a few ribs to do so.
“I think the good people of Bayonne would love to hear you call them rabble, pizdoon.”
“What was that, Mr. Volkov?”
“That was Russian, Agent McCarthy. You might do well to learn a little bit about the heritage of a town before you go harassing its workers. Or maybe that’s not really why you’re here?”
Doyle keeps his eyes even on mine for a while, studying my face before smiling. “I’m here to enforce the law, Mr. Volkov, nothing more. While we’re on the topic of your Russian heritage, though, maybe you can speak for some of your other gang members’ actions, hm?”
I snort in derision at the word gang. It got under my skin once, but not now. This is all an act. Doyle is just trying to wave the fact over my head that he’s got half the club locked up and maybe get enough of a rise out of me to incriminate one of them. I know all his tricks.
“Ms. Eva Zolnerowich, for starters. You know, the mechanics we interviewed after the arrests admitted that she was soliciting illegal vehicle modifications to them? How long has the Union Club been in the business of peddling street wares, Mr. Volkov?”
He wants me to say that I can’t account for the actions of my cohorts, but that would just incriminate Eva, and I’m not gonna throw my VP under the bus like that.
“I’m failing to see what your accusations have to do with ‘obstruction of justice,’ Agent Toyle.”
My name-calling seems to push Doyle over the edge, and he slams his fist onto the table, leaning in close to me. “Do you want me to tack on ‘badgering an officer’ to the laundry list I’m about to throw you away for, you little shit?”
I just smile at him in response, and I think I can see a little vein pulsing in his forehead as he steps back.
“Mr. Gennedy Alkaev, another of your officers, wasn’t apprehended at the scene. You ought to know that was because he’s been working with us since your first arrest, Mr. Volkov. He tipped us off about your little rally and let us show up in time to break things up before it got violent. How does it feel that your supposedly loyal little personality cult is willing to sell you out?”
I say nothing in response. I know that’s a lie. It has to be. Genn’s more than a gentle soul with a ton of muscle padding it — he’s a close friend. Cherry is a good judge of character, and she seems to get along with him fine, to boot. That on top of his years of friendship to me are more than enough proof that Doyle’s lying through his teeth.
When I keep quiet for a few seconds more, Doyle lets out a long breath and moves over to the camera, shutting it off.
“Alright then, let’s talk,” he says, walking over to sit on the table beside me, peering down at me through his glasses. I have a feeling he gets off on looking down at people like that.
“Tell me, Mr. Volkov, how much did you and that little cunt you’ve been dragging around with you see down at the docks the other night?” he asks in a still, quiet voice. My eyes narrow at him, and I lean forward in my chair, looking at him as though daring him to keep going. “Any of the ‘cargo’ look familiar? Did you recognize some of those corpses’ relatives in those containers? Mothers, children?”
My jaw is tight, and I feel my hands flexing into fists. There it is: Doyle’s confession. He’s got me locked away, and this whole interrogation is just a farce to cover up whatever trumped-up charge he’ll pin on me.
“Did your parents get here by similar means, Mr. Volkov? Is that why you’re so insistent on disrupting my business with Marty Chandler? Maybe you had a sister who met a similar fate on a voyage over here, is she buried out back behind your bar?”
My teeth are grinding together, and it’s taking everything in me not to break his nose. It’s within reach. I’m not restrained, and I want nothing more than to get my hands on him. But I don’t let him have that. I won’t give him something to pin on me. And I can see how furious my patience is making him as his eye twitches just a hair.
“My business with Marty Chandler is good, but it isn’t even my biggest paycheck, you know? Just a side gig. Maybe it’ll pay for a vacation to TJ next year, and I’ll get to fuck some of the relatives of the people I’ve shipped over, all while you’re rotting in jail for the next few years. If you make it that long, mind you — I’m sure there was someone underage at that party, and you know how well statutory rapists fare in prison.”
My face is stony as I stare him down, and it finally breaks him. He brings his fist around and right into jaw, and I feel blood in my mouth as he leans forward, grabbing hold of the scruff of my collar.
“Maybe while you’re gone, I’ll have that cunt of yours shipped down to Mexico in return for being so nosy. I can’t believe you’d go through all this shit for her. All because her old man stuck his nose into our business and had to be taken care of?”
With one hand, I seize Agent Charles Doyle by the arm and hurl him over the table, slamming him down and leaping up on top of him.
One of my fists connects with his nose before he knees me sharply in the stomach, shoving me off onto the floor, but before he can fumble for his gun, I leap up and turn the table over, knocking him back and sending him into the wall with a thud as I hop over the table.
We grapple as I reach him, his hands around my neck and mine on his collar, slamming him into the wall behind him as his weak arms try to squeeze the breath out of me. His glasses have fallen off, and I can see the nothing but hatred in his beady eyes. One of his hands lets go of my neck to go for his gun, and once again, I hurl him around, sending him toppling to the ground into the overturned table.
Before he can get his bearings, though, this time I dive on top of him, and my hand goes straight for his gun at the same time his does.
I’m faster.
In the span of a breath, I snatch Doyle’s gun from his side and point it at his head as I slip the safety off and cock it.