The Winner: Part Seventeen

For not being under arrest, I sure feel like I prisoner.

I’m sitting in a gray interrogation room with fluorescent light bearing down on me from the two excessively bright lamps on the ceiling. There’s an institutional metal table in front of me with a paper cup filled with rancid coffee one of the cops got for me from the break room. A clump of powdered creamer spins on the surface. I take a sip of it just to jolt my mind into gear.

I’ve been sitting here for a half hour now. I got to the station an hour ago. When I first arrived, the Sergeant on Duty offered (then insisted when I initially turned him down) me a shower in their locker room. One of the cops who brought me in escorted me down there. I really didn’t care whether I took one or not. Afterwards, I still didn’t feel clean. Sitting in my own shit for almost a day had already left a rash on my ass that burned whenever I walked. Afterwards, they gave me a clean set of clothes they had from a charity box: a pair of green sweatpants that was a size too big and a Dwight Yoakam concert T-shirt that was two sizes too small. I don’t know what happened to my old clothes but they can chuck them in the dumpster for all I care.

I hear someone unlock the door behind me (I wasn’t even aware it was locked, which deepens my paranoia). Two men in charcoal gray business suits walk in, who I assume are the “defs” those two pig assholes were referring to. They mutter a hello to me as they pull up chairs and start laying out some files on the table in front of me. To my additional dismay, they also set out a tape recorder.

“Mr. Peanutz,” the first guy says. “I’m Agent D’anci from the FBI Western Divison. This is my partner, Agent Johnson. We had you brought in to answer a few questions.”

Agent Johnson doesn’t say anything, he just studiously picks through the file in front of him. I’m betting he’s the one whose gonna play the “bad cop”.

Questions, the one thing I don’t want to answer. “Before I answer anything, can I ask you something?”

Agent D’anci nods, “Go ahead and ask.”

“What is going on here? Am I under arrest?”

He shakes his head. “You are not under arrest, but you have been named as a ‘person of interest’ in a kidnapping. We’re hoping you can shed some light and possibly help us resolve this situation quickly.”

“Our best chance to solve a kidnapping typically comes within the first seventy-two hours, before the perps can go to ground,” Agent Johnson adds, still not looking up from his file.”

Agent D’anci presses the red button on the recorder to turn it on. “Mr. Peanutz, do you know a woman by the name of Angela Clements?”

I’m assuming that’s Apple’s real name. “Blonde, kinda skinny? Big nose?”

“Yes, that’s her. She went to the police tonight to report that her infant children had been forcibly taken from her home that morning by some unknown perpetrators. She also said that the men mentioned you by name and that when she told you about this, you went off to meet with these men, presumably to pay a ransom. Is this true?”

“Yes,” I say, then I immediately realize that was a stupid move. If they think I know something, then I’m gonna have to help them which will make Van Hertzwelder think I’m going to the police to turn them in. I’ll be a dead man in no time.

Hell, maybe I should just tell the FBI everything; about the kidnapping, about the assassination plot. I’ve got nowhere else to go. However, there is also the possibility that these FBI agents were sent by Van Hertzwelder to see if I’ll break under questioning. That would fuck me up even worse.

“Is the modified Tracfone you had in your possessions the same as the one Ms. Clements gave you today, which she said was from the kidnappers.”

I nod.

“Please answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’,” Agent Johnson says, pointing towards the recorder.

“Yes,” I say. Again I wonder if admitting this is a good idea. I’m pretty sure I’ll feel this way through this whole interrogation. “At least, that’s what she told me.”

“What did she tell you?”

“That some guys kidnapped her kids, gave her that phone and told her to give it to me,” I say. “Keep in mind, I didn’t see any of this so I don’t even know if it happened or not. Someone called me on the line and told me to meet them in a parking garage if she wanted to see them again.”

“Did they ask you to deliver some sort of ransom?”

“No. They just wanted me to meet them.”

“Why would they go to so much trouble just to meet you?” Agent D’anci asks. “Are you that hard to meet?”

I don’t answer that.

“Where was this meeting to take place?”

I gave him the location of a parking garage that wasn’t the one I actually went to. I have to throw them off the trail somehow. “Can you describe the men you met there in as much detail as you can?”

“I can’t,” I say. “They never showed up there. I waited where they told me for an hour and they never showed up.”

“And they never tried to contact you again?”

I shook my head. Agent Johnson pointed at the recorder, so I say “No.”

“What did you do after they didn’t show up to the meeting?”

“I just wandered around the city for awhile. I ended up falling asleep in the park and that’s when those officers found me.”

“You just wandered around all day?” Agent D’anci says. “You wouldn’t happen to know of anyone that could corroborate that?”

“Gee, I don’t know,” I say. “I’m sure someone on the street remembers a guy walking around who smelled like he shat his pants.”

“Did you go into any businesses? Any place someone would recognize you?”

I throw up my hands. “What did I just say?”

“I’m just trying to help you here,” Agent D’anci says. “You must realize how bizarre this looks. Somebody kidnaps a woman’s kids, tells you to meet them somewhere but then don’t show up, and afterwards you just walk around like a homeless person with a load of shit in your pants and fall asleep in the park.”

“I’ve been under a lot of stress,” I say dryly.

“You do realize everything you’ve told us so far raises far more questions than answers,” Agent Johnson says. “For one, what’s your relationship to Ms. Clements? Why would someone kidnap her children to get to you?”

“We’re friends.”

“Really? How long have you known each other?”

I sigh. “Not long.”

Both the FBI guys look at me like they want me to elaborate more, but I don’t. Finally, Agent D’anci says.

“Listen Mr. Peanutz, Ms. Clements told us everything. She said the two of you have some sort of arrangement where you give her money and she relieves certain, well, fetishes, of yours. Though, I think that if I’d just won the lottery and wanted to play sugar daddy, I’d have probably picked a better looking girl than her, but to each their own.”

I still sit there, stony and silent.

“Is that how you would characterize your relationship with Ms. Clements, because if that’s what’s keeping you from telling us the truth, let me assure you it shouldn’t. We’re just here to investigate the kidnapping, not any crimes secondary to that.”

Well, they know. There’s not much I can do to deny it, so I answer, “Yes. I help Apple out with money for her kids and she…helps me out.”

“With what Poopy?” Agent Johnson says. “Your incontinence problem? Cause some of the stuff she says you’re into I wouldn’t do to a damn dog.”

I cock my eyebrow at him, “You want me to go into detail.”

“How did you meet her?”

I tell them about the night at Friday’s and how she caught my eye. I kind of ramble on and I feel on the verge of tears towards the end. I have to admit, talking does make me feel better, even if it’s to some assholes from the federal government.

“You are a real winner Poopy, picking up chicks from on of the most ghetto-assed strip club in this town,” Agent Johnson says. “But when you picked her, you must have doubled down.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m trying to tell you the truth here.”

Agent Johnson smiles, “Yeah, right…” he says. “Not only do you happen to pick up a girl from the nastiest titty club in this town, you managed to pick the one girl who was the old lady of one of the captains of one of the biggest biker gangs west of the Mississippi. A guy who we caught transporting a fuckton of pure Chinese meth across state lines. Some real Shabu, not some shit a guy made by boiling some cough syrup and picking the crystals of a dirt rug. You never met her old man, did you?”

Where the fuck was this going?

“I might have seen him once or twice when I dropped her off at her trailer, but we never talked. I knew he was a biker, but I didn’t know he was in a gang.”

“His name was Luke Clements. His street name was something like Scratch or Scrape or something cliché like that, but most people know him as Luke. You sure you never met him?”

“I…might have had a beer with him, but that was all.”

Agent Johnson leaned back and smiled. This fucker knows something.”

“You want to know something funny. We can’t find Luke anywhere. His gang buddies don’t know where he is. Angela doesn’t know where he is. He seems to have disappeared right off that face of the earth. Now, I know, I know…that’s not very funny. The funny part is that he ended up disappearing right after he turned state’s evidence. After catching him transporting that much weight over state lines, we could have set the bail so high that no one could make it. But we wanted to roll up some of his buddies in this investigation, so we gave him a taste of freedom, then brought him in and hit him with the number of years he’d be facing and what he could do to get out of serving those years. He decided to cut a deal with us right then and there. He didn’t even tell Angela about this. He goes missing the day before he’s supposed to be interviewed by the DEA and Homeland Security for this. This all adding up to be quite a number of coincidences, wouldn’t you say?”

“You just got out of prison less than a year ago,” Agent D’anci says. “And when you were inside, your cellmate was Armando Herrera. ‘El Diablo’ they called him. Did he tell you that him and his crew are the biker’s direct competition in the meth trade in the west?”

I can’t even keep up with this any more. “Listen, I’ll ask you again, am I under arrest?”

“No, you are not. But we can detain someone without charges for up to eight hours for questioning. You’ve only been here for less than one.”

“Bikers, prison, I don’t know what information you think you think you’ve got. Frankly, I don’t want to know. I’m not saying anything else until you’ve got me your lawyer. So go get me one.”

“Get your own,” Johnson says. “You’re not under arrest. That means no public defender for you..”

“Fine, bring me my phone I’ll make some calls.”

Agent D’anci looks over at Agent Johnson, who gets up and leaves the interrogation room to get my phone.

“Poopy, are you concerned about the safe retrieval of Ms. Clement’s children?”

“Of course.”

“Then, you are admitting a kidnapping has taken place,” he says. “Is the reason you are reluctant to talk to us because you’re implicated in this kidnapping?”

Nice try, asshole. I just stare at him until Agent Johnson comes back with my cell phone. It’s not the one that Burke gave to me, but rather my personal RAZR. That’s fine, that’s all I need. The two of them stay in the room like they want something.

“I need some privacy,” I say. “And I’ve watched cop shows before. If I’m talking to my lawyer, everything I say is inadmissible, so you might as well turn off any bugs you have in the room.”

“Why would we need to bug the conversations of an innocent man?” Agent Johnson asks.

“Come on,” Agent D’anci says. He and his partner exit the room. I am unnerved, but not surprised to hear them lock the door behind them. I turn away from the door so they can’t see me. Just as I flip the phone open and start going through my address book, it starts beeping. I have a new text message coming through, sender blocked:

POOPY WE KNOW WHERE U R AND HOPE U R NOT DOING OR SAYING ANYTHING STUPID. U CANT HIDE FROM US. ERASE THIS IMMEDIATELY. U CANT TRACK THE SENDER OR REPLY. UR BUDDY B.

Fuck, they know where I am. However, if they’re close enough to know when to send a text message the second the FBI have left the interrogation room, then they probably know I haven’t said anything implicating them or letting them in on the conspiracy. This was all an accident and not my fault. On the other hand, I don’t imagine Burke is the type who has a really loose notion of assessing fault. If he suspects I’m even close to ratting them out, I’m sure he’ll find a way to silence me. I have to get out of here quick.

Of course, I don’t have a lawyer, so I call Sergei, figuring he probably knows one.

“Mr. Peanutz! Haven’t heard from you for awhile!” he says. Sergei sounds more than a little drunk and I can barely hear him over the rap music playing in the background. “You should come to Club Chernobyl. DJ Kremlin is spinning here tonight. He’s wrecking the decks! He’s part of the KGB syndicate!”

“You know people in the KGB?” I say incredulously.

“Of course. The Killa Ganja Beats is best hip-hop in all of Russia.”

Dammit, why did we have to introduce free markets to those communist bastards. “Listen Sergei, I need you help. Do you know any lawyers?”

“I know people who know lawyers. You in trouble?”

“Yes. The police are detaining me.”

I hear some rustling in the background, doors slamming, Sergei yelling something at some people in Russian. He must have ran into the bathroom or something so he could hear. “You’re with the police Poopy. How come? This doesn’t have anything to do with that thing you asked me to do for you earlier, does it?”

“What thing? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Sergei, please don’t be stupid and talk about that over the phone. Conversations with my lawyer are protected, but not ones with you, and I’m very sure that those FBI agents are next door listening to this call. “Look Sergei, I just got a booked on a DUI, that’s all. I just want you to send me a lawyer who can get me out of jail tonight.”

“It’s midnight,” Sergei says. “Any lawyer I call now will want a large retainer to get them out of bed at this hour.”

“Ballpark?”

“Two-thousand dollars.”

“You know I’m good for two thousand dollars.” I tell Sergei which police station I’m being held at and he says to hold tight, he’d make some calls and send a lawyer to get me out of here.

Here’s Sergei, saving my ass once again. I wonder if I should tell him about the whole conspiracy plot, especially since he’s likely to get caught up in it when it goes down. Yeah…probably. Hell, he probably can get us all flown to Russia or something, out of the grip of Van Hertzwelder and his goons. I’d have to be careful about it though. And now is definitely not the time.

I wrap up the phone call and I can hear the door unlocking almost immediately. Agent Johnson steps back in the door.. The timing makes me pretty positive that they were listening in on the conversation.

“I see you’re finished with your call,” he says, grinning. Fuck it, who cares if they were listening in. I doubt it was enough to tie Sergei in with the kidnapping.

“Did you get your great powers of observation from FBI school, Captain Obvious?”

“My colleague and can’t question you further until your lawyer shows up. So I thought we’d leave someone here to keep you company. Perhaps she can help jar your memory.”

He pushes the door open further and Apple steps into the room. She’s got bandages over the cuts on her face and her hand is in a cast. Her face is swollen up so much I can’t tell what sort of expression she has.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Agent Johnson says with a smirk on his face. He shuts the door, but doesn’t lock it this time.

“Apple!” I say with as much mock enthusiasm as I can. “Are you doing all right? How are you feeling?” I get up and embrace her but she doesn’t embrace me back. I whisper in her ear, “They probably have the room bugged. Be careful what you say.”

I let go of her. She says nothing, just reaches in her pocket and pulls out a bottle of Vicodin. She struggles to open it with her wrapped up hand.

“Here, I’ll help you with that,” I say, taking the bottle. Apple starts crying.

“I just need one. They’re for the pain in my mouth.”

I shake out one Vicodin, snap the bottle shut and hand it back to her. Apple dry swallows the pill.

“Poopy…why aren’t you helping the FBI persons?” Apple says. “Didn’t you see my children? Were they there?”

“No, they weren’t there,” I say. “No one was there when I went there. Apple, why did you go to the police? Those people you who beat you up told you not to involve them.”

“I got scared,” she says, starting to sob some more. “When you didn’t come back, I thought they might have taken you too. I thought I was all alone, Poopy. Please don’t be mad.”

I guess I can’t fault her logic, even though it might get us killed in the end.

“What do these people want? Do they want money? Why won’t you give it to them?”

“These people couldn’t care less about money,” I say.

“But I thought you said you didn’t meet them? Poopy, why are the police all saying that you’re lying to them?”

I lean in closer and start whispering in her ear again. “I can’t talk about it here. I’ll tell you once we’re out of here, just trust me, I can’t say anything here.”

“What do you know, Poopy!” her voice is getting louder now. “If you know anything that can get my children back you tell those cops, right now.”

“I don’t know anything that can help them,” I say.

“Bullshit,” she spits. “I don’t even think you know how to get my kids back. I’m gonna do everything the FBI tells me to do.”

I grab her by her swollen face and get face to face with me. “Listen you dumb cunt,” I sneer. “If you want to see your kids ever again, you will do exactly what I tell you to do. The people who have them will kill them, they will kill me, and they will kill you unless you go out to those FBI agents, right now and tell them this is all just a hoax. You tell them your kids are fine, that you made up this story because you’re mad at me and wanted to get me in trouble. They’ll probably charge you with giving false information to the police, but that’s okay because I’ll get a lawyer to get you out of trouble.”

“If I do that, how do I know I’ll get my babies back?”

“I don’t know, but you have to trust me Apple…”

“STOP CALLING ME THAT!” she screams. “STOP CALLING ME THAT. MY NAME IS ANGIE, NOT APPLE! THAT’S NOT ME, I’M NOT APPLE”

I let go of her face and she pounces on me, knocking me back flat against the ground. She starts pounding on my chest. “MY NAME IS NOT APPLE YOU SICK FUCK! WHERE ARE MY KIDS! TELL ME NOW!”

The cops hear the commotion inside the room and come tearing in. It takes two of them to pry Apple off me. She struggles as they pull her out of the interrogation room, still screaming “WHERE ARE MY BABIES POOPY? WHERE ARE MY CHILDREN YOU PIECE OF SHIT?”

I’m winded and the cops remaining in the room don’t help me to my feet. Once I’m up, I hold onto the table to steady myself. Agent D’anci comes back into the room.

“Mr. Peanutz, all I can say is that you really got a way with women.”