He'd be a lot easier to work over in an hour or two, if I let him soften himself up a bit by stewing in his own juices. Plus, I'd found that the early stages were a little on the incoherent screamy side of things. I'd get a lot more sense out of him later on, and the decontamination enclosure would spare my long-suffering eardrums most of his worthless Acardi shrieks.
For two full hours, as my lab assistants finished their tasks and left for the day, I listened to the dull thuds of Tony trying to smash his way out through the stainless steel, and occasionally entertained the notion that I could hear the more high-pitched of his screams. Hopefully he didn't lose his voice by the time I questioned him; his writing ability would be severely impaired even if he hadn't broken his hands.
When I had the place completely to myself, I finally opened the door. Light spilled into the decontamination enclosure and Tony scrambled backwards into the corner in terror.
In addition to the blood coming from his nose, he had scratch marks on both of his cheeks and a wet patch on the front of his pants. He was looking at me as if his mind was breaking, muttering in what I assumed must be Italian.
I smiled. "Do you know who I am?"
Tony nodded and cried silently.
"Say it. Who am I?"
"Il Diavolo."
"In plain English … "
"The Devil."
I laughed. "That's right. Clever Tony. I've been watching you your whole life. I think, today, I'm going to eat your soul."
Tony whimpered and cried, trying to push himself backwards through the walls. "Nonononoooooo … please!"
"Let's have a talk, you and I. I'll ask you some questions, and you tell me some answers. If you lie to me, I'll be very fuckin' angry. Do you understand?"
"Anything! I'll tell you anything, please!"
"We'll see about that, Tony. Let's talk about your job. You've been with the Acardi Crime Family for a while now, done a lot of jobs for them. You've seen some things. What do you know about where they stash weapons? Cash? Where have you helped them hide their shit, Tony? Tell me now you motherfucker!"
"Money! Weapons! Yes! I know! I fucking know some shit! Please!"
"Tell me!"
"Fucking millions! They've got millions hidden in a vault under a factory that makes computer shit in Redmond!"
"Bellevuetech?"
"Yeah! Yes! Yes! I delivered some cash there myself! I've never seen so much money in one place! Holy fucking shit! Oh please don't hurt me! Oh my God … "
Tony was wide-eyed and frantic, still pushing backwards to keep every last scrap of distance between us that he could. I stepped forward and kneeled in front of him.
"Tell me more."
Tony was very helpful. Over the course of an hour before he passed out, he corroborated the information I'd had from several others in the past, and gave me the location for one more weapons and money cache that I hadn't heard of before.
When it came time for the Acardis to find out they were in a war with me, these places would be where they ran to. It would be crucial to take these locations to fund and supply the small army that would be required to establish my control in the chaos, and to consolidate my power before they really even knew what hit them.
I heard a groan from the decontamination enclosure and some movement, so I spun away from my computer and peeked in through the open door. Tony was sitting in the corner, blinking in confusion.
"Hey there, champ, how you feeling?" I asked.
"W-what happened?"
"Well, they call that a bad trip. You started swingin' and swearin', so I kind of bundled you into here where you couldn't do too much damage."
"What … what's that smell?"
"I think you shit yourself."
"Oh … fuuuuuuuuuuuck," he groaned.
"Hey, listen, it's OK man. Believe me, I've seen people do worse things while having a bad trip. Nobody needs to know. I've got some clothes here that a lab assistant left behind when he quit a few months back. You can have a shower in there, shove your clothes in the waste disposal, get dressed and head home. No harm, no foul, right?"
"Um … what … uh … oh … OK."
"There's the shower head, all you need to do to make it work is press that button and hold the handle … yeah, that one. Just reach out the door when you're done."
I returned to my computer and blocked out the sounds of showering and vomiting that streamed through the crack in the door. A quarter of an hour later, Tony stood in my office in his new clothes, looking pale and dazed.
"What time is it?" he asked.
"Almost midnight."
"Holy fuck … "
"So you wanna buy some of this acid? $500 a tab."
"What? Fuck no."
"OK. Out of interest … what did you see?"
"I … I dunno. Something. Something … " Tony trailed off.
"Well, let's get you out of here. Like I said, nobody needs to know about this, right?"
"Yeah. Yeah, thanks … If the guys ever found out … "
Tony stumbled off through the lab, his keys jingling in his new shorts. He was clearly in shock and didn't even notice he was wearing a gay pride t-shirt.
The clothes weren't really left behind by a former lab assistant. I bought them especially for such interrogations, because what was the point of being the King without a sense of humor?
Sarina
Stacey was a miracle worker. With a ten-dollar investment in thrift shop clothes and dollar store accessories, she transformed me into an eighties pop star, complete with garish make-up and a side ponytail.
The party was getting into full swing. A mass of wacky characters coming together for the first time on the dance floor, while Godzilla squared off against Spongebob in an epic game of beer pong at the side of the room.
It surprised me how enthusiastic Ryan had been about attending the Halloween party. He said it was one of the best parties of the year when he was in college, though, so I guessed that was as good a reason as any.
He'd supplied me with ten grams of F and told me how to cut it with powdered food coloring to make it go that bit further. He said it was all I needed to pay for my tuition and accommodation for the rest of the academic year.
Of course, all I had done was hand it in to Sergeant Shelton, who gave me some money that had previously occupied the evidence room. It would have been impossible to find cash more randomized in serial numbers and infused with the chemical traces of its drug-loving owners than this.
All I had to do was pay Ryan back for the F he'd given me on credit, and then I'd be in good standing with him for potential future deals and getting more involved in the business. That's how the story was supposed to go, anyway.
In reality, handing over the F to my CO felt like the betrayal of the century. Doing it made me feel like a robot, disconnected from myself and going through the motions I'd been programed to do.
Underneath the self-assured, cocky even, exterior there was so much more to Ryan. He was smart, funny, fiercely loyal, and he'd shown me such devotion over the past couple of months that it was tearing my heart in half living this double life.
He said he never told anybody about why he got involved with this F stuff as a side business and, going by the way it cut him up to admit, I believed him. I felt terrible that it took all these lies to weasel my way into this position of trust. He deserved better.
Telling him about that horrific night with my foster father, James Salter, took the edge off my guilt a little bit too. Even thinking his name made my skin crawl, but sharing that part of me was like opening up the armor a little. It let me feel like I made some kind of real connection between Ryan and myself.
When I wasn't with him, I couldn't shake the guilt and the knowledge that everything that felt so good and so right was going to crumble and fall to pieces around us. When I was with him, well, he brought Sarina Bell to life, and gave her the kinds of intangible things that made Sarina Beckett more than a little jealous.
It was so fucking weird to be thinking about my undercover identity and my real identity, both, in a detached way, as if the essence of "me" was floating around trying to figure out which life I belonged in. When Ryan texted me saying he'd just arrived, my heart soared and it was a welcome leap out of the swampy existential crisis my mind was creating for me.
I grabbed an extra drink and made my way towards the entrance, painfully aware of how much more thrilled I was to be seeing Ryan than I had been to hand over the drugs. Then things took a turn for the surreal when he came through the doors.
Complete with inflatable nightstick, mirror-finish sunglasses and suspiciously realistic-looking handcuffs, Ryan was in full police uniform. I was a statue, carved with an expression of full disbelief, as Ryan spotted me and bopped in my direction in time to the music.