Blood Wolf’s Path - стр. 3
Evening came and once again I felt myself drifting off, as if I’d spent all day unloading boxcars. This time, just in case, I stripped naked and handcuffed myself to the leg of the sofa. The sofa’s legs had thick ends, so the cuffs locked on securely.
Imagine my surprise when early next morning I woke up naked in the park again, handcuffs still on my wrist. My arm didn’t even hurt. I ran back to the house and was stunned. The sofa leg had been torn off, and the couch was shredded like a pack of Mexicans had been tearing it apart looking for drugs.
I tried to break the remaining leg, but it was screwed on tight… Just how hard must one have pulled…
Because I had to clean up, I didn’t make it to work until 7:30. At noon I got a phone call from the prison. The agent they’d planted in Fred Johnson’s cell had been killed. Fred had shanked him in the throat.
Five minutes later I was in my chief’s office, facing the mustachioed, goat-faced David Scott. He really did resemble a goat, and he behaved no better.
"You know, Jerry. This has gone way too far. In half an hour the feds will be here and it looks like we have serious problems. Why the hell did you start all this?" David Scott said.
"What did I start?" I asked, playing dumb.
"Why the fuck did you send an agent into Fred Johnson’s cell? Now the whole department’s in trouble. Who asked you to run a parallel investigation? The feds are handling Hank’s death, so why are you sticking your nose in? What bullshit did you tell the warden? This is all completely illegal, goddammit. Oh my God…" David Scott sighed.
"You know this is personal… a matter of honor," I sighed.
"I’m going to strip you of your badge, you idiot… That’s where this is headed."
That evening I got naked again. This time I decided not to cuff myself to my only bed, and instead to film everything. I set my iPhone on a shelf across from the bed, hit record, and immediately passed out.
I woke up early and once again in the park. My face was covered in some kind of slime. I wiped my hand over my face and saw that it was blood. I immediately rushed home to check the iPhone. But I was in for a disappointment.
"Fucking Tim Cook, I’m sick of this—put a decent battery in these things already!" I yelled.
The phone had died completely; the only footage available ended with me sleeping peacefully.
That day I decided to go see the prison warden, to find out the details of the agent’s murder and to talk to him about Fred Johnson.
Old Leslie Brown was due to retire soon. But I’d caused him a lot of trouble with yesterday’s incident.
"What have you done, Jerry, what have you done…" he began whining, lighting a cigar.
"No, what have you done? Is that what we agreed on, Leslie? Taylor was a good agent, helped us out many times. How the hell did that bastard get a shiv?" I demanded.
"Beats the hell out of me. That Crooked-Dick kid is no ordinary guy. The black son of a bitch wrecked my stats. Now my pension’s in question."
"You’ll get to enjoy retirement soon, banging chicks," I said.
Leslie shook his head, upset.
"Alright, then you’ll be drinking," I consoled him.
Leslie pulled out a bottle of scotch and poured two glasses.
"And what do you think I’m doing right now?" he said.