Chapter 25 v2: Confusion

That twenty minute drive to the police station felt like the longest car trip of my life. You might be surprised to hear this coming from me, but this was the first time I had ever been in the back of a cop car. Sure, I’d done plenty of things in the past which would’ve warranted a trip to jail (mostly shenanigans in high school), but I’d never been caught.

There I sat, uncuffed, quiet, while the two cops in the front talked between themselves about some football game dispute that had turned into a brawl at the local field yesterday. I didn’t keep up with sports, so I mostly tuned them out.

The two of them escorted me through the building once we arrived, I was only briefly scanned to make sure I didn’t have a weapon (having forgotten my pocket knife, which they held at the front desk) before they brought me to an interrogation room. I’d seen one in countless movies and shows, of course, but I’d never imagined I’d end up sitting in one. There was a CRT television set up on a mobile stand which reminded me of the one my teachers rolled around in elementary school.

“Oh, teacher, are we having a movie day?”

I tried joking with Officer Maplewood, and he was about to respond when someone else called to him from down the hall. They left me in the room alone and closed the door when they left.

I was not left waiting for very long. After only about five minutes of sitting there, two men walked in. Both were wearing dark gray suits and slacks. One was tall, standing around six feet and some change. He had light brown hair and very dark brown eyes that studied me as he stood there. Chiseled jaw, five o’clock shadow, small scar above his lip. Maybe in his early to mid thirties. The guy was basically screaming “Hollywood Fed”. If I saw this guy in an episode of some crime drama, I wouldn’t question it.

The other guy was a bit older, I’d place him in his mid to late forties. His black hair was sporting more than a little streaks of gray, what little of it left remained on his head. His face was far more weathered, reminding me of a farmer that had spent his life outdoors. While he wasn’t exactly a picture of health, I could tell that he was still fit, could probably run down a criminal if he wanted to. He was clean shaven.

The older man was holding a manila envelope and a VCR tape, both of which he sat down on the table. As he reached out, I spotted the badge that was clipped onto his belt. I could make out the words ““Federal Bureau of Investigation” emblazoned on it. Next to it, riding on his left side, was a holstered Sig Sauer P226. A fine piece, and one that a lot of government entities had used for years. Recently a lot of them had been transitioning to the Glock gen 5’s, or even the Sig P320 or Smith M&P, but I would guess this guy wanted to retain his older gun.

The younger agent had his sidearm a bit better concealed, but I could still see the basic imprint through his jacket. Beretta 92, another classic. I’d carried one on a regular basis for several years but didn’t personally own one anymore.

“Good evening Mister Rogers. My name is Special Agent Sawyer, this is Special Agent Lassiter.”

The older guy, Sawyer, introduced himself and his partner.

“Do you know why you’re here this evening?”

“I’d prefer not to answer any questions until my lawyer arrives.”

“That’s fine, then how about I do some talking, and you can just listen?”

He sat down across from me, Lassiter stood to the side.

“At nine sixteen this evening you walked into the Snack’N’Fuel gas station on County Road Forty.”

I stayed quiet and stared at him.

“Two minutes after you entered, another gentleman walked in. This man was wearing a black mask and was holding a nine millimeter handgun.”

I could see that he was trying to read my face, but I like to think I have a pretty good poker face.

“Did you know the identity of that man, Mister Rogers?”

“Still waiting for my lawyer, Agent Sawyer.”

“Perhaps a refresher is in order?”

He picked up the tape and handed it to Lassiter, who popped it into the VCR player and turned on the TV. The camera perspective was overlooking the register from behind where the customer stands. The video had been paused right at the moment where I walked up behind who I was assuming was Johnny the Dumbass. Lassiter hit the play button.

There was no sound, and the video was in very grainy black and white. I watched myself on the screen as I reached out and tapped the man on his left shoulder. He spun around, sweeping the muzzle of the pistol across the room, and I caught it in my right hand. Then I drove my left fist into the side of his elbow. I couldn’t hear it, but I could clearly imagine the sound the joint made when it suddenly bent the wrong way at a nearly thirty degree angle.

I ripped the gun from his hand and cracked him across the face with it. He fell back against the snack stand that stood behind the register and it toppled over with him. I walked right up to him again and started hitting him several more times in the face. After wailing on him for several seconds, I stood straight up, disassembled the gun, sat the pieces on the counter, then walked out the door. Lassiter paused the video after that and walked back to the table. He picked up the folder and opened it, then pulled out several photos which he laid out on the table.

“The doctor that looked him over said that his elbow is broken in such a way that they don’t know if he’ll ever have full function of that arm again. Index finger on his right hand is broken as well. They’re also saying that after you broke his jaw he’ll probably be eating through a straw for a few months.”

The photos were of a bruised and bloody-faced Johnny. His nose looked like it had a bad date with a baseball bat. His jaw was swollen and hung lopsided. One could have reasonably believed this picture was taken after a brutal MMA bout. Despite how I treat the monsters in the dungeon, that wasn’t normally the level of violence I would have used. I had been raised to believe you should use exactly the level of force needed to end the threat. Once the gun was out of his hand, which I could’ve done without crippling him, that would’ve been it.

“Agent Lassiter, we’ve both seen quite a few examples of robbers facing civilian justice. You ever see such brutality?”

“I don’t believe I have, Agent Sawyer.”

“Damn near looks to me like it was personal.”

“I’d be inclined to agree with you.”

“So, Mister Rogers, I’ll pose my question again. Did you know the robber?”

“Lawyer.”

“In a minute. By now you must be thinking, “gee, why do two FBI agents care so much about a random gas station hold up? Agent Lassiter, care to elaborate for me?”

Lassiter pulled out another photo and slid it across the table.

This one was taken from up high, likely from a plane. I recognized the scenery. This was an overhead view of a certain scrapyard. A large delivery truck sat there, two black vans parked nearby. There stood Charlie, and Marky, and Marky’s goons. Someone else had also been there, as I recalled.

Me.

“Anything look familiar here, Mister Rogers?”

Shit. Fuck. Damn, even.

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

The next shot was much more zoomed in, and I realized that the camera angle could only see my back. It did however have a perfect view of Johnny’s face.

“That man there is the very same that you subdued, quite handily I might add, earlier tonight.”

Agent Sawyer pulled the photo back.

“I speak for both of us when I say that it was fortunate that you were there.”

What?

“That was Johnny ‘The Fuse’ Lorenze, as his gang members know him. Next to him is Markus "Marky" Geoni. You may have heard of his brother.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard correctly. This are members of a quite dangerous gang, of whom we’ve been keeping an eye on. We know they were in town for an arms deal of some sort, but were unable to coordinate a raid on the site in time.”

Did they really have no idea that it was the back of my own head that was in that photo? And why were they being so open about all this?

“We’ve been looking for any chance to nab one of them, and tonight you gave us the golden ticket. Sure, it’ll be a long time before he can actually talk, but when he does? Well, I’m sure we can get him to sing like a bird.”

“I—”

There was a knock on the door, and Lassiter moved to answer it.

The moment he opened it, a man shoved his way in, shouting.

“It is highly improper that I have been denied access to my client for this long while you questioned him! I will be filing a complaint for this!”

The newcomer was wearing a blue suit and black shirt with a dark blue tie.

“You can relax, your client isn’t our target today, counselor.”

The man I assumed to be my lawyer was average in just about every way imaginable. Maybe five foot nine, unremarkable features. The only thing notable was his apparent overuse of cologne.

“We would like your assistance in locking Johnny Lorenze up, so we can squeeze him for info on his boss. We can offer witness protection, of course.”

“I uh—”

“Mister Rogers, I recommend you do not answer at this time.”

“I’ll follow my attorney's advice.”

“Very well. We can’t force you, but let me just give you a warning.”

Sawyer stood up and straightened out his jacket.

“Me and my partner both know that you just happened to be there, but his gang members? They might not be so rational. We can protect you, but only if you cooperate.”

“Mister Rogers will reach out, through me, if he decides to take you up on that.”

“Thank you. And again, good job tonight.”

This wasn’t at all how I thought things would go.

When he had pulled out that photo, I thought my goose was cooked.

Shit, I didn’t think it was that hard to recognize me, even from behind. I don’t exactly blend in with a crowd.

The two agents both left their cards with contact information, and departed. My attorney made sure they were gone, then turned to me.

“Well, certainly not what I expected to walk into. You didn’t answer any questions, did you?”

“Nope.”

“Thank God. Before we talk, let's get you out of here. They might still be listening.”

He opened the door for me and I stood up to leave. As we stepped out into the hallway I caught sight of Lassiter dipping around the corner. If they had been trying to listen, they did a poor job of trying to cover it.

I collected my pocket knife before we left. Once we got to the parking lot, he spoke up again.

“I suppose I should introduce myself.”

He reached out a hand for me to shake. I did.

“I am an associate of Grady and Khetman Legal Services, my name is Richard Schwanz.”

“Pleasure to meet you, I guess.”

“Did the police transport you, or did you drive?”

“I was picked up.”

“Then I take it that you need a ride home.”

“It’d be appreciated, but could you drop me off at my car instead?

“Sure, where is it?”

“Same gas station where this all went down.”

“I see. Now that we’re sure that they can’t snoop, mind tell me what I’m actually dealing with? From what I picked up so far, you seem to have dispatched a member of some local gang?”

“I don’t remember it even happening. Blacked out.”

“Any details you have will be helpful if we need to build your defense in court.”

“Subdued a robber at the gas station, blacked out and walked home afterward.”

“Ok, then why were there two federal agents, what do they have to do with a robbery?”

“They were investigating an arms deal, the guy I fucked up was party to it.”

“I feel that you’re leaving something out here. Let me assure you that my firm deals in absolute discretion.”

“They may or may not have evidence that I was involved in the less-than-legal activities.”

He was quiet for a moment as he drove.

“Alright. We have to assume that this individual will sing like a bird. They had photos, correct?”

“Aerial photos, not sure how many they have. The one they showed me just had the back of my head. I don’t think the agents realized it was me.”

“If that’s it, I can probably handle that. It’ll be more difficult if they got your actual face. Going forward, lets assume they have it and haven’t yet noticed.”

He was already pulling into the gas station parking lot. A police cruiser still sat there with a cop sitting inside, but the place was closed.

“You may wish to find temporary lodging for yourself, if this gang finds out who you are, or where you live…”

“I’ll be fine, Mister Schwanz.”

“Very well.”

“What do I owe?”

“Our standard rate is quite reasonable, and prorated, but since you were referred you get a ten percent first time discount. Your current bill comes out to two grand, counting my travel time.

Christ. That was damn near ten times the average hourly rate for my area. But, again, these were people that Charlie relied on, and it looked like they specialized in shit like this.

“How can I send the money?”

“You’ll receive a packet in the mail detailing how to wire or transfer the funds.”

I got out.

“Also, here is my card. If this goes any further, do not hesitate to call.”

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that he hadn’t actually done anything besides serve as an expensive taxi. Fuck. Well, I guess it wasn’t a bad idea to have him on speed dial.

“Have a good rest of your night, Mister Rogers.”

“Thanks, you too Mister Schwanz.”

He drove off, leaving me to start my car and head home. I had to calm down my dog once I got home, she wasn't used to me being gone at night.

I collapsed into my bed and promptly passed out.