Prologue - No Way Out
They all sat in a dimly lit interrogation room. The only furnishings were a few chairs circa 1970 and a generic rectangular table. On one side sat two calm, collected detectives both sporting stereotypical black suits. Their arms were folded and they both sported that smug grin you get when you know you’re going to win, and you can look down on you’re opponent like a cat over a trapped rat. They stared with that victorious look in their eyes across the table at a figure that starkly contrasted the clean-cut police officers. Jimmy Toltula was that figure, sweating bullets and everyone knew it. But that was the least of Jimmy’s worries. Surveillance photos, wiretap transcripts, affidavits and phone records were laid across the table, each one was like a big, fat finger pointing at him. Jimmy knew that if he didn’t do something fast, he was gonna go to jail for a long time, or worse.
“Come on man,” one of the detectives began, “help us and help yourself, just talk to us.”
“I want a lawyer.” This response had become second nature for a career criminal like Jimmy.
“Oh, you’re beyond a lawyer now, Jimmy,” the second officer started with a pretentious smugness, “you’re in too deep, and the only way out,” he leaned in close, “is to tell us what we want to know.”
‘Good cop, Bad cop. If this doesn’t work, they’ll probably just beat a confession out of me.’ Jimmy thought, ‘he’s right though, no way out.’
“So what happens if I make a deal?” Jimmy’s mind screamed frantically ‘What the hell are you doing! They’re COPS for fuck’s sake!
”Am I going to be protected?” ‘You can’t do this! It defies all logic!’ Jimmy’s mental rant continued, ‘Dammit, stop!
“Yeah, don’t worry Jimmy. Just tell us what you know.”
Jimmy just sat and stared at the cluttered table, for, to him, what seemed like an eternity. His life flashed before his eyes, which makes sense considering that there was enough evidence on that table to give him the death penalty.
“…All right, I’ll talk,” he said while slumping into defeat, obviously not proud of his decision, “where do I start?”
”With Jonathan Black.”
“…Ok.”
So Jimmy told the tale of the infamous John Black. His rise, his fall and every other detail in-between. Once Jimmy was finished, the officers only had one response to such a tale.
“Where is he?”
“Come on man,” one of the detectives began, “help us and help yourself, just talk to us.”
“I want a lawyer.” This response had become second nature for a career criminal like Jimmy.
“Oh, you’re beyond a lawyer now, Jimmy,” the second officer started with a pretentious smugness, “you’re in too deep, and the only way out,” he leaned in close, “is to tell us what we want to know.”
‘Good cop, Bad cop. If this doesn’t work, they’ll probably just beat a confession out of me.’ Jimmy thought, ‘he’s right though, no way out.’
“So what happens if I make a deal?” Jimmy’s mind screamed frantically ‘What the hell are you doing! They’re COPS for fuck’s sake!
”Am I going to be protected?” ‘You can’t do this! It defies all logic!’ Jimmy’s mental rant continued, ‘Dammit, stop!
“Yeah, don’t worry Jimmy. Just tell us what you know.”
Jimmy just sat and stared at the cluttered table, for, to him, what seemed like an eternity. His life flashed before his eyes, which makes sense considering that there was enough evidence on that table to give him the death penalty.
“…All right, I’ll talk,” he said while slumping into defeat, obviously not proud of his decision, “where do I start?”
”With Jonathan Black.”
“…Ok.”
So Jimmy told the tale of the infamous John Black. His rise, his fall and every other detail in-between. Once Jimmy was finished, the officers only had one response to such a tale.
“Where is he?”