Late Response to "Recruitment"
He watches the woman across the table. Her dark hair and large, brown eyes is striking against her pale skin and the gray jumpsuit she’s wearing. She was a pretty young thing and he believes that she has enormous potential.
“Double homicide.” He flips through her file. Her criminal history spans two pages, “That’s a long way from hustling and petty theft.”
“It was self-defense.” She says, crossing her arms across her chest. This was the biggest, most serious case she’s ever faced in her twenty years of being alive. She’s afraid. But she kept her expression carefully blank.
“Shooting twice, one for each of your attacker would be self-defense.” He leans back on the chair - aluminum and uncomfortable - and starts wondering what she’s feeling, “But emptying the entire gun? That was too much.”
Her lower lips start to tremble, but she’s able to stop it from becoming a full-blown cryfest. She juts her chin up and squares her shoulders. He’s the lawyer. He should be the one to think of ways to get her out, not her. And maybe, just maybe, he should be afraid of her. She had killed two people, hasn’t she?
“You're my lawyer, aren’t you? It’s self-defense. Make it stick.”
He saw what he was looking for - that spark - in her eyes. It passed quickly, but he recognized it. She probably doesn’t know that it’s in her, doesn’t know what she can be capable of doing.
“Actually, I’m not here to defend you. I’m here to offer you a deal.”
She narrows her eyes. “What kind of deal?”
“We take this case off your back, clean up that criminal history. In turn, you work for my organization. You have potential, I can see that. And my organization can help you realize that potential.”
“What’s the catch?” she asks, wary. He’s not from one of those kooky organizations aiming to save souls, is he?
“I’m with the CIA.”
She presses her lips together. Of course, she thought. “And if I don’t accept the deal?”
He leans forward and clasps his hands on top of the table. “A public defender takes on the case. He’ll be tired, cynical. But he’ll defend your rights. There’s a chance the jury’ll find you guilty and that’s 15-20 years for you.” He watches her reaction, “And then there’s a chance they find you innocent. But with your criminal record at your age, I doubt you’d get a decent job.”
He can see her weighing her options; hear her thoughts gearing into action.
“I can give you five minutes-”
“No.” her tone is forceful. Even an idiot can make a quick decision about this matter, “I’ll take it.”
“Good.” He rises from the chair, “You’ll be released tomorrow.” He gathers his files and hands her his card.
She stares at the card, “Gordon Dean.” She reads aloud and looks at him, “Is this your real name?”
He chuckles and gives her a fatherly smile, “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Ms. Peyton.”