Chapter 16
Ryan
* * *
Good cop, bad cop.
I loved that game.
Today I was the bad cop. It was fitting to the situation, and I thought I deserved a little fun.
I could almost laugh at how happy I was right now. It would be so very inappropriate, but I was tempted. Boy was I ever fucking tempted to laugh in the face of Patterson St. James, the notorious drug lord I’d been trying to charge with a multitude of offences for close to two years.
The pitiful sight of him slumped in the chair before Aaron and me was hilarious. This was the same guy who’d told us he owned the world and we were ants to him in our nine-to-five jobs that paid us what he called “pocket change”.
We’d sat with him in the interrogation room for over an hour now. Patterson knew we had him. We’d gotten him good and proper, and yet he’d tried to bullshit us with shit talk about being blackmailed.
This fool had made my life a living hell for far too long, but this morning, everything had come to a head.
Wednesday had come through for me.
I had no qualms with Wednesdays. On Wednesdays, things could go either way. Hump day—it was themehday that could surprise you. It had started great because I was still buzzed from kissing Brooke, and I hadn’t thought anything could top that.
Actually, nothingcouldtop that. The news of Patterson came pretty darn close, though—pretty darn close.
It was Aaron who called me bright and early to tell me Patterson had been found on a fishing boat that came into the docks at four a.m. Our dear Patterson had been tied up with what looked like a whip a dominatrix would use in one of those BDSM clubs—not that I’d been for my own personal purposes, but I’d happened upon a few in my line of work. Then what made the news so funny was Patterson had been gagged with panties—lots of panties.
At least six.
What sweetened the deal for us was whoever left him like that had stuck the shipment assignment on his leg along with a mini tape. It was a recording of a conversation. While it recorded a female voice, it also captured Patterson saying he owned all the drug rings in not just Atlanta but the whole damn stretch of the North Carolina coastline.
That was how he’d said it.
He then babbled on about everything he was up to.Idiot.I’d bet the woman who had ratted him out and hand-delivered him to us must have looked like sex on wheels to get him to confess the way he had.
I’d heard the guy was a sucker for beautiful women, but damn that one had worked her charm. Whoever she was, we didn’t know, and that wasn’t our concern.
Our concern was looking right at me from the opposite side of the table.
I stood up while Aaron rested against the back of his chair. In a cool, casual manner, I made my way around to Patterson and sat on the edge of the desk near him.
This was my godfather mode. I would agree that I’d watched too many mafia films and probably enjoyed them a little too much, yet I didn’t stop the influence from filtering into how I conducted myself at work.
So, like Al Pacino playing Michael Corleone, I looked him over and leaned in close in that deadly manner that showed I meant business.
“Patterson, you know we have you. You knowall this”—I pointed and wiggled my fingers, motioning to Aaron and the room—“it’s just a formality, just to get your side of the story.”
“I told you that chick blackmailed me. I have nothing to do with the shipment. I’m an accountant.” Patterson was still trying.
“And I’m a fucking farmer.” I took out my gun and pressed the steel barrel to the side of his head. He went rigid, and fear washed over his face.
“What are you doing? You can’t kill me. You can’t do anything to me.”
I taunted him by tapping the gun to his temple, and I probably made him more scared when I started to hum.
“I can do whatever I want. In here, I own the world—me with my nine-to-five, ‘pocket change’ job. I also own you. There’s nothing to stop us from popping a bullet right between your eyes right now.”
“You’re a cop. You can’t.”
