“I am not the problem. He is. After this, I am taking him to ramblers anonymous.”
When the other two guys laugh, I snicker, even though she may be serious. “Good one, sugar.”
We all chit chat for a bit until a young woman nods at the guard, hands him a few twenties, and proceeds to where we sit.
Glancing down at her smart pad, she turns toward us. “Mr. and Mrs. Sutcliff? Mr. Slate? Mr. Quinn? Please follow me.”
Nodding, we all stand and trail her pencil-skirted ass through the lobby. We trot up a half flight of stairs and into a conference room marked three-oh-one. Inside, three folding chairs line one edge of the metal table. The other side has a cushioned, lumbar-supported, Mercedes Benz of ass-pleasers.
“Please be seated.” Her pink painted lips quirk at the corners.
I lift the orange plastic with my pinky. “Ma’am, I’d be happy to oblige but this here piece of crap will not support my weight.”
“Give it a try.” At her sugary smile, I glance at my attorney, and ease down on the seat.
“If it collapses and I break my gluteus maximus, we can sue, right?”
“I’ll make sure of it.” Andy unbuttons his suit jacket and cringes as plastic cracks under Slate’s full weight.
“Fuck this.” Lifting off the floor, my pal shouts out the door. “Chairs. Now. Or the deal is off.”
It doesn’t take long for them to roll in a new set of cushioned, happy-bottoms. Senior Special Agent Young drives the last one into the room, parks it, and introduces himself.
“Let’s make this brief. I’ve got a lot on my plate.” At his military tone, I salute, eager to start.
“Yes sir, I’ll do my best, sir.”
“I was talking to your wife.” Both his brows raise, no doubt waiting for my disappointment, and I can’t help my mouth from dropping open.
Dammit.The love of my life lights up and happily pats my knee. “I got this, tough guy.”
Gone is the Brooklyn snark, replaced by syrupy, sweet molasses. “Where should I begin, detective?”
His eyes soften as he falls for her girlish demeanor. “I understand you have some knowledge of the new fentanyl hitting the streets. Why not start there, miss?”
“It’s missus. M-I-S-S plus us. Waving her ring finger, she takes a deep breath. “To explain, I should back up a little. Before Christmas, I was working for the FBI and doing some research on the dark web when my cousin Rose came upstairs with my son, Mikey who had exploded in his pants. You would think, after watching him for over a year and a half, she’d be able to change him, but she handed him off to me like she’d never seen shit before. Oh my God. I don’t know what my husband fed him, but the stench was enough to peel paint and it leaked through the sides of his diaper and his outfit was soaked in brown-”
“Ms. Sutcliff.” Her interrogator glares at me like this was my fault but this was all my wife’s doing and it’s funny as hell.
“Please, just call me Sam.” Ignoring me, she shoots Young a practiced smile who in turn, scratches the scruff on his face.
“Were you rambling?”
“No sir. Meandering is my husband’s forte. I was merely trying to explain the extenuating circumstances which brought about the unfortunate accident that caused us to get involved with the aforementioned drugs.”
I scratch my nose, hiding my ear-to-ear grin. Damn, she is good. She’s taken the subtle art of incoherent and pointless talking to new heights.
Young, no idiot, turns to me. “Is this your doing?”
“No sir. My wife insisted we be clear and concise. She even bribed me with sexual favors.”
Andy Quinn mutters under his breath, “TMI.”
Too much information?No way. My gal is so damn cute when she’s embarrassed.
“Go on, darlin’, tell him what happened next, I mean about the case.”
She lifts her chin. “Shall I continue,Senior Special Agent Young?”
