Knowing the Feds were coming I wanted to run, but Harlot had told me to cooperate on Scar’s orders. Plus, Halley had more hope in her now they were involved.
Like clockwork, the FBI was back at the motel at noon. Halley hadn’t told me they’d be taking me in. At least they didn’t cuff me. But I didn’t want to leave Halley behind.
“She’ll be okay,” they said, when I protested.
At the station, they questioned me in a nice office. Although, it wasn’t one of those cold rooms with folding chairs and the double-sided mirror, they still played good cop, bad cop.
“What’s your real name, Cowboy?” The man was the bad cop. He’d said Cowboy like he was making fun. “You always make love in your hat? Got a horse somewhere, too?”
He wouldn’t goad me into reacting. “Joseph Smith,” I lied.
The woman answered, she was the more reasonable one. “An alias, this is John Romney.” She handed him a file on me, I presumed.
The man remarked, “Like Mitt?”
“More like him than you think.” The woman began to tell my life story, all about my childhood and all the things I’d told Halley in confidence.
Fuck—when she’d said she told them everything I didn’t think she meant about me.
Stupid girl.
“Y’all know it all, why you need me here?”
The man said, “We don’t care to know much more about you. We already know you’re a low life. We knew who you ran with and the possible crimes you’ve committed. We didn’t need the girl to tell us that.”
The woman cut in, “Let’s stick to one case at a time, Finn.”
“Finn, your name is Finn?” I laughed.
“Agent Crosley, to you.” He gave the woman a look, and I could tell they were bumping uglies. “Listen, we just want to know about the girl.”
“The woman,” she corrected him.
“Halley. Yes. A female. Why hasn’t she named her baby?”
“I don’t know.” I really didn’t.
“Is that the truth, John?” Agent May asked.
“I have my suspicions.”
“And what are those?”
“The circumstances of his birth.”
Even though they’d heard Halley’s side of the events leading up to the kidnapping of her child, they wanted my version. For her sake, I told them as much as I could, starting with the story of how she’d been kidnapped herself and ended with our first date and what came after it. Well, what I thought was relevant, without too much of the personal details.
“Do you think she killed her baby?”
“No,” I shouted. “Aren’t you listening? Her and I were out on a date when they took him.”
They didn’t seem too convinced. I told them about all the times I witnessed her caring for the little guy. I couldn’t think of a time she hadn’t been the very best mother. I explained about her walking to Wal-Mart to buy him a car seat. I dug in my wallet and showed them the receipt.
They still asked questions like they thought she murdered her baby.
“Why would we be cooperating with the likes of you if she’d killed him?”
“Mr. Romney, do you think Halley is mentally sound?”
