The black sheep of the McCarthy...

After this revelation, my bottled-up feelings streamed out of my face, like an enigmatic sketch blinded by incoherent colors. On its display, it drew every bit of my inside insecurities with a touch of resentment.

My attention diverted; I couldn’t look him in the eyes.

My head lowered, gathering the shreds of those ugly dispersed expressions, struggling to restrain them, to be in control once more.

In all those moments that seemed like elongated years, he didn’t add any other remark. Only satisfied by observing my futile attempts to swallow back my naïve and flawed reaction.

His lineament twisted, showed a trace of wicked amusement ensued by my ordeal.

I detected his delight, his intermittent stare that carried a meaning I couldn’t translate. His breath, as calm as ever, compared to the emotional eruption I displayed.

What bothered me most was the patience he exhibited, making room for my comeback, to get up and hold the reins of my composure. Why would he miss such an opportunity to disarm me?

Finally, his eyes bulged towards his left wrist. The golden watch was adjusted, its frame reflected a portion of the light. Then his lips moved: ‘It took you thirty-eight seconds to calm your reaction.’

His cold gaze shifted in my direction, my face straightened in cloudless tranquility above a lava river.

“This is bad, this is so bad,” he said in frank mockery. “Your performance had dropped, your mental control sank dramatically those few months.” Or maybe he was serious…

Not caring about the small talk, I adopted the same tone: “It doesn’t look like you are one of the police. Are you even allowed to be in here?”

“No… No… don’t be aggressive. I hastily left my dear friend's wedding and came here just for you.” The unfastened strap of his glasses oscillated, synchronized with his head's slow motion. “And here you are greeting me with coldness full of discourtesy.“

Assuming a mechanical facade, my endurance strings loosened. They needed to be tightened for me to confront this kind of sardonic individual. A second breath before I rephrased my earlier question, being more sarcastic: “I may know who graced me with his presence?”

But as if he didn’t hear me, his friendly discourse resumed, divulging something questionable.

“In the next twenty-four hours, you will be released for lack of enough evidence.”

Aware of his little game, I didn’t react. The information raining at the tip of his tongue disclosed for one purpose; scanning my wordless response.

“You don’t look happy or surprised with the good news.” He looked at his watch and I could see the detail of a crafty smile convert between the folds of his combustible chatter.

When he became sure that he wouldn't get what he wanted for free, he shoved his body backward, out of resignation, or to initiate another attack.

” You knew it right.” The smugness in his word waned, “is it why you didn’t ask for a lawyer?”

I didn’t react, yet I couldn’t help but let the edge of my lips chuckle.

“However, a medical examination and psychological assessment are needed before your release.” His counterattack arrived in a heartbeat.

As long as the doctors are on your side, who knows what can be fabricated during a medical and psychological evaluation? Hence, I humbly executed my right to silence. Exploiting my efforts in observing the subtle gestures he made, the frame of his glasses, the shiny golden strap that won the rest of my curiosity and dazzle. Under the light refraction, I am half confident it is a golden chain.

Nevertheless, our brief, discreet interaction, a simple concept about this person’s identity, background, his goals. Grew a more defined outline in my mind.

Once our furious dance over the main topic dragged on, he tossed his hidden time bomb: “You know they set you up?”

After he ripped off the gibberish disguise, both of us kept watching the other with endless alertness. The clock’s hands of his watch ticking like a drum in the sea of our false calm. The seconds sprinted at the speed of light. Again, I witnessed his eyes wandering to his wrist.

He was in a race against the time. While I was free from any engagement, and I can keep silent for centuries to come.

“There are some prominent figures....that will benefit from your indictment with first-degree murder.”

Alas, he gave up so quickly...

But this confession threw my heart at the other side of the table. My lips parted in shock, opening the gate to my inner self, allowing the waves of confusion to combine together.

This case is bigger than I anticipated.

“How the charge got dropped?” I demanded, rather I ordered an answer.

My first guess that Anna’s confession to the investigation team was my innocence ticket. However, after receiving this dangerous information, there was no way in hell that her confession will be enough.

“Were you aware that this incident was arranged to implicate you?”

I closed my mouth. Both of us wanted the other to speak first. His reluctance to hastily question me set loud alarms in my head. Especially while they are monitoring my every reaction on the other side of the walls.

I don’t want to make a mistake or say anything that will send me to the abyss. Who knows how they will twist and wrap my words against me.

“Don’t worry, I turned off the monitoring system, no one hear or see our conversation.”

“Oh…” Startled, was I obvious?

No, he is an excellent reader of facial’s changes, high on perception level. Except, demonstrating his talent in this place, at this time was not a good way to win my trust. Instead, he built extra anxiety in the already suffocating air.

In front of his eyes, what kind of open book I am?

On my watch, he tucked his hand into his pocket, bringing his phone within my sight. “Take it,” he assured after unlocking it: “Check it. I am not recording anything.”

Once again, I didn’t respond, settling for a quick squint that jumped between his face and the phone's screen. Resuming my initial quest; decoding, even just a portion of his character and aims.

Such firm confidence of authority he conveyed in his manners. Still, I could tell... The subtle threads of discontent. He was kind of disturbed at receiving the unexpected mission of interrogating my person. Without a doubt, he is operating on someone else’s behalf.

On what side he is?

Though he tipped me indirect details about my state, here he is sending a further signal through the background picture of his phone. It certificated to me that he wasn’t convinced about us not being monitored in a way or another.

The background of his phone showed a photo taken at a national closed conference. Its main theme centered on discussing the new law about witness protection. I recognized the event since I was one of the attendants. Mr. Marchetti, one of the major regulators, has sent me an official invitation despite I had yet to formally enter the Firm.

His encrypted message dangled amidst the ambiguous actions and the spoken words, easy to decipher. Basically, emphasizing his strong disconnect with the party that prepared the false charge.

In normal circumstances, my way of thinking can be shortened like this: As much as you try to dissociate yourself from something or someone as much as you are guilty of committing it or being his close accomplice. It’s my default setting, I can’t help it. Besides, given my unfortunate, present position, the luxury of allocating my faith to a certain suspicious stranger I met a few minutes ago is completely out of question.

I felt his eyes scanning me while I scanned the screen of his phone. Next, he said, answering my earlier question, selecting words in immense reservation: “Somebody helped in deflecting the false charge against you.” Expecting my trust to rain on him in cheer after this half-baked, vague response.

He peeked at his wrist, checking the golden watch for the twentieth time before he added: “Do you think if I was working with the party that tried to set you up you would be released so easily?”

“I am not yet released.”

My voice clasped with coldness transcended the docility I showed. In a fraction of a second, my fingers glided the surface of the phone, entrapping it under my control. I smelled his nervous breath nursing my fractured ego.

The screen was turned off and the whole system was shut down. I even took off the SIM card. Yet my meticulous preparation required a final move. Swiftly shifting the lamp light towards the surveillance camera, I pushed my upper body forward, approaching, whispering: “If I was aware that they were going to set me up... Do you think I am idiotic to the point of walking into their trap while knowing it?”

Confident that he received each word of my complaint, my back relaxed into the seat, my gaze wandered the darkness. Clothed into the obscurity, the relocated lamplight rendered my ability to decipher his face low within the simple interpretation standard.

What is in his mind now? What are his thoughts? Questions were hard to answer, even when I watched his varied expressions.

"Really… "

What a tactful timbre to indicate that he didn't believe me. Such a disappointment, since what I stated was the take on my situation.

I narrowed my eyes, waiting in anticipation of his next move. Will he prey for more? Will he lull me and pour extra details? Will he stagger, fall, then retreat?

“The input I possess suggested prior knowledge from your part of being targeted.”

“Really…”

He rested his chin on a platform made of his interlocked fingers, “really,...” a smug smile followed, “Like I do have evidence, confirming that you are the one who proposed to Mr. Marchetti, the installation of a monitoring system in his backyard, specifically… Can I ask why?”

“...”

His hands disconnected, “I can answer that.” One supported his head while the other caressed his phone’s screen: “It’s so obvious.”

“...”

“In front of the house, several surveillance cameras are monitoring the main street, while the rear is neglected. If…”

“If someone wants to sneak into the house, he will do it through the backyard.” I had no choice but to participate in the explanation. “So…” I straightened my back. “I failed to understand the connection you are implying.”

This man is dangerous. The intelligence network he may be connected to must be inclusive, wide and at a high level of competence, to be able to pick up on this small trivial thing from months ago.
A second alternative about the source of this information can be the Marchetti ladies during the interrogation. However, I doubt Mr. Marchetti, given his personality, will praise this insignificant suggestion to his family.

In both cases, if this gentleman knew such a trivial thing, then the party planned to frame me, also knows it. Thus the mystery of the disabled monitoring system in the backyard is resolved.
On the other hand, what else do they know?

“In your opinion, who will benefit from this?” He asked, changing the course of the conversation anew. His eyes stole a glimpse at his watch. The counter of the allowable time must have reached the finishing line.

I narrowed the air passage of my lungs, enabling my breath to circulate slowly, enticing my brain’s shortcuts to work a quick solution. In the end, I decided to twirl and roll. Dodging the victim card performance, this gentleman assigned to me early in our clash:

“Mr. Marchetti is a man of high standing, has a great reputation. Famous for taking on difficult criminal cases, thus many must be hostile towards him, whether it was the envy of his success, or paranoid of his actions, often labeling him as a criminal sympathizer, a law bender, and other names. I am not sure of their identity, number. But they are abundant. This is not the first time his family got assaulted, or his house trespassed. A monitoring system is proved a necessity not a choice.”

The look in his eyes turned colder, to the degree of apathy. Thrilled by the transformation, I added:

“Besides, you are making it seem like I am the center of this terrible event. Maybe you are wrong, maybe, after all, they only want to get back at Mr. Marchetti, and I was unlucky enough to not just be able to save the kid but also to spend the night in this place.”

The radiating frost stung my skin. Such a face wasn’t meant for my aide. Still, if we sought to help one another, we lacked the required faith for a mutual endeavor. As he tried to sway over the meaning of the speech, I did the same. Nevertheless, the tucked bit of the truth in semi-ambiguous sentences shall be our tribute. It was up to us to discover what the other had genuinely hinted at.

The show was over. I sighed in relief when the heels of his boots struck the ground outside the interrogation room.

My left hand clung to my phone as I greeted goodby; the police headquarters. Passing the agents, one by one, I skimmed their faces, memorized their features, scuffed at their possessions. The daily routine in the station carried on, law hypothetical offenders went in and out in a consistent cycle of applied human morals.

I shifted the jacket over my arm to sign the discharge papers, passing a final message, sort of intimidation:

“If any news of yesterday's arrest gets out, I will sue the whole station not just for mistreating eyewitnesses but also for disclosing personal information and official misconduct.” My glares penetrated through the fat officer at the front desk.

The cool breeze gratified my hunger for freedom, washed the agony of an uncertain fate. Albeit the bad dream had yet to end if the eavesdropping devices I planted around the Marchetti’s house uncovered.

Selfish, insensitive, perhaps pretentious, I dialed Anna's number…
“Hello… This is Anna. Sorry for not picking up. I am busy right now. Call me back later… Bise.”

“...”

She should change this voicemail…

Walking towards the bus station, I kept dialing Anna's number… A second time… A third time…

Frustrated while crossing the road, one red car almost hit me. The driver didn’t bother to stop checking my well-being or even yelling at my neglect. Familiar, I felt. On the campus, there was a red car, its driver hobby harassing pedestrians.

Asserting my confusion, my angry gaze pursued it, halting before the police headquarters. August Olvera stepped down, hand waving in my opposite direction.

Towards the entrance of the station, I followed the line of his wave. The reflection of a certain golden watch blinded my sight. A golden glasses frame, a golden strap, that man waved back.

At that moment, at that precise moment, Jacob's affectionate expression invaded my vision. In my heart, I echoed an epiphany triggered by this situation:

Jacob, you... You… jerk, you villain… you… you knew it, you knew that I was going to be framed…
At the same time, my phone vibrated. An incoming message was displayed on my notification.

Obscured by the natural light of the day, my phone screen was unreadable. I needed to bring it very near to my eyes to decode it.

“Let’s break up.”