I Suspect

Where was the wiggle room? Mine consisted of four blood stained walls.

I never wanted to be anything but what I am, a career criminal. “Am I a suspect?” I asked through bloody teeth.

“I suspect you are, mate.” The slap swung my head to face the wall. “Stay there until you confess.”

They could torture and hold still my torn body, but my mind remained free to roam. The flat red stained wall disappeared, replaced by my memories of challenges met long ago.

As a lad charmed by adventure’s adrenaline rush, I fought and won many fight as an avowed underdog. My conman trained my childish wiles into excellent form. That kind of fun requires not only skill but more so a kind of balanced judgement of when to stop fighting and run. I ran. My conman supervisor lost the fight and is no more. We’d been found out and judgment made.

Being alone offered fresh opportunity while living amongst the dark alleys and tenements wasting away in grime. I explored what it felt like to be a bouncer at a bathtub gin place called The Blind Pig. My side gig was freeing wallets from drunken sailors in the back alley, split half with the femme fatales luring them outside.

Nearly killing the local crime boss’s son during his impromptu playdate ended that affair. I ran again. Right into the arms of the governor’s wife. What a ride. She hated him, used me more than I used her. What a ride.

One blackmail later. “We’ve got the cash. Leave with me.”

We agreed on the time and place we’d meet. Who I met were the governor’s henchmen and four solid walls. She’d set me up.

They beat the truth out of me, didn’t believe me. The madame had previous mad affairs to hide in. I suspect she hides in them still.

Wc 300