The Traitor ✓ (Book Six)

Chapter Sixteen

  "Well I guess...thank you then?" Victor only nods. He's a busy man, and the sit down I just saw is rare. So when a business partner or lawyer or something calls him, I'm not surprised. I leave to give him some privacy, but when I return to the kitchen there's the same situation.

  Maria's talking to some murder client, and it sounds like an emergency. I do my best to tune it out and give her some privacy.

  Then in seconds, she's done, and pulling on my arm to get in her car. I don't question it, but she explains herself anyways.

  Apparently there's been some sort of emergency- her client's mom was murdered and the prosecution thinks he did it since he's a serial killer. She tells me she needs to help piece together his story, with the trial being so soon.

  Outside, Mother Nature is having another bipolar day. One second it feels like it's a thousand degrees, and the next a cold breeze blows. It wouldn't be too bad, if we didn't know these facts: Scientists have said we're teetering on the edge of no return. That people having babies has been the biggest contributor. Animal agriculture has slowed down significantly, but not enough.

  There's that same look on Maria's face; she's thinking about the same things. "Well-" She looks terrified. Not for us but for the next generation. "With any luck, we'll die before it gets really bad."

  I nod. The United States is not working fast enough. What the hell is Lauren waiting on?

  Any talks of climate change are immediately stifled when we get in her car. At least it's electric, I think to myself. She's doing better than most.

  She types an address into the gps, and I put her car in drive. Twenty minutes later, we're in front of the clients house.

  "Just....be on high alert. This one's kind of unstable."

"Aren't all of your clients?" I shrug.

  "Not every single one. Some of them are sane- like that drug dealer who offered you cocaine."

  "Yeah....he was nice." I laugh, wandering back to that memory. Last week she went to see a man in his thirties who was given ten years. When asked how he was going to pay for her, he offered both of us ten thousand dollars in drugs each. I guess he thought I was part of her legal team; I was dressed like it that day. When I clarified, he told me I could get some free shit anyways.

  I wouldn't taken the offer if there weren't a prison guard watching us through two way glass.

  "Alright- out." She says. Before I have a chance to walk around, she's opened her door from the inside. The walk to his front door is just a few seconds. I press the doorbell, and in just another few, he's standing on the other side.

  I immediately get an off vibe from him. The way he looks at us, and the way his mouth curves upwards and downwards at the same time is unnerving.  And as shitty as this sounds- he looks like the stereotype of old,  homophobic racist Republican.

  I shiver. Even being in prison for ten years, I heard that the last word became a slur. Because nowadays, it's being used to describe someone who doesn't care about others.

  "Welcome- please come in." The client say. I haven't bothered to learn his name yet. He gestures for us to sit down, on what looks like the only clean thing(a couch) in his living room. Hell, it smells like he's killed people here.

  "Now, you told me  your mom was murdered on the phone. How did it happen?" Maria pulls out a notepad. Even with the most dangerous, she's attentive. I fully believe she could get anybody off.

"They found her in the garbage at a landfill. Police are still investigating, of course.... So you'll get a full report soon but... they think whoever did it tried to throw her away." He calmly replies. Still, I'm getting bad vibes from him.

  So I'm on edge, waiting for him to snap.

  "I'm so sorry to hear that-" Maria replies, a more somber tone in her voice. "Johnson, where were you when it happened?"

  There it is.

  Maria doesn't notice it yet, but something's shifted. He no longer looks just crazy, he look like someone who's about to do something crazy.

  "What?" He asks. I can tell he's biting the inside of his cheek. I do the same thing when I feel like I'm under a microscope.

  "Well we need an alibi. Where were you?" She repeats.

  "I was...uhm... I..." he stutters. The his face goes numb, and he reaches into his pocket. I do the same.

  Then two seconds later, he's got his gun trained on Maria, and mine is pressed to his temple.

  "I'd put that down if I were you." I say calmly, an eyebrow raised.

  "No can do. Might as well get another body in before they haul me off to the looney bun. Because let's face it- everybody knows I'm guilty." He chuckles.

  You're not helping yourself by admitting to it, dumbass.

  I swear, some people should just keep their mouths shut or never commit any crimes. Not confessing is one of the only ways you can help yourself.

  Because if you never say the words, or show any signs of guilt; and your were careful about cleaning up the evidence, it's like it never happened.

  That's one of the things I learned from Prince Ahmad, and the British royal family. Those motherfuckers were as evil as it came.

  "And you'll be... more guilty if you shoot her." I say.

  "Really?" He rolls his eyes. "Thanks for letting me know, I had no idea."

  Then his finger rests on the trigger.

  The requirement to make split second decisions what what I hated about the secret service, but now I must do it again.

So I pull my own trigger.