𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 |𝟏𝟖+ (#𝟏)

𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙴𝙴𝙽 |*

13
AGENT CALLAHAN
--------------------------------------

"And who are you?" the annoyed voice asks. She was dressed in a fluffy robe, bunny slippers and her hands held a cup of what smelled like peppermint tea. "May I come inside." I ask and she looks at me like I've grown two heads. Considering she didn't know me from anywhere, I understood the skepticism. "Umm, no. Again, who the fuck are you?" I reach for my badge in the waistband of my pants, which she takes and looks at skeptically before rolling her eyes and widening the gap between the door and herself.

"FBI. I'm sure I can't help you with anything. I don't like cops in uniform or cops in suits." she says as a matter of factly leading me to the couch. She stands before me not taking a seat watching my movements carefully. "Interesting. Well, I'm sure you'll be of great help in this situation." I told her, pulling the manilla envelope from the briefcase I had in hand. I drop the envelope on the table and lean back with a smile. "Why the smug look?" she asks bending to pick up the envelope, opening it with a rip.

"You could have just opened the flap." I tell her and she pauses her movements with an annoyed look. "Yeah, well I don't like your fucking attitude so you're really just going to have to deal with it." The photos fall on the centerpiece one by one as she looks through them with a straight unmoving face. No visible break in composure. Fuck. "Aww, these are cute. Where did you get them?" She says in a dreamy tone, smiling while looking through the photos proves good memories, memories I'd have to marr. 

"Do you know who he really is? What he does with his time?" I ask with a boisterous laugh. Her eyes meet mine, "He's rich so I'd say an entrepreneur but I don't really care to be honest. From what I know he's good company and good conversation."

"He's a dangerous man. I know he may look charming..." I begin to say before she interrupts. "He is charming and nice to look at. I know a lot of people would agree." I roll my eyes, completely annoyed. Womens infatuation with men like him is blinded by lust and money - an expensively tailored suit and expensive shoes to clothe the devil. A disguise. A fucking good one. "He is one of the heads of a faction of the New York illegal trade. He's fucking vile and destroys everything he touches."

"So, an entrepreneur.....it doesn't matter if what he's trading is guns and drugs. Besides, it's not like I care about any of this. The danger you're talking about rarely applies to me." she tells me, again, no breaks in character. "Now what do you want from me?" She asks me, taking a sip of her tea waiting for me expectantly. "We'll pay you handsomely..." Her head cracks to the left giving me the same expression that was on her face when she opened the door.

"To be a fucking snitch.... No thanks. Get the hell out of my apartment. I don't give a fuck what he's done or doing - apparently he's not to be crossed if you're sitting in front of me right now begging for my civilian help." I reach for another folder in my briefcase and drop it on the table. She looks at me bored. "Even if he killed a fellow FBI agent?"

"Especially then, a pig is a pig even if not born in a sty. Plus, I don't know any FBI agent enough to give a rats ass. You only die by the hands or orders of a mafia boss when you're doing shit you're not supposed to - I won't end up like that." I grab the folder, pulling it open to the images of our agent's body chopped up and mutilated, throwing them in front of her - she doesn't look phased. 

"Is this supposed to garner sympathy? I'm guessing he knew the possible outcomes of what his life could have been and he still chose to do this. I don't have the slightest burning feeling about being a sellout - for whatever reason. I also don't want to end up like whoever this is, so find somebody else." So many damn opinions she has. 

"My God. Who knew you were this fucking stubborn." I tell her, reaching for the last folder that held the last of my sanity as well as my leverage. This might be the only way I get her to remotely agree to do this even if she didn't want to. The past is a bitch - and no matter how far you ran from it, it always caught up. "I wonder how your future employees would feel about you having a sex tape and playing a part in the murder of Elijah Whitcomb with your friends....." I trail off, lifting my cuffs from my waist dropping them in front of her.