Tiger Stripes and Lightening Strikes

11: Coffee Haired

Barry was more than used to visiting somebody in prison. He and Joe had been guided to a large room. It was scarcely filled, with bench tables scattered all over the place. They were the only ones in the room, aside from the guard at the door. Everything was plain and white. The only pops of colour were the cracked and damaged vending machines in the far corner of the room.

They were seated on the same side of the bench. Barry was absentmindedly tapping on the table top, and Joe was staring off into space, his eyes heavily glazed. Time seemed to be crawling by. The repetitive ticking of a clock was making Barry want to bang his head off of the table.

"What do you remember about Lucas Smythe?" Joe asked abruptly, causing Barry to stare over at him. Joe returned the stare with one that held a mix of emotion.

Barry shrugged. "He always wore a white suit... he was charismatic... he was a fun guy." His brows pulled in.

"You haven't seen him for a while, Barry," Joe spoke slowly. "He has changed." A flicker of concern flashed in his eyes. "Whatever happens, don't let him get under your skin." Barry pressed his lips into a line, nodding slowly.

The doors whooshed open, and a man in an orange jumpsuit was ushered in by a guard. The prisoner was guided over to Barry and Joe. He was short, but exceptionally buff. His black hair was peppered with a few greys. His blue eyes locked on Joe, narrowing to slits, before assessing Barry with great intrigue.

"You've got half an hour," the guard warned them, forcing the man in orange to drop down on the bench across from Joe and Barry. He then moved to stand with the other guard, his hand lingering on his gun.

"Orange suits you," Joe remarked icily. Smythe peered between them, the corners of his lips curling a fraction.

"If it isn't the Detective that locked his own best friend in prison," Smythe drawled. Barry's brows drew down onto a fierce scowl and the muscles in Joe's jaw twitched. Smythe's eyes flicked to Barry, a ghost of warmth shining in his cold stare. "You, look an awful lot like my Sebastian," he commented, his eyes running him up and down. "But you are certainly not him." He let out a long hum. "Could it be, you're the nut job older brother?" Barry's hands curled into fists.

"We're not here on a social call, Smythe," Joe spoke sharply. "There have been a string of murders all over Central City that are all connected to one of your cases." Smythes cold, blue eyes were unblinking and inscrutable. "The case of Jason Mort."

"The Metriol scandal," Smythe hummed.

"We strongly believe those who worked in Diddy's defence are being killed," Joe continued. "That makes you a target."

"You didn't need to spell that one out," Smythe spoke with deadly dictation.

"Help us with the case, and you'll be helping us stop a meta human murderer who is out for your head," Joe told him firmly.

"Again, there was no need to you to tell me what I can conclude for myself," Smythe snapped. Joe regarded him with a dark and heavy glare. He leaned over the table. "Ask me what you want, but I think you already know how I'll answer." Barry sucked on his teeth. Irritation boiled in his chest.

"Did you manipulate the results in court?" Barry asked aggressively.

"I did what I was payed to," Smythe replied, leaning down onto his elbows and clasping his hands.