I Like You a Latte {Completed}

37 | Debating the Terms

"Put the knife down," Quincy ordered, his voice low, his aim unwavering. "You're not helping yourself."

Dennis chuckled bitterly. "Right. 'Let the girl go, and we'll be able to lessen your sentence.' I've heard it all, and I don't fall for lies. So, if you don't want our girl," he gestured to Beverly with his chin, "to lose her life, then I suggest you move your buddies out of my way and let us leave in piece. Wouldn't want the blood of an innocent girl on your hands, now would you?"

Quincy took a careful step forward, pausing when Dennis stiffened. "Beverly," she blinked at him, confused as to which version of him to look at. There were three, after all, and wow—when did Quincy turn so fuzzy? "Are you alright?"

She tried to answer, but only ended up coughing, trying in vain to lick the tangy liquid off her lips. Quincy snarled a curse in response, shoving his gun into his pants and shifting to one of the other officers; he gestured to the woman, and she stepped forward slowly.

"Mr. Tillman," Dennis took a startled step back, no doubt surprised that they knew his name, and the woman held up a small, black object in her hand. It took Beverly multiple blinks and slight shakes of her head to realize the object was a phone. "Joseph Harris is on the phone and asking to speak to you."

"What?" Dennis spluttered, his grip on Beverly loosening slightly. "The hell? No way! Do you really expect me to believe—"

The officer tapped a button on the phone, and a man's raspy voice came through a second later. "Dennis, I need to speak to you privately."

Dennis's grip tightened suddenly, and Beverly struggled to breathe as he snarled, "That's a goddamn trick!"

"Dennis," the voice on the phone was stern, then. "Don't do anything stupid; let's talk. Now."

A long pause drifted by, before the hand around her throat vanished entirely, the knife clattering onto the pavement. Beverly slumped to the ground with a grunt, choosing to stare at the sky and listen to conversation around her instead of attempting to stand and risk hurting herself further.

"Harris?" Dennis sounded beyond startled, and perhaps a bit scared. "What are you doing?"

"I need to speak with you," Harris repeated, his tone leaving no room for refusal. It was the same tone Beverly's father used with her when he was concerned but hiding his worry behind his toughness. She wondered idly if Dennis and Joseph Harris had known one another long enough to develop a father-son relationship. It was possible, of course, but Beverly had never considered the likelihood of evil drug lords having a soft, familial side.

Ah, well; it's not really my major concern right now, anyway.

Dennis stepped over Beverly's still body a moment later, and she let her head fall to the side to watch as he took the phone from the officer before retreating once more. He tapped the phone's screen and pressed the device against his ear, saying again, "What are you doing?"

There was a silence as Harris answered, and Beverly let her eyes drift to the side, catching Quincy's gaze; she tried to send the kind man a reassuring smile, but he only grimaced at the sight.

Huh. She'd worry about that later, too—Dennis had just released a shrilly, "What the hell do you mean?!" He started pacing a moment later, running a hand over his hair and looking completely frazzled. Another beat, and then he muttered, defeated, "I . . . I understand, Mr. Harris."

Pulling the phone from his ear, he stepped forward and handed it to the officer. "We'll come with you," he added, placing his hands over his head and kneeling on the ground.