Power of Will, a SAW Fanfiction

Ch. 7 Pre-Saw: No Regrets

Mark Hoffman

It was his turn. He was ramped up; ready for a fight. Watching the soap opera unfold had been a form of torture he wouldn't inflict on his worst enemy. He was relieved that they were finally getting onto the more interesting suspect. Because he recognized him.

Hoffman and Will were in observations, looking out at the one-way mirror where Clyde Jefferson, father to Kayla and husband to Anna sat. He was still handcuffed, an intentional accident on the investigators' part, to instill that feeling of helplessness they wanted the perp to experience. Hoffman was sure he'd seen the guy at one of the gambling dens over in Chinatown, where the upstate horse races were live on dusty screens and tons of greasy goons desperately believed they'd make enough placing their paychecks to be worth something.

What Hoffman wasn't sure of was how close the guy was to Rosello. If this got a little too intimate, he may be in trouble. Will being there complicated things. Especially if the details they uncovered needed to get misplaced. She'd notice, no doubt about it. He couldn't come up with a decent lie she'd be satisfied with. He'd cross that bridge if he got to it.

He chose to just focus on the problem at hand.

"Take my lead," Hoffman commanded, studying Clyde's face. He didn't try to look calm or innocent. The man looked miffed, as though this was just an annoyance that he would quickly have over with. "This time, you're the bad cop. He'll hate that. Nothing pisses off domestics like a strong woman that bosses them around. Don't be shy about exaggerating. Have fun with it."

Clyde Jefferson's face was starting to twist, as though he had an itchy nose. At that moment, Hoffman thought the fucker looked like Frank Griffin and he felt his entire body burn up. Maybe she shouldn't go in there.

"Oh boy," she had one arm over her stomach and the other holding her shoulder, holding herself together. He forced his face away from the glass, observing every detail. She had let her hair down, rusty curls on her small shoulders like cotton clouds. He inhaled slowly, letting her freckled cheeks distract him from his scattered concerns. Her face was firmly uncertain. "I've never liked bad cop."

This made him want to laugh. He smirked. "Because you're shit at it."

Her gaze sparkled with ire. "I think I can be pretty nasty when I need to. Asshole." He liked the way her full mouth curled, cupid's bow ready to shoot, as if she was any real threat. Cute, like one of those toy poodles. He felt his gut stir. His heart beat faster. She was his little firecracker.

"Yeah, like that. Just be yourself, that'll piss him off."

"Do you want a punch in the face?"

He finally let himself laugh, the feeling both straining his ribs but feeling surprisingly good. "Will, I'd like to see you try."

The way she smoldered at him kept adding to his chuckles. "I swear, if we weren't on the clock right now..."

"Raincheck that. Until then," Hoffman returned to Clyde Jefferson, "get him to throw the first punch. If we can get him to try to attack you, we'll be able to have some real fun. A couple of hits with a phone book will have him singing." His lips curled wider, the plan getting his blood going.

"What?! No!" She gripped his arm suddenly, making him start. His humor was sunk. He wasn't used to her getting directly physical and her sudden scolding confused him. "We're not roughing up suspects in custody, Hoffman. You know better."

He stared at her, realizing he was forgetting himself. She wasn't Eric Matthews or most of MPD. And she probably didn't see the resemblance this piece of shit had with the man she was married to. "Sorry. Just excited."