Storms and craters

Chapter 5

"Why are you silent? Have you lost all your zeal so quickly?"

Demonstratively bursting out laughing, Pete rudely blurts out:

"You gave me the stuff and now you're pinning the case on me? Cop of the year, right?"

"The package was found in your pocket. Along with what you managed to steal from the customers at the mall. The conclusion is that someone gave it to you, or it was with you from the very beginning."

Vegas folds his arms at the chest, intently watching Splinter's reaction.

"I don't mess with drugs! What you've found in the pockets — okay! But this," Pete nods at the package lying on Vegas desk, "is not mine! And they couldn't take it out of my pocket!"

"And yet — they did it. So what?" Vegas continues the interrogation calmly, "where did you get it from, who gave it to you and for whom was it intended? It's in your best interest to tell the truth as soon as possible. According to our laws, the punishment for keeping drugs is very severe, so you haven't missed the opportunity to shorten your sentence yet."

Sitting at the edge of the desk, Tawan closely monitors his boss, constantly recording something in his notebook. Pete grins and, as if jumping off the topic, cheekily addresses the sergeant:

"Does he fuck you, eh?" he's staring in the direction of Vegas, "he's rejected me twice. Well, do you at least get a blow job?"

Tawan's face begins to shimmer with all shades of red. He stares from Pete to Vegas. The latter smiles wryly and coldly nods to the subordinate:

"Don't pay attention. Cornered little rat snarls from the last attempts."

The last words, as expected, act on Splinter with lightning speed. His hands are handcuffed, but he jumps up from his seat and kicks the desk with one foot, so that it shakes and two folders on rings fall from it to the floor. Vegas rises after him, deftly grabs Pete by the wrists and the hair on his forehead, and then leans against the wall, saying to Tawan over his shoulder:

"Go get us some coffee, I'll have double Americano. We are likely to stay here for long."

When Tawan hurries to fulfill the request-order of his boss, Pete, hissing, does not stop snapping and raising the degree of "communication":

"Are you used to indulging your ego through all your errand boys? It won't work with me, get it?"

Vegas leans closer and almost touches the lobe of his large ear with his lips:

"I'm able to break you. But I need quite the different thing."

"Really?" Pete grins, moistly licking his lower lip and shaking his head in an attempt to free himself from a tight grip, "finally we'll fuck up the prolonged foreplay and get down to business? It turns you on, doesn't it? When you subdue somebody, right?"

"Shut up," Vegas pulls his hair, which makes Pete almost ricochet face into the wall, squealing loudly, "do you think your dirty mouth, deft hands and shameless ass will solve any problem?"

Pete bites his lips, still feeling the pain from the strained hair above his forehead.

"I told you - in a good way, - that I wanted to offer you a job. You agree — and we will forget about the incident, we will even "forgive" your "outing" today, like the previous ones. And what's more -  we won't shake your kennel with that parrot at the head.

"Don't touch Tankhun, you son of a bitch!"

"And no one has any intention to. For a while. But it all depends on you. Be a good boy — and I will return you to your precious "daddy" safe and sound, as promised."

Vegas understands, perfectly understands, which pain points should be pressed. And literally, too. The hand holding the wrist replaces the knee raised high, and the fingers creep along Pete's back:

"In one of the ancient civilizations, it was believed that all the stubbornness of a human being is contained in a spine," he presses in two spot, and Splinter begins to shake, "if you subdue a spine, you'll subdue a person."

Sweat breaks out on Pete's forehead, he wants to cry and laugh uncontrollably at the same time. He throws back his face with a haggard look, whining plaintively:

"Stop... please…"

"You see," Vegas exhales with slippery intonations, "you are already making progress, you even remember a few polite words."

Pete doesn't say anything else, just breathes fast and desperately drops tears, biting his lip. Vegas is not going to finish the job at all. He doesn't need it now. And breaking the boy is not in his plans. Otherwise, it will be difficult to force him to act with concentration. He just needs Splinter to know his place and understand who it depends on.

Removing his hand from Pete's back, Vegas lets go of his hair and takes his clasped hands back to the chair. They're not in the interrogation room. This is not necessary. Vegas's office is quite enough.

"Here, boss," breathless Tawan appears in the doorway, "I took two double Americanos for you, just in case, and also burgers and a couple of rolled sausages."

Vegas nods. Often, this is the usual gratitude on his part. Then he opens a new wallet and takes out a few bills, putting them in front of Thawan, who has already managed to open his latte cup and take a bite from the burger:

"Here you are."

"No, no, boss, no need. You have such a difficult case today."

Vegas shakes his head and, squinting at Pete, replies:

"That won't do. I'm not used to either lending or borrowing money."

Pete grins, sniffing. He recognizes Vegas' words as his own. The latter opens the coffee, but does not touch the food yet. Pete silently looks at them like a hungry wolf cub. When less than half of Tawan's burger and coffee are left, he gets up from the desk and decides to take revenge, moving his leftovers to Pete and saying contemptuously:

"Have a bite. Little rat."

Pete looks away. Vegas squints, assessing the situation. When Tawan leaves the office again, Vegas hears Pete's empty stomach working loudly.

"You're hungry, why not eating."

"Indeed. Why?"

Without removing the squint, Vegas frees his hands:

"So? Now what's in the way?"

Pete kneads his wrists, which are stiff in the bracelets, grunts and says:

"Let your errand boys eat the leftovers."

Vegas takes a sip of coffee. Then he stands up, scoops up the leftovers in the trash bin and turns on the electric kettle. When it heats up, he takes a clean mug, pours half of the second cup of coffee into it — also too strong; dilutes it with water and puts it in front of Pete, complementing the drink with the burger and rolled sausage:

"Will it suit you now?"

Pete shrugs.

"M. Okay. As you want."

Vegas pretends to take the treat back as Pete grabs the coffee and burger, clutching them to his chest. Then greedily begins to devour everything for both cheeks.

"Why hurry so much? You're going to vomit."

"From such a meal — I'm not going to vomit!" Pete chews with his mouth full, smiling for the first time sincerely, as it seems to Vegas.

Just needed to feed you? That's all?

Mentally grinning, Vegas thinks about one more thing: before introducing the boy into the "game", he will have to give him some lessons in good manners. On an ill-mannered brute that bastard is unlikely to bite. But we'll handle a little later.

After finishing his meal, Pete sucks on each finger with gusto — under the displeased Vegas' gaze — and, as if out of favor, says:

"Well, what kind of job is there? Since I'm here... cards on the table."