Fascinating Villains

{15} - Breathe In, Breathe Out

A knot compresses my throat.

"Yeah," I utter, nodding as I plaster a fake smirk upon my nervously rigid features.

This is far from ideal. I had not given this possibility much thought, but I now realize that establishing myself as a known member of Cheryl's entourage will not benefit my ulterior motives and anonymous goals. Especially not in the crooked and prying eyes of "the law".

"I knew I recognized you from somewhere..! You were at that mall The Joker blew up, yeah?"

Fortunately, the youngish officer seems... Eager? More happy to meet a fellow rescuer of lives than suspicious of my connection to Cheryl.

I try to look as serene and candid as humanly possible.

"Yes, I was there. I'm sorry, I didn't notice you."

"No worries. That crime scene was in-sane, right?!" He sighs in an exaggerated way, rolling his eyes.

I blink twice, disarmed by his blatant lack of empathy toward the victims. Sure, the crime scene was disturbing, yet I think the people who died or suffered life-altering wounds were more impactful.

He fills my silence with an even more terrible comment.

"Like, we'd never seen that. Much. Blood. In a while! Right, Brent?"

His coworker nods almost imperceptibly. I swallow, pushing out another meaningless "Yeah."

"My gosh, you boys work too much! You look all stressed and all. How 'bout you come by the club tonight, huh? I'll save you a booth and a nice bottle."

Cheryl pinches her lips, leering at them with a sultry air. Brent clears his throat, but agrees enthusiastically.

"How could we turn you down? You have yourselves a good day."

The lustful perversion that wavers in his large, bulging eyes disgusts me  down to the most secluded regions of my stomach.

"I'm Mike, by the way," the other introduces himself, still in my direction, "I didn't catch your name."

I freeze for a second, unsure as how to react properly and cautiously. His radio suddenly crackles, its message overshadowed by the howls and wails of police cars, speeding down the street outside.

"Looks like you're gonna be busy. Don't let us keep you!"

Cheryl wiggles her slender fingers gracefully to bid them farewell. Brent taps his coworker on the shoulder, muttering "Duty calls," and they both hurry outside, speaking into their walkie-talkies. The tiny bell over the entryway door jingles gloomily, and my lunch partner swiftly recovers her former body language, crossing her arms over the tabletop and inching closer to me.

There is perceptible excitement in her gaze and she victoriously states:

"You hate cops."

The crushing amount of pleasure in her demeanor nearly makes me fall off my chair. I gawk helplessly at her, snickering in awkward gasps.

"I mean, hate is a pretty strong term."

"But an accurate one," she smoothly counter-arguments, nearly singing.

"I just think that the GCPD are sloppy and disrespectful. Most of them are, anyway."

I dig the short nail of my left thumb into the tip of my right-side pinky finger, hoping my contempt for law enforcement does not feel forced, but simultaneously does not lack the necessary intensity.

"There are worse people than cops. Snitches, for instance."

She is undoubtedly sending me a message. I settle on an honest strategy, concisely telling her about my most recent interaction with police officers. I leave out any personal details from the story, though. The young woman lightly bites her lower lip, and her vivid green eyes are stretched open with considerable astonishment.