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"𝐒𝐎, 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐌 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐏𝐈𝐍," Sheriff Keller began. He leaned against his cluttered desk, the dim light casting shadows across his face. "He funneled drugs through Riverdale and then shipped them out. What the Mayor and I care about is the local component of Blossom's business. Someone is selling drugs here in Riverdale. Mostly in the Southside, but it's started to cross tracks recently, too."
The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from a single flickering bulb overhead. Jughead and Florence stood in the corner, their expressions a mix of concern and determination as they listened intently to the conversation.
"And you think it's the Serpents?" FP asked from inside his cell. He sat on the narrow bed, his hands clasped together, trying to maintain a facade of indifference despite the gravity of the situation.
"Who else?" Sheriff Keller replied, his voice tinged with frustration and a hint of desperation. "So here's the deal. You feed us names, tell me who's pushing the dope, and the Mayor and the DA will have a chat. Maybe they'd be inclined to offer you a lesser sentence."
FP's face hardened. "Serpents don't get into the hard stuff," he said firmly. "It's dime bags of weed. And I'm no snitch."
Sheriff Keller sighed as he stood up and walked over to the bars of the cell. He stared at FP, his eyes searching for any sign of weakness. "FP, if you don't help us and your case goes to trial," he said slowly, his voice low, "there will be no leniency. You'll be looking at twenty years in a federal penitentiary for your part in the cover-up of Jason Blossom's murder."
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Florence lay on James' bed, staring up at the ceiling. The creaking under James' shoes as he paced was the only sound in the room, and she tried to focus on that instead of her own exhaustion. Her eyes felt heavy, but she was determined not to fall asleep. Every time she closed her eyes, the events of the past few days played out in her mind like a never-ending nightmare.
James stood in the middle of the room, his movements methodical as he buttoned up his white shirt in preparation for Clifford's funeral. He glanced at Florence, her expression a mix of worry and fatigue.
"They offered him a lesser sentence if he named names," Florence said, her voice barely above a whisper.
James paused, his hands hovering over the next button. He looked at her, his brow furrowing in concern. "Let me guess, he won't," he replied, resuming his task with a sigh.
Florence sighed deeply, the weight of their conversation pressing down on her. "Probably not. I mean, he's not innocent. He helped cover up a murder. He could face twenty years," she exclaimed, her voice tinged with frustration and resignation.
