Spiced Molasses

Chapter 4

Daryl's eye was swollen shut and he could feel the blood drying under his nose. He didn't care much though because it was a case of 'you should see the other guy.' Daryl didn't know why that guy had pissed him off so much but he'd just taken to him the wrong way and so Daryl had swung without much thought. Didn't matter that he had a bunch of friends to back him up because Daryl was a Dixon and scrapping was in his blood.

Of course he'd been stupid and lingered past when was due and that's how he ended up in this weird interrogation room after being left to sober up in the cell. He wasn't in here very often but they knew him by name. It was a biannual tradition that Daryl would lose his shit on some poor, unsuspecting schmuck. If they thought he'd grow out of it, they were wrong. Going on twenty-eight and when that fire was lit in his veins, well he couldn't ignore it until he'd done some violence.

This night wasn't progressing as normal though. They'd taken him out of his cell with a little too much force and left him handcuffed in this room with terrible lighting. No amount of hollering had brought him any answers and so he'd settled for slouching in the chair and sulking.

When the door opened, he jerked to attention. A man in an expensive suit appeared in the room. The suit would have to cost more than Daryl made in a few months.

"I don't need no lawyer," Daryl sneered, obnoxious off the bat.

The man didn't even blink at his attitude. He had a file tucked under one arm and two cups of coffee. The smell filled the room and it made Daryl's stomach rumble. The man settled into a chair across from Daryl and looked at him properly.

"They did a number on you," the man said casually.

"You should see the other guy!" Nailed it. "Didn't you hear what I said about not wantin' a lawyer?"

"Oh yes, you're very loud. Lawyers in Mexico now know you don't want a bar of them."

Daryl narrowed his eyes, understanding he was being mocked. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded rudely.

The man flipped open the file and Daryl couldn't see much but he could see his own name. "What's that?"

The man didn't glance up from the paper work. "Here," he said, sliding one of the coffees across the table.

Daryl rattled his bound hands to illustrate his restrictions. The man tossed him the key and Daryl caught it and awkwardly set about unlocking his hands. He thought about making a dash for it but there were too many cops outside and he'd probably get hauled back all the same.

He sniffed at the coffee. He wanted to make a showing of not accepting the gesture but he hadn't had anything other than rum for twenty-four hours and honestly, the man didn't look like he could care less whether he drank it or not.

"So if you're not a lawyer, then what are you?"

The man's eyes flicked up. "I'm an opportunity."

"Yeah? For what?"

"For you to change."

Daryl snorted. "Don't sound particularly likely."

"Some people are inclined to believe that too. But I think you fill a unique skill set."

"You got a lot of use for criminals?"

The man tapped the file in front of him. "Petty criminal," he amended.

"You sonofabitch!"