Perception

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven 

If you eat a live frog in the morning, nothing worse will happen to either of you for the rest of the day.

Unknown

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    There is a new room now; just as nondescript as the last although this one looks like someone at some stage tried to make it more welcoming. A sad faded print of a field of flowers hangs on one wall and a plastic ficha plant in desperate need of dusting sits in a corner.  The tiny circular table with four padded chairs is a pale peach and is the same colour as the curtains. It is this attempt at hominess that makes this room so depressing. Like a woman caking on make-up to hide a fresh bruise, everyone pretends not to notice it yet no one is fooled.

   “Amy if you can sit down I would like to take up where you left off,” Sonya’s crisp voice calls from the table.

   Amy continues to pace the circuit, plant to painting, painting to door, door to plant, over and over with agitated steps. Her face has a few fresh scratches but otherwise she was unharmed by the failed hit.

    “I told you I wouldn’t tell you the rest till Hooley Dooley gets back with Petra.”

    “It will take your mind off things.” Sonya pulls out a padded chair gesturing invitingly. “Why did you ask for Sargent Dooley anyway? One of my men could have got her just as safely.”

     “I don’t know any of your men, I don’t trust them,” she lashes out in agitation.

     “And you trust this Sargent Dooley? Even if he works out of one of the most corrupt precincts in the district?” Sonya asks raising one slender eyebrow.

      Amy stops short half way between the painting and the door. “He didn’t accept the bribe to let me go like so many others had when they pinched me.  He’s a ‘by the book’ pain in the ass but he’s honest; of that there is no doubt. He would have been made a detective long ago but he wouldn’t play the game.”

     Sonya doesn’t quite know how to respond to this. She knows if she pushes too hard, Amy will bolt. It had taken some very fast talking and rash promises to get her to agree to protective custody. She wasn’t going to say anything to alienate her now.

   Slumping into a chair Amy waves her hand dismissively. “I will clarify things in my previous statement but until my sister is here and the deal is signed, that is all you are going to get.”

   Accepting those terms, Sonya asks, “Ok, well to start I would like to ask you how the King of the Devils Runway knows who you are and why he would offer you protection?”

     “Back when I was new on the streets and actually still cared about people around me, Petra and I were squatting in this abandoned warehouse by dock seventeen. One night we were woken up by screaming below; two men were laughing as they ripped the clothes off a black haired girl. She was struggling and crying for her ‘Daddy’ but this just made the men laugh harder.  Pete and I crept up behind them with pieces of wood and knocked them out. We didn’t know the girl was Romano’s daughter. When she begged us to call him instead of the Jacks… ah cops, we did. When he got there he said we had his unending gratitude and offered us scads of money. We refused the money so he gave us his protection instead. It seemed more useful at the time.” Amy shrugs like it was normal, and in her world it was.

     Fascinated now, Sonya asks, “Why didn’t you take the money?”

   “Rule one, two, and four of Amy Mair’s street survival guide: Never trust anyone, never trust a drug dealer, and never accept anything from anybody, especially money. There’s always strings attached.”