Control Freak ✔️

28 bloody boulevard

"I appreciate you boys working a deal to get me outta prison like ya did, but," Clark muttered through the side of his mouth as he lifted his handcuffed wrists halfway over the seat's back support and half draped over a noticeably uncomfortable Sam's shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Sam carefully as he mindlessly fiddled with his phone.

"What free man still has to wear cuffs?"

"Not so fast, Clark, remember the deal," Seguerra grunted over his shoulder as he steered the car. "You're a free man if you take us to the hideout destination without incident. Until then, you stay in chains."

Clark scoffed. He tossed his feet on the glove box between their elbows. "Hey watch it, punk!" Sam barked, swatting his feet away as Clark chuckled.

"What's this little guy's deal, eh? He's so uptight," he chided. "Hey, when's the last time you got laid, buddy?"

"How about you just sit back and be a good little convict until we get to where we need to go," Sam snapped back.

"Virgin."

"Hey, fuck you!"

"Shut up. Both of you," growled Seguerra.

Sam met Clark with an unyielding glare in a silent standoff where the gentle hum of the tires underneath them grew to a pervasive bellow, consuming the empty space between them as all three men sat without saying a word.

"Yeah, this might get boring," Seguerra finally admitted. "You should've invited uhh, what's-her-name? The girl you like."

"Who! April!" Sam incredulously blurted.

"Yeah. You like her don't you? I think she's single."

"April and I are just work friends."

"Really? Would you rather fuck April or jack off?"

"That's not the point, though," he said, smirking.

"It's not? I think you should go for it. Life is short. Plus, I think she likes you."

"Virgin."

"Shut up..." Sam turned back to Seguerra, and with perked up eyebrows, he muttered, "No way... Really?"

"Call it a hunch. But my hunches are usually right."

"That's right. Your most famous case was a hunch."

"The Barduzzi file?"

"Yes. The 'Guilty Gardener' case, as they called it. I still have the news article bookmarked on my phone. I still couldn't believe it. I doubt anyone believed you at first. Body of a woman found in a park, with semen found in and around her vagina, as well as several lacerations in the labia, and some minor cuts and bruises near and around the neck, and trace amounts of rat poison ingredients in her system. DNA tests matched the community's groundskeeper. Seemed open and shut. So what was it?"

"I talked to the accused."

"That was it?"

"That's a pretty big 'it.' Part of this job calls for looking in a man's eyes and making your own determination of whether he's guilty or innocent. Sure, they pointed to his medical history, as a severely autistic adult barely able to take care of himself without supervision, who knows what he was capable of? Of course he had desires. And she wouldn't understand. He only wanted her to be quiet. And then he broke her. That was the narrative. I sat across from the man, Daniel, was his name: lanky, terrible posture, big ears sticking out of his egg-shaped head, made even more noticeable by his receding hairline. He had vacant blue eyes and a drooping mouth. We talked about his everyday life and all the mundane. He didn't particularly care for most people he interacted with, not even the people he was somewhat close to. We talked about the girl. His eyes lit up. He talked about her like he knew her, like he had a real, personal relationship with this person. In his eyes, there was sadness, and a longing I had come to be quite familiar with. It was a look I had gotten used to seeing in a mirror; the look of a father who had failed. This man loved that girl. He was not the killer.