Caleb tapped the cell bars as the dark, cold and empty jail cell crept under his skin. He closed his eyes for a moment, hoping to get the picture of this horrid room out of his head. In his moment of relief he heard a swing, the shutting sound of a closed door.
"Who's there?" He opened his eyes and looked around. Standing in front of his jail cell was a man, a tall man in a leather jacket and dirty jeans.
"Just a man," the strange man, with is hands in his pockets replied.
"What do you want?" Caleb stayed as far away from the bars as possible.
"You and I have a friend in common," the man showed Caleb the picture of a man with a money tattoo, entering a bar. "You remember him?"
"What's this about?" Caleb asked before giving his answer.
"You have his name?" the stranger asked.
"No," Caleb replied, he didn't speak, "why dont you just put his face in some face recognition database you cops love so much?"
"I'm no cop," the man replied and put the photo away, "and I've done that already. He's not in any system."
Caleb crossed his arms, "so what more do you want."
"Do me a favor," the man said, "tell me who he is."
"From what I heard," Caleb leaned in to speak, "he's not a Cloak, I aint seen him around on their territory and he's not a Crow, he ain't on our territory either. He's private intelligence, hired maybe."
"Who do you think hired him?" the man asked.
"I got no clue," Caleb replied, "I do know that he covered up the death of that kid everyone's saying I killed."
"He framed you?" the man asked.
"Payed to do it," Caleb shook his head.
"Thank you for your time," the man headed out.
"Hey what's your name?" Caleb yelled, "you gotta give something in return."
"You're in a sticky spot," the man replied, "why confess if you didn't kill anyone?"
"Blackmail," Caleb replied.
"Against who? You?" the man asked.
"A loved one," Caleb replied.
"Then rest assured," the man made him one promise, "you're loved ones will not come into harm's way by my hand, nor by the hand of my plots and ploys."
YOU ARE READING
Blackwater Creek
Misterio / SuspensoThings are never what they seem. That cheerful kid beside you could be an abused victim, the old lady you sit next to in the bus could be a former fugitive, the man who fixes bikes for little kids could be a kidnapper, the golden boy of the town cou...
