He shifted gears and asked, "Do you know Jesus?"
I told him, "Not really. I like Buddha. He seems a lot more relaxed." He looked at me intently, I could see the different clouds of replies blowing through the back of his eyes, he went with, "Okay." There was a bit of a pause which I spent looking at his coffee and really wishing I had a cup, a large one. My brain felt like it was encased in mud and I knew I wasn't sounding real sharp. I really wanted a beer but I wanted to present well since this was our first meeting plus the deli didn't carry any.
"Let's talk opsec and what I want from you now. In public you will address me as Dan and I will call you Dakota. In an hour a man named Pat Weaver is going to contact you." He held his cell phone up, I heard a camera click, and he continued talking as he scrolled and typed. "You two are going to be working together. He will be your primary contact but don't hesitate to reach out to me if you feel the need. I believe in clear lines of communication as long as you follow the chain of command." He stared at me, "Tell me what I just said Dakota."
I didn't hesitate, I was starting to catch on to who he was, a pain in the ass, and a little too demanding, just like all my supervisors had been, "You want me to hang out here, meet Pat who you just sent my photo, and go from there. Oh yeah, don't call you. Ever."
He laughed. It was a three guffaw burst."I like you Dakota. You're a sharp kid."Then he abruptly got up and walked away. I didn't bother to watch him, "Kid? That asshole was, maybe, three years older than me. Now I had an hour to kill. Coffee, go back, drink a beer, and get ready for the second big meet of the day. I went into the deli thinking how this was just like the government. Lot's of meetings and nothing done. I hope they paid by EFT, I didn't want to dick around with a paper check on payday.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Thursday, January 5, 2012
The Contractor - Chapter 3b - by nova
I made sure I set the alarm clock for 8:00 am and woke up late. Real late. I remembered hearing it, I remembered telling myself it was time to get up, and that was all I remembered. I rolled out of the platform bed, I like them low to the ground because its easier to fall into them when you're really drunk, and it doesn't hurt as much when you fall out of them, scrambling for clothes while I cursed life. I pulled on the same pants I had worn the day before, grabbed a shirt off the floor, and gargled while I pissed.
I hit the door muttering "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." As I exited the elevator my cell rang, I didn't even look at the ID, I just said, "I'm on the way," hung up, and broke into a run. I hate running. My knees hate running. I might as well start smoking again I told myself since I ready to dry heave after the first block. I slowed to a walk just before I got there as I wanted to look calm and composed and not like I was going to spew beer all over him.
He was sitting at one of the tables in front and smoking a cigarette. He didn't look happy. I settled in across from him and decided to go with brazen instead of hanging my head and whimpering my apologies. "Hey there! Isn't that against the rules? I mean smoking and you being..."
"Shut up." This was said flatly and with zero emotion. That scared me. What he said next only deepened it, "I could put this out in your eye and no one would say anything and nothing would happen to me. Don't. Do. It. Again."
He dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it with his shoe. "You're a fuckup but you're my fuckup, at least for now." He smiled, "But you're not a stupid one. Are you?"
I shook my head, and told him, "No."
"Good."
His face was amazing. He could switch from cold and pissed to beaming warmth in a heartbeat. I liked that and wondered how much practice that took. I was going to work on it when I got back.
"I have plans, and you Dakota are going to help me and your country. You do want to help your country?"
'Of course!" What else was I supposed to say? No, I want to blow it up? My ass would be buried in some cell until I rotted if I said anything else.
"I don't know what you believe deep down inside but I don't want you to think of this as punishment. No! It's an opportunity to make history. You do know what we are fighting for?"
Damn, I hated trick questions, I also didn't have an answer so I shook my head "No."
"I know you don't. Not many of our generation does but Dakota we will be fighting against chaos, the destruction of what America stands for, and for freedom!"
He said "Freedom" loud enough for a few heads to turn in our direction. He caught it, lowered his voice, and leaned into me, "This is the battle of our generation. A battle that will define the world for generation's to come just as our forefathers did when they stormed the beaches of Norway. We can make a difference and we will."
He paused, I suppose to see what effect his little speech had on me, while I thought "Norway?" No, it started with a "N" but it wasn't "Norway." I focused enough to nod my head, grin, and tell him, "You can count me in!"
I hit the door muttering "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." As I exited the elevator my cell rang, I didn't even look at the ID, I just said, "I'm on the way," hung up, and broke into a run. I hate running. My knees hate running. I might as well start smoking again I told myself since I ready to dry heave after the first block. I slowed to a walk just before I got there as I wanted to look calm and composed and not like I was going to spew beer all over him.
He was sitting at one of the tables in front and smoking a cigarette. He didn't look happy. I settled in across from him and decided to go with brazen instead of hanging my head and whimpering my apologies. "Hey there! Isn't that against the rules? I mean smoking and you being..."
"Shut up." This was said flatly and with zero emotion. That scared me. What he said next only deepened it, "I could put this out in your eye and no one would say anything and nothing would happen to me. Don't. Do. It. Again."
He dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it with his shoe. "You're a fuckup but you're my fuckup, at least for now." He smiled, "But you're not a stupid one. Are you?"
I shook my head, and told him, "No."
"Good."
His face was amazing. He could switch from cold and pissed to beaming warmth in a heartbeat. I liked that and wondered how much practice that took. I was going to work on it when I got back.
"I have plans, and you Dakota are going to help me and your country. You do want to help your country?"
'Of course!" What else was I supposed to say? No, I want to blow it up? My ass would be buried in some cell until I rotted if I said anything else.
"I don't know what you believe deep down inside but I don't want you to think of this as punishment. No! It's an opportunity to make history. You do know what we are fighting for?"
Damn, I hated trick questions, I also didn't have an answer so I shook my head "No."
"I know you don't. Not many of our generation does but Dakota we will be fighting against chaos, the destruction of what America stands for, and for freedom!"
He said "Freedom" loud enough for a few heads to turn in our direction. He caught it, lowered his voice, and leaned into me, "This is the battle of our generation. A battle that will define the world for generation's to come just as our forefathers did when they stormed the beaches of Norway. We can make a difference and we will."
He paused, I suppose to see what effect his little speech had on me, while I thought "Norway?" No, it started with a "N" but it wasn't "Norway." I focused enough to nod my head, grin, and tell him, "You can count me in!"
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
The Contractor - Part 3a - by nova
I ended up going out for something to eat. "Man can't live on beer" I told myself but I sure have tried. There was a deli in the next building that made a decent priced bacon an egg bagel and with a large cup of iced coffee I was set for the day. Next to beer I found grease to be an important part of a balanced diet. I knew that would need to change someday but someday was a long way off. Today it tasted just right and it helped settle my stomach. I also got to flirt with the Mongolian girl who ran the register. I had learned from her that there was big difference between the two. You sure couldn't tell it from the way they looked. It must be a like the Catholic/Protestant thing I would have asked her but her English wasn't that good and I can't say I cared that much. She was a little plump, but convenient, and I was working on getting her to come by and see me after work. So far she didn't seem real interested. No problem.
I picked up some more beer and headed back to the apartment after I was done with my bagel. I was feeling antsy, I wished he would hurry up and call. To kill time I popped a beer and started doing some research on OWS because I had to be missing something. I knew a little bit about them from reading online, what I had picked up hanging around, and what I put together for my get myself laid scripts. I couldn't figure out why the FBI was so interested in them. From what I had seen so far they were a cross between what I imagined what a Christian fundamentalist group who believed in finding God by camping and a bunch of winos with tents would look an act like if they all occupied the same piece of land. Not really threatening, somewhat unsanitary, and totally dedicated to their beliefs.
I was surprised by what I found. The FBI was very interested in OWS. I still had no clue why. Probably because it was their job to be snoopy. I also found a story about some computer guy who was hacking them and forwarding what he found to the FBI cyber security unit and NYPD. What a jerk, and he, supposedly, wasn't getting paid. He had to be fishing for a job or contract. Well, sorry, but I was getting paid which didn't make me a snitch. It made it my job. At least that's what I told myself. The comments were pretty damn ugly below the story. Oh yeah, I was going to have to work on my story as soon as I got started.
Special Agent Johnson didn't call me. He didn't call the next day either. By day three I wondering if he forgot about me or even worse, found some asshole who would do it for free. I was even starting to wonder if I could salvage my old job. I thought about calling the temp agency and telling them I had a seizure but I didn't think they would buy it. The only thing else that might have a chance was me claiming someone had impersonated me just so I would lose the job. Another nonstarter.
That's when he called. I was on my third beer of the morning so I was still sober an coherent thank god.
I didn't recognize the number so I answered with a straight "Hello."
"So how are you Dakota?"
My brain went "Yippee!" but I can be a pretty cold customer when I want to be so I replied, "Fine." Then grudgingly, "And you?"
He ignored it. Instead I heard, "You ready to go to work?"
"Hell yeah! What took you so long? I've..."
"Save it. I see you have been doing research. That's good. It shows initiative and I like initiative."
That was a slap upside the head. How the hell did he know? Shit. What porn had I been watching? I was still running videos through my head when he chuckled, and continued with, "It's all good Dakota." I swear I could hear him wink after he said that too.
"Meet me at your favorite deli tomorrow at 09:00." He hung up. I started at my phone for awhile before I set it down and went in search of another beer.
I picked up some more beer and headed back to the apartment after I was done with my bagel. I was feeling antsy, I wished he would hurry up and call. To kill time I popped a beer and started doing some research on OWS because I had to be missing something. I knew a little bit about them from reading online, what I had picked up hanging around, and what I put together for my get myself laid scripts. I couldn't figure out why the FBI was so interested in them. From what I had seen so far they were a cross between what I imagined what a Christian fundamentalist group who believed in finding God by camping and a bunch of winos with tents would look an act like if they all occupied the same piece of land. Not really threatening, somewhat unsanitary, and totally dedicated to their beliefs.
I was surprised by what I found. The FBI was very interested in OWS. I still had no clue why. Probably because it was their job to be snoopy. I also found a story about some computer guy who was hacking them and forwarding what he found to the FBI cyber security unit and NYPD. What a jerk, and he, supposedly, wasn't getting paid. He had to be fishing for a job or contract. Well, sorry, but I was getting paid which didn't make me a snitch. It made it my job. At least that's what I told myself. The comments were pretty damn ugly below the story. Oh yeah, I was going to have to work on my story as soon as I got started.
Special Agent Johnson didn't call me. He didn't call the next day either. By day three I wondering if he forgot about me or even worse, found some asshole who would do it for free. I was even starting to wonder if I could salvage my old job. I thought about calling the temp agency and telling them I had a seizure but I didn't think they would buy it. The only thing else that might have a chance was me claiming someone had impersonated me just so I would lose the job. Another nonstarter.
That's when he called. I was on my third beer of the morning so I was still sober an coherent thank god.
I didn't recognize the number so I answered with a straight "Hello."
"So how are you Dakota?"
My brain went "Yippee!" but I can be a pretty cold customer when I want to be so I replied, "Fine." Then grudgingly, "And you?"
He ignored it. Instead I heard, "You ready to go to work?"
"Hell yeah! What took you so long? I've..."
"Save it. I see you have been doing research. That's good. It shows initiative and I like initiative."
That was a slap upside the head. How the hell did he know? Shit. What porn had I been watching? I was still running videos through my head when he chuckled, and continued with, "It's all good Dakota." I swear I could hear him wink after he said that too.
"Meet me at your favorite deli tomorrow at 09:00." He hung up. I started at my phone for awhile before I set it down and went in search of another beer.
The Contractor - Part 3a - by nova
I got home safely. A relief in itself. I lived in what had supposed to have been a building full of luxury condo's that had never sold. Somebody, I didn't know who, or really care, had converted them to apartments. Mine was the "basic" model which meant I had less square feet and my view was the wrong way. I did have stainless steel appliances and granite counter tops which gave the place a modern look. Too bad I didn't how to cook but my beer stayed cold. Thinking of that reminded me that I was hungry. I opened up the refrigerator and looked inside to see what I had to eat. I don't know why I bothered. I already knew what was in there. Yet I did that all the time. I guess part of me hoped the food fairy or mom had come by while I was out. Neither one ever did but I kept believing.
Nothing had changed. One half eaten container of yogurt that was at least six months old that I kept as a memento of the woman who had picked at it. Other than that it was four bottles of Sam Adams, one less than I thought I had. No food fairy in my life but damn if my beer didn't keep disappearing on its own. I pulled one, told myself it had calories so it was the same as food, and drained half in the first swallow. Damn! That was good. I didn't care how tight money was I wouldn't drink mass market American beer. I'd have to be homeless first and thanks to the FBI that didn't look like a possibility. I did a silent toast to America, killed the rest, and reached for another. Life was good. About the time I finished the third beer I realized I didn't need to go to work tomorrow. The FBI had my back. I laughed and decided to finish the last beer and dig out the vodka I had in the cabinet.
When I woke up the next morning it was a mouth that tasted like I had been suckling on someones sweat socks after they had worn them a day too long. And thirsty. So very thirsty. My head hurt too. Probably from the damn vodka. "Never mix drinks you idiot" I told myself for what had to be the hundredth time. I reached for my cell, checked the time and if I had missed any calls, and winced. The vague memory of my call to the temp agency's voice mail box came back to me. I really hoped I hadn't said the part about ass fucking. I probably hadn't. I sure wasn't going to call them to find out.
I rolled out of bed, stretched, and headed to the bathroom. I wasn't sure when Agent Johnson was going to call about my new job but it would probably be smart to be semi ready if he did call. Was he supposed to call? Damn. Was I supposed to show up somewhere? None of that had been mentioned. I really should have asked. Oh well. It would work out. I also should have saved one beer for this morning.
Nothing had changed. One half eaten container of yogurt that was at least six months old that I kept as a memento of the woman who had picked at it. Other than that it was four bottles of Sam Adams, one less than I thought I had. No food fairy in my life but damn if my beer didn't keep disappearing on its own. I pulled one, told myself it had calories so it was the same as food, and drained half in the first swallow. Damn! That was good. I didn't care how tight money was I wouldn't drink mass market American beer. I'd have to be homeless first and thanks to the FBI that didn't look like a possibility. I did a silent toast to America, killed the rest, and reached for another. Life was good. About the time I finished the third beer I realized I didn't need to go to work tomorrow. The FBI had my back. I laughed and decided to finish the last beer and dig out the vodka I had in the cabinet.
When I woke up the next morning it was a mouth that tasted like I had been suckling on someones sweat socks after they had worn them a day too long. And thirsty. So very thirsty. My head hurt too. Probably from the damn vodka. "Never mix drinks you idiot" I told myself for what had to be the hundredth time. I reached for my cell, checked the time and if I had missed any calls, and winced. The vague memory of my call to the temp agency's voice mail box came back to me. I really hoped I hadn't said the part about ass fucking. I probably hadn't. I sure wasn't going to call them to find out.
I rolled out of bed, stretched, and headed to the bathroom. I wasn't sure when Agent Johnson was going to call about my new job but it would probably be smart to be semi ready if he did call. Was he supposed to call? Damn. Was I supposed to show up somewhere? None of that had been mentioned. I really should have asked. Oh well. It would work out. I also should have saved one beer for this morning.
Monday, January 2, 2012
The Contractor - Part 3 - by Nova
That was it! Saying "Yes" opened the doors for me and all that remained was doing my journey in reverse. Agent Johnson left me telling me he would be in touch and it wasn't until I got home that I realized he hadn't asked for my cell number. There were two different but still bored people who processed me out. Not a lot to that. They dropped a plastic ziplock bag in front of me and stared at me. I asked, "Do I have to sign anything?" The bored woman told me, "You're done." I took my cell, wallet, thirty seven cents in change, and told her, "Thank you!" The Agent that accompanied me looked amused. She was good looking in a cold and old kind of way. She was also totally bored looking too. Working for the Fed's didn't seem very exciting or these people really needed to take a few days off.
She escorted me to the door, pointed at it, telling me, "That way" and was gone. I yelled at her disappearing back, "Do I get a ride?" She didn't answer but the three people doing entrance security did, they laughed. I muttered, "I guess not" to them and no one and walked out the door a free man.
I checked my cell for messages, none, and thought about who I could call to tell about my adventure, no one came to mind, and thought, "That's pretty sad dude." Well, I shouldn't be telling anyone anyway. It would blow my cover. Just thinking that gave me a thrill. I wondered if they would give me a badge or ID, something I could casually flash should the need arise.
It was late and it was cold which was a good thing, it made for less people on the street. I had nine or ten blocks to walk to get to my apartment if I went directly. I decided against directly. Too much of that was area that this late at night would be unwise to travel. I decided to take the longer, better lit way home. It would be a real bitch to get jacked and hurt now.
While I walked I kept one eye open for people approaching me, and gave the people sleeping in doorways some extra room, I thought about what happened. What puzzled me was "Why me?" If the FBI wanted me as a contractor then all they would have needed to do was ask. I would have jumped at the chance which reminded me I was going to have to ask if I got medical and dental too. No, it had to be someone else. But who? Did I fuck someone important guys wife? Was it payback for that? I couldn't think of anyone I had hooked up with that looked like she came from money. Maybe a daughter? I hadn't hurt anyone and they all left smiling in the morning. Well, except for that one who cried after she woke up but it wasn't my fault that she drank to much. I didn't get it. What I didn't realize then was when it came to the Fed's overkill was everything. They didn't know how to do it any other way.
She escorted me to the door, pointed at it, telling me, "That way" and was gone. I yelled at her disappearing back, "Do I get a ride?" She didn't answer but the three people doing entrance security did, they laughed. I muttered, "I guess not" to them and no one and walked out the door a free man.
I checked my cell for messages, none, and thought about who I could call to tell about my adventure, no one came to mind, and thought, "That's pretty sad dude." Well, I shouldn't be telling anyone anyway. It would blow my cover. Just thinking that gave me a thrill. I wondered if they would give me a badge or ID, something I could casually flash should the need arise.
It was late and it was cold which was a good thing, it made for less people on the street. I had nine or ten blocks to walk to get to my apartment if I went directly. I decided against directly. Too much of that was area that this late at night would be unwise to travel. I decided to take the longer, better lit way home. It would be a real bitch to get jacked and hurt now.
While I walked I kept one eye open for people approaching me, and gave the people sleeping in doorways some extra room, I thought about what happened. What puzzled me was "Why me?" If the FBI wanted me as a contractor then all they would have needed to do was ask. I would have jumped at the chance which reminded me I was going to have to ask if I got medical and dental too. No, it had to be someone else. But who? Did I fuck someone important guys wife? Was it payback for that? I couldn't think of anyone I had hooked up with that looked like she came from money. Maybe a daughter? I hadn't hurt anyone and they all left smiling in the morning. Well, except for that one who cried after she woke up but it wasn't my fault that she drank to much. I didn't get it. What I didn't realize then was when it came to the Fed's overkill was everything. They didn't know how to do it any other way.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
The Contractor - Part 2e - by nova
I swallowed hard when he said that. I tried again, "Look Agent Johnson. There is a mix up here. I'm not ... I mean I didn't do this. I can..." He cut me off, telling me, "Save it. I don't care. Let me tell you what I have and then we can talk or I can have you transferred to Central Holding at MPD and you can be in front of the Magistrate in an hour." He grinned, it wasn't a warm one but he had good teeth, and he continued, "You can probably be in DC Jail in time for lights out and sleepy time." He paused to let me think about that, then added, "You had some cosmetics too, I suppose we could release the lotion..." He barked a laugh, I wasn't liking him very much at this point, especially after he added, "You'll need it for the first couple inmates." He thought this was really funny. I didn't. He stared at me when he was done laughing for a couple of seconds, then said in a warmer voice, "Or we can talk about how to make this all go away. It's up to you."
"Let's talk" I told him. I liked the "go away" part because I really really wanted all this to go away.
"Before we do that I want to make sure you understand the position you're in. We have your name on the credit card that rented the room. We have the drugs and the gun. We did a quick background check and says you failed a piss test for MDMA and were fired because of that at a previous employer. We also have a confidential informant who will testify that you were a known source of MDMA to the people currently taking up space in front of the National Theater," then he leaned forward and said, When I say I can make this go away I can but it will only be put on hold Mr. LaFarge. Do you understand me?"
I told him, "Shit. Fucking WalMart. I did that just to get laid. I was 17 then anyway. Wait a minute. What's this confidential informant stuff? I knew, at least I thought I did, what he meant. Damn this was so unfair!
"You can ask for a lawyer. He will explain it all to you and more than likely suggest you take a plea that I am also sure Justice will offer you. You may be out in seven years if you take responsibility and cooperate or you can tell me right now that you want to hear my deal."
"I thought I had." I told him.
"Mr. LaFarge I made that statement for the record. This is not a banana republic and we aren't thugs."
"That's reassuring." I told him. He looked at me like I was snarking. I wasn't. It was reassuring. Apparently he figured that out. He gave me a warm smile, and told me, "This is a good deal Dakota. We want you to set up shop and sell laptops and phones. Not only that but we'll pay you to do it and provide the merchandise. You'll be making twice what that temp job is paying and you can go home tonight." He sat back. He reminded me a lot of the guy who sold me my used Honda. It had been a good car and yeah, I paid for undercoating somehow and paint finishing, which was a rip off but it had worked out. Yeah, there had to be a catch here but I was okay with that. It wasn't anything I couldn't handle.
"So I would be like a contractor?"
"Yes, you could think of it like that."
"Let's talk" I told him. I liked the "go away" part because I really really wanted all this to go away.
"Before we do that I want to make sure you understand the position you're in. We have your name on the credit card that rented the room. We have the drugs and the gun. We did a quick background check and says you failed a piss test for MDMA and were fired because of that at a previous employer. We also have a confidential informant who will testify that you were a known source of MDMA to the people currently taking up space in front of the National Theater," then he leaned forward and said, When I say I can make this go away I can but it will only be put on hold Mr. LaFarge. Do you understand me?"
I told him, "Shit. Fucking WalMart. I did that just to get laid. I was 17 then anyway. Wait a minute. What's this confidential informant stuff? I knew, at least I thought I did, what he meant. Damn this was so unfair!
"You can ask for a lawyer. He will explain it all to you and more than likely suggest you take a plea that I am also sure Justice will offer you. You may be out in seven years if you take responsibility and cooperate or you can tell me right now that you want to hear my deal."
"I thought I had." I told him.
"Mr. LaFarge I made that statement for the record. This is not a banana republic and we aren't thugs."
"That's reassuring." I told him. He looked at me like I was snarking. I wasn't. It was reassuring. Apparently he figured that out. He gave me a warm smile, and told me, "This is a good deal Dakota. We want you to set up shop and sell laptops and phones. Not only that but we'll pay you to do it and provide the merchandise. You'll be making twice what that temp job is paying and you can go home tonight." He sat back. He reminded me a lot of the guy who sold me my used Honda. It had been a good car and yeah, I paid for undercoating somehow and paint finishing, which was a rip off but it had worked out. Yeah, there had to be a catch here but I was okay with that. It wasn't anything I couldn't handle.
"So I would be like a contractor?"
"Yes, you could think of it like that."
The Contractor - Part 2d - by nova
I was led into a small room, uncuffed, and told to sit down and someone would be with me shortly. My first thought was, "Thank God they didn't give me a backless paper gown to wear!" The room, if it had a poster or two of big pharma pimping a product, and a cabinet would have been my doctors exam room. It was as cold as that room too. You would thing the Feds could afford to heat it if anyone could. I sat down and looked around for the camera. It was easy to spot since it was on the ceiling and no attempt had been made to hide it. It looked like a very large, fat, malignant tick with a shiny abdomen who had burrowed his head into the drywall above me. I shuddered. I was creeping myself out and this whole thing was creepy enough as it was.
I sat for awhile. Then I sat some more. My ass and back began to hurt from the crappy chair and the cold began to settle into my bones. I walked around the room and hugged myself in hopes that whoever was watching me from above would realize I was cold and turn up the heat. They didn't. After awhile my mind began whispering to me, "They forgot about you and nobody is going to come." That got me moving down the road to panic. I tried whispering it back down, telling myself this was the FBI, they didn't do stupid stuff like that. I was about ready to start pounding on the door and yelling for someone when he came in.
He did not look like a FBI agent. Instead he looked like someone in IT or a grad student who hoped to get a job in it with the Feds. In fact he looked like an intern at first or even worse, Harry Potter with about ten extra lbs around the gut. I thought, at first, that he was going to apologize and back out of the room. He didn't. Instead he settled into the other chair, squared his file folder off n front of me, and said, "I'm Special Agent Johnson and you're in a world of shit Mr. LaFarge." The panic I had felt a few minutes ago about being abandoned came racing back behind those words.
"I'm not guilty!" I didn't like how my voice sounded as I said it and I liked even less the expression on his face which went from neutral to mild contempt. He didn't say anything, he didn't really have a chance. I proceeded to vomit out my story and how this was all wrong. I ended with a lame, "I'm being setup!" That was probably not the best statement to end with as his face got very cold, his voice even colder, as he told me, "The FBI does not set people up Mr. LaFarge. We don't need to. People like you do it for us."
I sat for awhile. Then I sat some more. My ass and back began to hurt from the crappy chair and the cold began to settle into my bones. I walked around the room and hugged myself in hopes that whoever was watching me from above would realize I was cold and turn up the heat. They didn't. After awhile my mind began whispering to me, "They forgot about you and nobody is going to come." That got me moving down the road to panic. I tried whispering it back down, telling myself this was the FBI, they didn't do stupid stuff like that. I was about ready to start pounding on the door and yelling for someone when he came in.
He did not look like a FBI agent. Instead he looked like someone in IT or a grad student who hoped to get a job in it with the Feds. In fact he looked like an intern at first or even worse, Harry Potter with about ten extra lbs around the gut. I thought, at first, that he was going to apologize and back out of the room. He didn't. Instead he settled into the other chair, squared his file folder off n front of me, and said, "I'm Special Agent Johnson and you're in a world of shit Mr. LaFarge." The panic I had felt a few minutes ago about being abandoned came racing back behind those words.
"I'm not guilty!" I didn't like how my voice sounded as I said it and I liked even less the expression on his face which went from neutral to mild contempt. He didn't say anything, he didn't really have a chance. I proceeded to vomit out my story and how this was all wrong. I ended with a lame, "I'm being setup!" That was probably not the best statement to end with as his face got very cold, his voice even colder, as he told me, "The FBI does not set people up Mr. LaFarge. We don't need to. People like you do it for us."
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