The Promisor: A Suspense Thriller

by Dustin Stevens

  A working schematic that he had no way of knowing how to best prepare for, his only choice being to take things as he did today, working through each one as they arrived.

  An approach that he wasn’t the fondest of - it essentially meaning he was running parallel investigations with one in Gallipolis and the other regarding Aquino - but didn’t have much choice on at the moment.

  Staring at the page until his eyes glazed, Reed remained in position for several minutes. Time enough to continue trying to wrestle everything into place in his mind before being ripped back to the present by the sound of his phone buzzing a second time. A vibration that caused it to rattle against the wooden table, loud enough to draw Billie’s chin up from the floor.

  “Come on, again?” Reed asked, a small spike of annoyance passing through him as he grabbed up the phone, expecting to see a follow-up message from Serena.

  A feeling that evaporated immediately as his gaze landed on the name attached, seeing that it was from someone about as different as possible from the nurse-in-training in Oklahoma.

  Just got word from Lt. Schoen. He cleared everything with Ross Co. You guys are all set to meet with Aquino in the a.m. – Grimes.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Exactly seven hours after getting the text message from Captain Grimes, Reed and Billie were standing inside the Ross Correctional Institution. A medium-security facility located fifty miles to the south, arranged as a sprawling monochromatic campus covering more than fifteen hundred acres of ground and housing upwards of two thousand inmates.

  A veritable small city enclosed by two parallel rows of fencing wrapped in razor wire.

  “You want us to leave the restraints, or you good?”

  Standing behind the mirrored glass overlooking the interview room, Reed didn’t answer the question immediately. A reasonable inquiry, he let it linger for a moment, his focus instead on the man that was just led inside. The inmate he had heard about many times over the years and seen countless more on the news and in the local papers. The one he spent most of the evening discussing or researching, occupying the forefront of his mind since first mentioned by Harrison Salem.

  Alex Aquino.

  Convicted just over three years prior, the man currently seated behind the steel table bolted to the center of the interview room floor didn’t appear to have fallen prey to the aging that happened to many who were first sent away. Looking to have not progressed a day, his hair was still thick, shorn down to a uniform eighth of an inch all the way around. No tattoos were visible on his exposed forearms or neck. There didn’t appear to have been any appreciable gain in weight, whether it be from fat or muscle mass.

  An image matching every single picture Reed had ever seen of him, right down to the scowl resting on his features.

  “I’m not just here to interview him,” Reed replied, pulling his attention from Aquino to the man beside him. A supervisor named Polson with a budding paunch and beefy forearms beneath a steel-gray buzzcut.

  Someone that had been nice enough since their arrival, though Reed could easily see being a consummate prick to those under his supervision.

  Both as an inmate or a subordinate.

  “I also get to tell the man his sister was murdered by a long-range rifle yesterday.”

  Lifting his chin an inch in understanding, he replied, “Probably best to leave them on then.”

  “Yeah,” Reed agreed, knowing exactly what the man was getting at. A choice steeped not in Reed’s protection – Billie being more than capable in that regard, to say nothing of the guards standing right outside – but in wanting to stem things before ever getting that far.

  Keep whatever outburst Aquino will have to a minimum.

  The fact that there will be an outburst the only thing about the impending discussion Reed can predict with complete certainty.

  “What kind of contact has he had lately?” Reed asked.

  “Nothing to speak of,” Polson replied. “His sister calls the first Sunday of every month. Other than that, no mail, last visitor he had was six months after he got here.”

  “Who’s he run with?”

  Pressing his bottom lip upward in a frown, Polson shook his head. “Nobody, really. I mean, he has his friends – guys like him always have cronies – but no gang affiliation or anything like that, if that’s what you mean.”

  It wasn’t what he meant, Reed assuming that if the man was linked up with something organized it would be etched into his skin, though he let it go. The first part told him what he was looking for, confirming what Schoen had mentioned the night before.

  If there were any vestiges of Aquino’s former system still remaining, it likely wasn’t being run from the inside.

  Rotating away from the window, Reed nodded once to Polson before sliding past him. Billie by his side, he exited into the hallway, offering another nod to the guard standing just outside the door before pushing inside the interrogation room.

  A close replica of many similar spaces Reed had been in over the years, it was essentially a concrete cube. Polished floor and ceiling offset by block walls, everything – including the table – painted in differing shades of gray, the only outliers to break up the color scheme being the chairs and the pane of one-way glass Reed was just standing on the other side of.

  Unlike many of his previous visits into such places, Reed didn’t bother entering with a file in hand. Nothing to feign appearances or to consult in the rare dead spot in the conversation.

  Knowing exactly what he was after, his only hope was that he could get it before having to share what happened the day before. A plan he intended to implement as fast as possible, waiting just long enough for the door to close behind him before striding directly to the chair sitting opposite Aquino. A sturdy wooden seat with most of the varnish rubbed from the surface by years of use, the item probably on hand since the facility was built decades before.

  Dropping himself into it, he leaned a few inches to the side, his gaze resting on the man across from him.

  “Down.”

  By his side, Billie lowered herself to the floor. Sensing his elevated pulse and bits of adrenaline seeping into his bloodstream, she kept herself pressed tight, the striated muscle of her torso resting flush with his calf.

  A sight that Aquino watched play out completely before smirking, his gaze returning to Reed.

  “Great. I’m being questioned by a damned dog.”

  “That is K-9 detective Billie,” Reed corrected, not rising to the obvious bait. A move common with men like Aquino, used to posturing their way through most every interaction.

  Even more so when interacting with law enforcement.

  “And my name is Detective Reed Mattox. I’m from the Columbus Police Department, working in conjunction with the State Bureau of Criminal Investigation.”

  Lifting his eyebrows slightly, Aquino flicked his gaze to the mirror just past Reed’s shoulder. A glance to either take in his own reflection or to let whoever was standing behind it know he wasn’t impressed.

  “So you and your dog have a big fancy title,” Aquino replied. “What do you want?”

  Bent forward at the waist, Reed placed both forearms on the cool metal of the table. Lacing his fingers, he stared directly across at Aquino. “I want to know who took over for you.”

  Matching Reed’s gaze, Aquino sat completely still for a moment. A brief pause to try and read the man opposite him before a faint divot appeared between his brows.

  “Took over what?”

  “Your business,” Reed replied. “Your network. Your empire. Whatever you want to call it.”

  The same dead-eye stare continued, even as the crinkle above Aquino’s nose disappeared. In its place, one corner of his mouth creased backward, his head twisting an inch to either side.

  “You cops are always the same.”

  Not expecting the man to say a word on the first question, let alone one regarding his former enterprise, Reed moved right along.

  “
Alright,” he said, “let’s come at this from another angle. Who do you have a beef with right now?”

  Again, Aquino tilted his head a few inches to the side. His focus moving to his own reflection in the glass on the wall, he opened one hand, gesturing to Reed.

  Raising his voice, he called, “Beef? Where’d you all get this guy? 2007?”

  Another question that was nothing more than misdirection, meant to annoy Aquino, get his defenses to lower a bit, Reed came back with the third of his prepared inquiries. The last one in a sequence, how this one landed dictating where the discussion went moving forward.

  A first inkling of what he was really there to find out, the initial two nothing more than ice breakers.

  As unusual as they might have been.

  “Okay,” Reed asked, “tell me this then. Who out there thinks your name still has enough juice attached to it that they would bother going after you?”

  Pulling his gaze away from the window, Aquino rocked back into place. Reclined so he was a few inches below Reed’s eye level, he stared back at him, the scowl he first walked in with returning.

  “What’s this about?”

  “I just told-”

  “No,” Aquino replied, the right side of his face twisted up in annoyance. “You gave me a bunch of bullshit questions. What’s this really about?”

  His fingers still laced atop the table, Reed lifted his thumbs toward the ceiling. “I need information. You’re the only one that can provide it.”

  “Information,” Aquino said, repeating the word, his features twisting up as if he found it amusing and revolting simultaneously. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been stuck in this hellhole for the last three years. What makes you think I know a damn thing?”

  This time, Reed didn’t respond. Employing one of the first tactics he learned when beginning as a detective, he merely sat and stared. Total silence, letting Aquino’s curiosity, or his annoyance, or even his ego, get the best of him.

  A process that took just over a minute.

  Not nearly as long as some Reed had been across the table from, but better than most.

  “Let’s pretend for a second I do know something,” Aquino eventually asked. “What’s in it for me?”

  Considering a crack about peace of mind or being a good Samaritan or some other such thing that probably wouldn’t land well, Reed pushed it aside. “You have information for me. I have the same for you.”

  A faint smile crossed Aquino’s lips. His eyebrows rose in unison, the hint of amusement he wore earlier returning to the fore.

  “Information? For me? What makes you think I want-”

  “You’ll want this,” Reed inserted, cutting him off.

  Again, the man fell to silence. Someone used to controlling the narrative, resorting to whatever he could muster given the uneven positioning at the table to try and do just that.

  A stance Reed had foreseen, hating having to use Cara’s death as a bargaining chip, but knowing there would be no other way to get her brother talking.

  “Alright,” he eventually muttered. “Seeing as how I don’t know nothing, and I think you’re full of shit, what’s it matter?”

  Recognizing the middle part as another attempt at baiting Reed, trying to get under his skin or force him to reveal more than he wants, Reed kept his features neutral. Complete inscrutability as he stared back at Aquino.

  “Who took over-”

  “Nobody took over for me,” Aquino snapped. “I don’t know what you think, but it wasn’t some sort of corporation where a new CEO could be brought in to replace the old one.

  “I was the organization. When I disappeared, so did it.”

  “Must have made some enemies,” Reed replied.

  “Sure did,” Aquino answered. “But that shit was business. When that went away, so did the hostility.”

  “So who out there-”

  “Nope,” Aquino said. Shaking his head to either side, he cut Reed off short. “Those two were free. You want more, you’re going to have to share some of this information you claim to have.”

  The urge to break eye contact for the first time arose in Reed. An innate desire to glance to his partner, letting her know to be on alert.

  A warning that he instead imparted by pressing his leg tighter against her, keeping his focus locked straight ahead.

  “Yesterday morning, I was called to the town of Gallipolis to investigate a murder,” Reed opened.

  Words that took a moment to penetrate, Reed waited just until he saw Aquino’s lips part slightly before continuing.

  “Your sister Cara was shot exiting her vehicle in front of her home. A rifle fired from long range by someone that had been lying in wait for her.”

  Nostrils flaring slightly, Aquino’s blinking increased. His head began to swivel to either side, starting at just a few millimeters, each successive one pushing it a little further.

  “I’m very sorry,” Reed added, “both about her death and for being here like this now.”

  “No,” Aquino whispered. Curling his right hand into a fist, he lifted it an inch from the table, mashing the side of it down. A shot to the metal that resembled a bass drum echoing out.

  A sound that brought Billie instantly to her feet, her tensed body rising to run parallel to Reed’s thigh.

  “Everybody I’ve spoken to in Gallipolis says she and her husband were very well liked,” Reed continued. “Active in the community. No enemies. No reason for what happened.”

  Acting as if he didn’t hear a word Reed just shared, Aquino’s gaze was fixed on the table between them. Again, his fist rose, this time driving down harder into the table. “No!”

  A combined sound loud enough to pull a growl from deep within Billie’s diaphragm. A low rumble preceding the door opening along the back wall, the guard Reed passed earlier stepping in.

  Extending a hand to keep the guard from coming closer just yet, Reed kept his focus on Aquino. His mind raced, matching his elevated heart rate, spurred on by his desire to get out the list of questions he prepared the night before.

  Inquiries that would help narrow his search, revealing if he needed to continue with dual investigations or could refocus his efforts to the greater Columbus area.

  “You and I both know what this was about,” Reed pressed. “But I need you to talk to me. I need to know who out there hates you enough to go after your family.”

  “No!” Aquino repeated a third time, punctuating the word with another blow to the table. A pairing rising in volume again, the man oblivious to Reed or Billie or the guard standing behind him.

  Someone who’s features were a mask of malevolence, his mind clearly planted elsewhere.

  A look that told Reed Aquino would not be answering any more of his questions for the time being, any additional time spent trying just time wasted.

  Pushing his chair back a few inches, Reed rose from the wooden seat. Slapping at the leg of his jeans, he circled around the side of the table, a reluctant Billie moving with him, her bared teeth still pointed at the man seated at the table.

  The one continuing to thump on the metal surface, calling out his one-word mantra.

  A state he was still in as Reed made it as far as the door before pausing beside the guard staring back at Aquino.

  “Give him a minute,” Reed whispered. “He just got some pretty bad news.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Reed hadn’t expected the interview with Alex Aquino to amount to much. Guys like him were used to being in charge. They’d built their enterprises through hubris and ruthlessness, traits that didn’t just disappear, especially in the first couple of years inside.

  If anything, the initial five or so often made things even worse, many of them still believing they were wronged in some way. The system had been bent to go after them. The charges trumped up. The evidence fabricated.

  Anything to enhance the animosity they felt and to avoid taking responsibility.

  Knowing that walking in, Re
ed had been prepared for it to be a multi-part process. Expecting the information about Cara’s death to hit Aquino just as hard as finding out her maiden name had Reed, his plan was for it to be the first of multiple discussions. An initial encounter where he would meet Aquino’s representative, dealing with the external shell that the man was conditioned to throw at the world before giving him the news of what happened to his sister.

  A sledgehammer that Reed didn’t want to wield but had accepted would probably be necessary to shatter the outer veneer, forcing him to return in a day or two to have an actual interview.

  An indelicate process Reed wasn’t the least bit proud of employing, but there hadn’t been a great deal of choice in the matter. Not in dealing with someone as used to posturing as Aquino.

  And damned sure not if they were going to unravel who shot his sister.

  Knowing every last bit of that even before entering, the man’s reaction still weighed heavily on Reed as he and Billie passed through the front door of the Gallia County Sheriff’s Department. More than an hour later, the sound of the single word Aquino kept calling over and again still resonated, each one descending a bit further into an animalistic state. Cries that went from disbelief to pained to enraged in the course of just over a minute.

  Same for the thumping of his fists against the metal table. Percussive accompaniment keeping time to his calls. An unconscious beat being laid down by the emotion pouring out of him.

  An ensemble finished by the rattle of his chains each time he jerked his fists back to strike the table again. An impromptu tambourine slowly working its way into the bare skin of his wrists.

  Piercing metal that he didn’t notice in the slightest, even as his fists began to smear the falling droplets of blood across the tabletop.

  One more visual for Reed added to the various images of the last day. A compact period of time that somehow started with simply trying to perform some lawncare having descended into so much more than he could have imagined.