by J. D. Sloane
“Oh, well. That’s not the only difference between the two of us, believe me. But let’s just say for the sake of argument that you’re right. Let’s say that the ambitious Miss Gale is exactly the girl you think she is. Which only means that you just fired your favorite working girl for doing the only thing in the world she can be counted on to do well.”
Ronan clucked his tongue against his throat as Matt grimaced and then made a careless gesture with one hand as he rolled his eyes up to meet him.
“That would still only make you about the second dumbest john I’ve ever met in my life. But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll make the grade eventually,” he said his low voice hard and animated. “Take Piper for instance. She looks like she’s positively bursting with potential. How long do you think a girl like that will be willing to waste all that raw talent on someone like you?”
Ronan glanced over his shoulder as one of the guards glanced at them and leaned forward smoothly, flashing him an unpleasant grin as Matt took a quick, instinctive step backwards.
“You know, you should be more careful about how you treat the little people. You really should. You just never know what they’re going to turn into.”
“Matt?” The man behind the camera said. “Are you just about finished up?”
Matt glanced between Ronan and the cameraman, his face stuck somewhere between anger and an annoyed rush of fear and then waved him off as he turned his back, his shoulders tensing as he stalked away from the set. The man with the headset stepped forward without meeting his eyes and adjusted Piper’s mic as she sat down in the chair across from him, turning her body to the side as she glanced at the camera man.
Ronan watched the make-up artists pat her heavy make-up down with a sponge and felt a sudden rush of malice as she turned to face him, her face falling slightly as she looked over the wide twist of scars running up the side of his face.
“Can you see him all right?” She asked toying with her earpiece and gave him an uneasy smile as Ronan rolled his eyes down the front of her dress.
“It’s fine,” the cameraman said, adjusting the lens slightly without looking at her. “If you just stay in that general position we’ll be fine.”
Ronan tipped his head over his shoulder as one of the guards took a position by the exit and Morlan and the other guard stationed themselves on opposite sides of the room. He watched Dula walk through the gate, joining Matt on the visitor’s side of the hall and raised his brows as a loud buzzer went off behind them, the gate locking shut as a man with a long boom positioned it above Piper’s head, nodding once to the cameraman behind him.
“Ready whenever you are, Piper,” the man said and Ronan bit back a sneer as she folded her hands in front of her, her face switching on like a wind-up doll as she turned her head in his direction.
“Good afternoon, Mr. White,” Piper said, turning her head to meet the cameras as her face became bright and animated. “Thank you for speaking with us today.”
Ronan met Piper’s gaze through the glass and smiled slightly as he leaned forward, his dark eyes spinning wildly as Piper blinked.
“The pleasure’s all mine, Miss Webb,” he said his gravelly voice relaxed and generous. “It’s so rare for an inmate like myself to get a chance to entertain the court of public opinion with a fresh perspective.”
“Well, I’m sure everyone is very anxious hear it, Mr. White. Your crime spree last year earned you a place in our city’s permanent criminal lexicon. Although it was the attack around Belle Isle that you’re most well-known for. The one which ended in the death of acting Emergency Manager Patrick Connor.”
Ronan inclined his head as if waiting for a question and then nodded as Piper shifted beneath his gaze.
“It was a shame what happened to him,” he said, his voice calm and conversational. “He was doing so many important things for this area. And some of those were even legal.”
Piper’s brow furrowed, and Ronan gave her a sympathetic smirk as her fingers twittered in her lap.
“Authorities were never able to definitively prove that you murdered him that night Mr. White,” Piper said, her voice gaining momentum. “Many feel that this was mostly due to your own men refusing to testify against you. So, the first question I have to ask you is the same one the public has been asking about that night for the past two years. Did you do it? Did you murder Patrick Connor that night?”
Ronan raised his brows at her and made a careless motion with one hand.
“I didn’t actually. As far as I can tell, he was still very much alive when the ship went down that night. And I’m fairly certain his lawyer was never able to prove anything else.”
“But you admit that you were there? At the DIA benefit that night?”
“Well, I do try to patronize the arts when I can, Miss Webb. A thriving cultural community in a city like ours can be so-elevating. But I’ve not sure the arts were the only thing that were benefiting that night. Connor did like to swing for the fences when the opportunity presented itself.”
Piper looked over his shoulder quickly and Ronan turned his eyes to follow her gaze, adjusting his pants with a slap of his hand.
“I take it you’re referring to the allegations that Connor was involved in some of the hard drug trade during his tenure here.”
“Well, let’s just say that Connor had some professional interests that wouldn’t stand up to a lot of close public scrutiny. Frankly I’m surprised he lasted as long as he did.”
“Is it true then?” Piper asked, sitting forward. “Are you claiming that the rumors regarding your competing drug operations wasn’t exaggerated? Is that why you ordered one of your men to kill him that night?”
Ronan laughed, his expression suddenly so wild and engaged that it inched his handsome features into something close to beautiful.
“Oh, well. That’s a lot of speculation coming at me at once, Piper. Can’t blame you for trying though. No, as far as turf wars go, whoever took out Connor had it exactly right. But then, who am I to judge? Connor had his uses, and he’s wasn’t even the worst part of the problem. Not as far as I can tell.”
“What problem are you referring to?”
Ronan leaned forward in his chair and folded his hands on the counter, glancing at the clock leisurely before rolling his eyes back towards her face.
“The problem that’s spreading through our city out there, Miss Webb.” Ronan said, dropping his voice casually as he held her eyes. “The one that’s on the tip of everyone’s tongue. That’s what really ended Connor’s life. No matter who actually tied him to the column of that boat and severed his spinal cord while he was still breathing.”
Piper fingers fluttered, and she glanced off set in Matt’s direction as he tilted his head to meet her gaze.
“I feel like we’re getting a little off topic here…”
“No,” Ronan said, cutting her off smoothly. “I don’t think we are, Piper. I think we’re finally getting to the point. The one your viewing public has been dancing around for years now.”
Ronan glanced up as the lights flickered above them and slid forward in his chair, his dark eyes leaping with malicious good humor as he rolled his finger in the direction of the crew.
“You see, the public looks at a person like me and then at a person like Connor and they see the same thing.”
“You mean a criminal?” Piper asked, her voice tight and curt.
“Crime, murder, drugs,” Ronan said slowly, his low voice beginning to curl with a soft undercurrent of violence. “They’re all just talking points, Miss Webb. The kind of things that keep people like you in business. Most criminals are harmless. They’re just average citizens who wake up one day and decide they’re sick of playing in a rigged game. They know our society is a joke, they just don’t know why.”
“I don’t think average citizens just wake up one day and decide to turn to a life of crime, Mr. White.”
“Well I think that depends on what kin
d of day it’s actually been, Miss Webb. Take our industrious Emergency Manager for instance. You see, Connor wasn’t the real problem. He was just your slightly more intelligent than average criminal. He saw that the game was fixed and decided to deal himself in. Men like that are the least of our society’s problems if you ask me. All they’re really guilty of is not wanting to spend their whole lives as part of some amoral corporate machine. It’s the rest of them that are the real problem. The ones who do just well enough to convince themselves that this system of ours actually works.”
Ronan heard someone clear their throat in the sudden silence of the room and saw Piper shake her head, leaning forward in her chair as her jaw squared.
“The truth, Mr. White, is that whether you admit to it or not, the public believes that you are responsible for Connor’s death. It’s an accepted fact that you and several of your known associates were on the boat that night and murdered three investors in his Wonderland project. Denying you killed him at this point seems a little beneath you.”
“Beneath me,” Ronan said his voice darkening with humor as his eyes drifted over her dress. “Well, I’ll admit that I don’t really mind getting my hands dirty when necessary, Piper. But like I said, Connor wasn’t the real problem.”
“Oh no? Then what is?”
“Criminals like Connor survive because people like you let them,” Ronan said, his voice carrying through the silence like the hard crack of a whip. “Our justice system serves short-sighted criminals like Connor up to your viewing public like some fifth-rate game show where they always come out on top. It’s PR, Miss Webb, which I’m sure you can appreciate. It’s a way to make all those good, honest citizens out there feel better for playing along. The kind of people who aren’t brave enough to get down in the trenches with the rest of us and who settle for the vicarious thrill of watching criminals take the fall for every societal shortcoming they ignore.”
Ronan raised his brows as he saw Piper bite her lower lip, her dark eyes darting over his face as if she couldn’t quite help herself.
“You see?” He said, his voice so low and careless it was practically a caress. “It’s not crime that’s rotting this city from the inside out, Miss Webb. It’s hypocrisy.”
Piper sat back in her chair as a low buzzer went off in the hallway and brushed her blond hair behind one ear, her brow furrowing as if she had been startled out of a not quite pleasant daydream.
“That’s some pretty harsh criticism, Mr. White,” she said, clearing her throat. “I’m a little confused. If this city is the problem, then what does that make you?”
“Just someone who knows the system, Piper,” Ronan said, flashing her a smile so brilliant that it changed his face almost completely. “Someone who knows that the house only wins if everyone keeps playing by the same. Old. Rules. People like me are the natural solution for everything that’s wrong with our fair, shining city out there. And believe me when I say that there’s not a lot people like you can do to insulate yourselves against us.”
Piper’s eyes widened as someone yelled cut behind them and Ronan held her gaze for a moment longer, shifting his jaw slightly as one of the crew members lowered the boom.
“Is something wrong?” Piper asked, turning in her chair as the cameraman stepped behind her and waved his hand to someone off set.
“Nope,” he said, meeting Ronan’s eyes across the table. “Just a technical problem with the mics. Give us five minutes.”
Piper cleared her throat as she watched two other crewmen step out into the hallway and pressed her lips together, smiling uneasily as Ronan rolled his eyes in her direction.
“I really do find your views on criminals interesting, Mr. White,” she said, not quite able to bury the note of open dislike in her voice beneath her veneer of professional courtesy. “Despite what you believe about our newscast.”
“I thought you might,” Ronan said glancing down at his leg chains as a bell sounded out in the hall. “Your boss seems to handpick his stage talent very carefully. But I wouldn’t get too attached to that anchor desk just yet. Not if I were you.”
Piper blinked at him, for a moment looking exactly like the college intern she had been not nine months before and then folded her hands in her lap as Ronan glanced up at the flickering lights above them without quite breaking her gaze.
“Just about ready for Round Two?” He asked, his low voice amused and restless as he drummed his fingers across one knee.
Munoz looked down as his radio beeped and snapped it off of his belt as he checked his watch, hitting the call button with an impatient snap.
“Peyton do you copy?”
His dark eyes narrowed as he saw one of the prisoners above him toss a pillowcase through the bars of his cell and then laughed as someone else followed suit. He held up his hand as he saw Blaine head for the staircase and shook his head as the younger guard walked right past him, his eyes fixed on the block of cells above him.
“Yeah, go ahead.”
“Look,” Munoz said as he saw a handful of prisoners followed the first inmate’s lead. “We were supposed to start moving these men down to lunch over an hour ago. Any update as to when that crew will be out of here?”
He shook his head as the men upstairs tossed their pillowcases into the narrow corridor as Blaine approached, the scene from below looking like some kind of low rent ticker tape parade.
Baker, Munoz thought, letting out a low sigh. Wouldn’t it have to be? Garrett’s men have been angling for a fight since we dropped him in solitary a week ago. Jesus! Couldn’t these animals hold off for just one more day?
“No clue. You want me to ask?”
He dropped his arm and rounded the corner to the metal staircase above them, his eyes locked on Blaine’s movements as two of the floor guards turned to watch. Munoz stepped up onto the top level, his boots hammering against the metal grating and made a beeline for the cell as he saw Blaine saunter over to Baker’s cell without pausing, his lips curling over his teeth in a tight grimace.
“Got a problem, Baker?” Blaine asked, raising his voice loud enough for the entire block to hear.
Munoz swore under his breath as two of his guards turned their head in his direction, the pitch of their bodies tightening almost on cue. He closed his eyes briefly and snapped his radio back into his belt, controlling the annoyance in his face as he saw another inmate farther down the row flap his pillowcase through the bars.
“Yeah I got a fucking problem,” Baker said, tipping his face towards the corridor as Blaine kicked a pile of pillowcases towards him. “We were supposed to be let out of here an hour ago.”
Munoz slapped a hand over Blaine’s shoulder as he reached for his club and gritted his teeth as he heard a handful of inmates let out a slightly hysterical din of cheers.
“Shut up, Baker,” he said calmly as Blaine paused and glanced at him, his dark eyes blazing in his stern, clean shaven face. “You’ll go when we tell you to go. Step away from the bars now.”
“Oh yeah? Or what? You guys going to starve us out now? You already took everything else.”
“Pick that shit up now,” Blaine said, his face darkening as the row of inmates stepped forward, watching Blaine carefully as his fingers clenched and unclenched on the club at his waist. Munoz tightened his grip as Baker leaned his arms through the bars and then laughed, gesturing to his cock with a crude turn of his hand.
“Why don’t you pick it up?” He asked slowly, and Munoz felt all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as the entire cell block seemed to cheer at once.
“Blaine, stand down,” Munoz barked, reaching for his radio as it let out a low buzz. “That’s a fucking order.”
He pulled the radio off of his belt and hit the call button as Baker gave Blaine a slow smile, the crooked gape where his left canine should’ve been turning it into a sly kind of threat.
“That’s right, Blaine,” he said, clenching his fists around the bars as
he leaned forward. “Stand down. I hear that’s what you’re good at.”
Munoz cringed as Blaine jumped towards the cell in a sudden flurry of motion and then swung his club down on the prisoner’s fingers in one sharp snap, swinging at him again as Baker screamed and fell away from the bars.
Oh son of a bitch! Munoz thought as the entire cell went silent for about two seconds and then erupted into a chorus of angry outrage, every prisoner on the block leaping to the front of their cells.
“I told you to pick it up!” Blaine screamed. Munoz yanked him back from the bars by the back of his collar, trying to keep his anger under control as Blaine turned on him in a blind fury, two other officers pounding up the steps behind them.
“I said to stand the fuck down, Blaine!” Munoz said as he heard the crowd roar behind him and shook Blaine like a fish on a hook as some of the anger left his face, edged out be an emotion that worried him a lot more.
Fear, he thought, swearing under his breath as Baker spit at them both through the bars and he had to stiff arm Blaine across the chest, the entire row of cells hollering like the audience at a highly anticipated prizefight. He’s afraid. They’re all afraid. Have been for weeks.
Munoz had worked in prisons long enough to know that a little fear in the staff was good, it was healthy, it kept you sharp. But too much and that same healthy fear can turn an entire block into a ticking time bomb of old vendettas, he thought shoving Blaine towards the larger of the two officers who rounded the corner in lockstep. Which is exactly why I didn’t want this interview to happen to begin with. Just one little thing goes wrong and this entire place goes up on a hair trigger.
“Get him out of here!” Munoz shouted as another officer grabbed ahold of Blaine’s arm and hauled him backwards. “I want him off this fucking block!”
“You saw him, Munoz!” Baker yelled from behind him. “You fucking saw him assault me for no reason!”
Munoz turned towards the cells, his face twitching with anger and then turned as he heard the sudden, unmistakable spatter of gunfire in the hall below them, whipping his head towards the sound as he heard the howl of an alarm echo through the block. He looked up at the floor above him, his mind running up against a sudden brick wall of panic and felt his stomach drop as every cell door on the floor opened at once, three prisoners grabbing ahold of Blaine before he could react.