Anti-Hero | Tim Bradford

Chapter Twenty Four - Conspiring

A Few Years Ago

Shrugging his jacket on, Armstrong moved to get out of the car, grabbing his satchel and holstering his weapon as he closed the car door behind him. He looked around as he walked towards the house. It was nothing special, a run down house in a run down neighbourhood; he had seen places like these thousands of times.

He stopped at the almost decaying door, taking a moment to collect himself. There was no room for error, he had lost judgement before, he couldn't do it again. Raising his fist, he knocked on the door thrice before taking a hand to cover the peephole.

Armstrong listened out for footsteps in the house, nodded to himself when he heard the thudding grow closer. With his other hand, he adjusted the brown leather satchel on his shoulder, worn in material providing a small sense of familiarity as it ran through his fingers.

The door opened with a loud screech, the hinges grinding against each other. Armstrong winced at the noise, quickly trying to regain composure in his expression as Kade Sullivan stepped into his view.

Sullivan looked to be half the man Armstrong once knew. Where there was once a strong, formidable detective stood a man hunched over, looking as if he had crawled through Hell alone just to answer the door. Pristine and tailored suits replaced with baggy jogging bottoms and an exercise shirt which was clearly used for anything but. The biggest difference was the look in his eye, where there was once a glint of hope, determination to help people was replaced by an empty, sorrowful look. It was as if there was no life behind his gaze at all.

At the sight of his former partner, Sullivan tried to slam the door shut but Armstrong moved his foot to block the door from shutting. "Sullivan. We need to talk."

"I have nothing to say to you." Sullivan snapped, crossing his arms.

"Then let me do the talking. You just need to listen," Armstrong reasoned, trying not to let his desperation show. "You owe me this much."

Sullivan considered his words before moving back inside, leaving the door open for Armstrong to follow.

The inside of the home was not much better than the outside. The furniture was shabby and falling apart, windows covered in makeshift cloth curtains, barely letting in any sunlight. Armstrong had expected this, what he hadn't expected was to find boxes upon boxes of case files. Paperwork spread haphazardly across the floor with no rhyme or reason to their organisation. Photos were scattered on top of the files. And a clearly stolen handgun placed carefully on the coffee table.

Armstrong carefully stepped over the papers and towards the sagging couch, careful not to disturb anything as he took a seat.

"I'm here to collect a favour."

Sullivan rolled his eyes, leaning against the doorframe. "I don't owe you a goddamn thing. Now get out of my house."

"What are you gonna do?" Armstrong prodded. "Call the cops, let your friends know how the mighty have fallen, I don't think so. Now about that favour."

Sullivan grunted as a prompt for Armstrong to continue, crossing his arms as he did so.

"Go back to work. The detectives need you. And I need you to feed me information."

"A dirty cop? Forget it."

Armstrong chuckled at Sullivan's statement. "That's rich, coming from you. I know you've got ties to people you shouldn't . how long do you think it would take me just to figure out who exactly those phone calls you often took at work were too, if i really dedicated myself to it."

Sullivan stayed quiet. "I'll see you back at work on Monday then, there's a new detective that has just been promoted, better bring your a-game. Oh, and don't worry about your return to work paperwork. I'll deal with it."

Armstrong stood up, nodded at Sullivan as he left the man in his living room. He quickly left the property and drove away, too smug to notice that Sullivan didn't seem to argue back too much. That, compared to his reputation, he was far too docile.

———-

"You were right," Kade said into the phone later that evening once darkness had fallen. "He brought it all."

"Good, good," the voice of Roslaind Dyer rang back down the phone. "I feel like embarrassing him some more, don't you. He was the reason you're in that hellhole of a house to begin with."

"Don't remind me."

Rosalind laughed. "You said a new detective was starting, yes? Would it not be the best way to embarrass him as to allow me to continue to play with the LAPD. Wipe that detective off the grid. Leave enough clues. Drive her crazy. I don't care, but tell me everything . I fancy a new plaything, afterall."