Man of the Year (Drake Story)

Chapter Otte

Author's Note: Very short chapter. I'm behind with my writing so I couldn't make this too long, and the scene I wrote is all that's in the chapter outline anyway. More coming in four days, as usual.

William was right - the police really were gentlemen.

They took me outside and into their car gently and respectfully. They read me my rights inside the car, and one of them even apologized for not reading them while the put me in the cuffs. I told them that it was fine, and thanked them for their courtesy, though I couldn’t help but think about how brutally police were treating people in other neighborhoods, and how drastic of a change they make to their behavior when they see that you’re rich.

The nearest precinct wasn’t near at all. We drove for an hour before reaching it, and by that time I just wanted them to throw me into a cell and leave me there until tomorrow. Unfortunately, they had to interrogate me and the whole nine - something that most people appreciate if they look forward to getting out as soon as possible. The handcuffs were removed and I was placed in a temporary holding cell, filled with just two other men. I was grateful for the fact that they didn’t talk to me, or each other. We avoided anything that would embarrass any of us, just sat in the cell and waited to be spoken to. All I knew about them was that they’d both been waiting for hours, and that’s only because they complained to one of the deputies about being tired and annoyed. Of course, being criminals, their frustration was not regarded.

I got out before them.

‘Got out’, by the way, does not mean that they released me from the precinct. They called me to the interrogation center, where a man was waiting for me in one of those all-gray rooms from the movies. I was taken in from the back, so when I walked in the detectives behind the glass were already staring at me. The man sitting at the desk wasn’t a detective, he was the asshole lawyer who’s been working me for about ten years. He took care of my business but he made corny jokes and charged me too much and tried to hit on Amanda one time at the house.

“Hello, Mr. Graham.” He smiled broadly at me. His smile was not warm, it was one that said ‘I’m being pleasant because I want money’. Can’t blame him, I guess.

“Hey, Mr. Ramos,” I sat down across from him.

“How are you feeling?”

I gulped at the question. I felt tired and suicidal but neither of those would change the plastic grin on Mr. Ramos’ face and they wouldn’t change the fact that murder charges were against me, so I shrugged and said I was as happy as a peach. Ramos read right through my sarcasm, and this made him laugh - genuinely, this time.

“Well, don’t be so down and out, Peach. I fixed everything.”

“What did you fix?” I asked him, trying my best to keep my bummed out expression despite the spark of hope that his words brought.

“They thought you were a murderer before I stepped into the situation,” Ramos explained. “See, as soon as I learned of your, er, predicament, I got my investigators to enter the Graham Mansion. They were undercover of course, acting as exterminators that someone in the house ordered. Whoever they spoke to completely bought it, and they snuck into the basement and scoped everything out until they found a hidden camera that caught the whole scene on tape.”

“What scene?”

“The camera shows a young man trying to make you stab the girl, and he fires a gun at you; I’m assuming he did this to be dramatic because he doesn’t actually shoot you, and he couldn’t have possibly missed from that close. Anyway, as he fired the shot, your uncle came up and stabbed the girl in the stomach. She would have bled out if it weren’t for where he stabbed her - I’m no doctor so I can’t tell you the specifics, but it wasn’t too bad. She’s alive and well in the hospital. I called her earlier and asked her about the footage and she told me that she was the one that planted the camera years ago because she always knew something fishy was happening up in the attic. She wouldn’t tell me what, though.”

That’s her. That sounded exactly like her - vague and suspicious and always leaving you with questions. She was alive.

And I was free.

“So they’re going to put my uncle in jail for the murder?”

“Most likely.”

“How do they know it’s not a fake tape?’

“Because I’ll tell them how I made my people go in and look.”

“About that,” I said, “you say that my uncle totally bought it, but he didn’t. He isn’t stupid. If he pretended to go along with it, then he most likely has a plan and is one step ahead of us.”

“No, it was the young man from the video that answered the door.” Ramos told me. That I could believe. Cyrus was evil but he was damn stupid.

“Okay, one more question.” I said to Mr. Ramos. “You said that Cyrus didn’t lay a finger on me, right?”

Ramos nodded.

“So why did I pass out?”

“Shock.” He said. “Gun shots so close to you, especially if they’re aimed at you, can easily make you so scared and surprised that you pass out.”

That was my last question, the last of the all the questions I had to ask before being happy, before being able to celebrate the fact that I was free and justice was going to be served. Justice was in the process of being served, at least. This was good news. I almost teared up at the thought: good fucking news. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard that.

“Thank you, Mr. Ramos.” Only when we stand from the table do I realize that the detectives were listening the entire time. I didn’t know whether they were even allowed to do that or if it even mattered, but I was relieved that I didn’t say anything reckless. One of the detectives offered me a ride home, but Mr. Ramos calmly declined for me and said that he’d be driving me. I got into his 2014 Benz, let myself sink into the softness of the passenger seat, and enjoyed the luxury of being driven. No seatbelt. No worries. Just peace.