"Just a few minutes." We wait out the short amount of time with an accompanying silence and thought probing stares before I lead us back into the confined room, finding Norm still passed out. I’m not surprised he hasn’t come to after the last blow to his head, but I was hoping he’d be up by now. It’s getting late. "I guess he’s not ready for us yet."
"Hold up," Harley says. "Do you have anything I can play music on?"
"You want to listen to music right now?" I ask her, confused why she’d ask something so odd at a time like this.
"No, dumbass. You’re playing with interrogation methods, but not executing them properly."
Bingo.
"How so?" I ask her.
"Music ... headphones and a phone? Do you have those items?"
"I’ll be right back," I tell her. I don’t know what she’s doing or what her plan is, but I have this platform prepared for her to prove her skills, and I’ll give her whatever tools she apparently needs.
"Thanks," she says.
I return to the room, finding her in the same spot, studying our unconscious subject. "Here," I tell her, handing over a spare phone and a set of noise-canceling headphones.
Harley takes the items from my hand. "Does this have internet?" She asks.
"Yeah, why?"
"There’s a clip on YouTube …" She seems lost in her own thought, and I’m curious as to what she’s talking about.
"YouTube?" I ask her.
"Yeah, I just need some music," she says.
"For … torture?" It’s the only thought I can come up with.
"Not exactly, but close," she says. She takes a minute to set up whatever she’s doing on the iPod and places the headphones over Norm’s head. "We should leave him until tomorrow now. After a few hours of listening to this, you’ll get him to give you the information you’re looking for."
"That wasn’t my plan," I tell her.
"Okay, well whatever your plan is, I’m sure this will help," she says without arguing.
"Fine. Go for it." I’m intrigued by whatever she’s playing through the headphones and her prediction of what a few hours will do. "What’s the music you’re playing?"
"Just something I heard of once," she says. "It’s just a random video that had a lot of hype and buzz a couple years back."
I have no clue what she’s talking about. "I’ll follow your lead," I tell her.
"That’s surprising," she mutters.
Agent Roberts sent me these shitheads to use as test subjects for when I find suspects that could be Isabelle, but each convict he sent me is worse than the last. Granted, most of them come from death row, but they all have this no-fucks-given attitude because they're already out of hope and it just makes this job harder, which I suppose is the point to all of this, but I'm getting nowhere fast with Harley here.
I open the door and wave her out into the hall. "Where to?" she asks.
Most people wouldn't be okay with the shit she's seen today, yet Harley appears to be just fine. "I'll show you to your room," I tell her.
We walk silently through the warehouse and up the steps that lead to the hotel’s lobby. "I'll be staying here?" she asks as we head toward the elevators.
"Is there a problem with that?" I ask.
"No," she says, sounding hesitant.
"What is running through your mind at this very moment?" I ask her, keeping my voice low as we reach the sectioned-off area where several elevators are lined up.
"What’s going through my mind?" she snickers. "Hmm … that I'm going to wake up to a shitload of trouble tomorrow morning, thanks to you and your commitment to torture."
I hit the button for the elevator and clasp my hands behind my back as we wait. "You’re wrong," I tell her.
"Good to know," she says as the elevator doors part. Harley walks in first and turns to lean against the railing in the back right corner. The second the doors close us inside, she takes a step closer to me. "Yes or no. Are you going to kill me?" Her words come out in nothing more than a breath. They shouldn't shock me, but I wasn't expecting her to ask me this so directly.
Am I going to kill her? No, that's not the plan, even if she is Isabelle Hammel. I'm not the one who needs something from Isabelle. I'm just the hamster running on a spinning wheel. "No, I'm not going to do anything of the sort," I tell her.
"Is Everett going to kill me?" she continues.
"No," I reply, scornfully. Everett of all people would be the last one to hurt anyone. I don’t think he’d ever have the balls, which is why I’ll be continuing to execute the interrogations with Harley.
"Then, who is?" I twist my head and look down at her, noticing the foot difference between our heights. Isabelle was always in the class before I was and never left when the time was up. We never stood side-by-side, and I have no clue how tall she is. At the time, I didn't think I would ever need to search for any unique features on her face or body. I only noticed her matted freckles, bright eyes, and hair I thought about combing my fingers through more times in a period of an hour than I did listening to anything being taught. I didn't know her at all, but her beauty was entrancing.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I tell her. I want to just spit it out and fucking ask her if she's Isabelle, but I know exactly what will happen if I do that. She'll run. Evidently, that's what Isabelle does.
"Just testing you," she says.
Her words offer me relief, but I don't think my response offers her the same. She doesn't trust me, and I don't know who the hell she really is, so we aren't off to a great start.
The doors open and I lead her down a long hall before we reach the room I have reserved for her.
I reach into my back pocket and pull the keycard out, flashing it in front of the small door scanner. The bolts release and I open the door. "Here you are," I say, holding my hand against the door as I reach the card over with my other hand. She takes the key and walks in past me.
"What, no turndown service?" she says with a soft chuckle
"Good night, Harley," I reply, ignoring her joke.
"Harley Salem," she announces. "That’s my full name. You know, in case you need it for your hitman."
I lean in through the doorway before leaving. "I already told you I wasn't going to kill you, but rest assured, if I was, I wouldn't need a hitman to do so." I step back out into the hall and release her door. "Oh, and plan to meet at eight tomorrow morning," is the last thing I say to her before the closed door separates us.
I stare at the door for a long second, understanding the trouble that’s about to ensue because Harley or Isabelle is going to cause me a world of problems I’m not sure I’m prepared for.
I have spent days, nights, and weeks learning interrogation tactics. It was part of the police investigation and psychology program I took while I was in rehab. I found it interesting and needed something to pass the days, so I took every course offered to me. The police part was a joke seeing as I’d never be hired by a police department with the incriminating records I have, but I was pissed off to be stuck where I was, and the only people to blame for that were a police officer and a psychiatrist. I couldn't figure out how I ended up in rehab without a fair trial and I didn't know my rights or what metrics a doctor would employ to deem someone mentally unstable, but I was determined to understand it all.
I understand everything perfectly now. The judicial system isn't based on fairness. It's all about who you know and how the right person can be benefited. That's why I'm here now.
11
Harley