You Left From The Line

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Eve nominally headed up the interrogation, but to anyone who knew them well enough to be present in observation could see they were sharing the duties. Opposite the petite, placid woman sat their subject, a man with salt-and-pepper hair falling down over his eyes and matted with blood. His clothes looked like they'd been plucked out of a thrift store reject bin, and sweat poured out of him like water from a sponge. His hands weren't shackled, but he kept them in front of him as though they were. Two escape attempts were all it had taken. Her husband grumbled; he'd put his money on three.

"Now, correct me if I'm wrong," Eve leaned forward, steepling her fingers. "But you seem to be under the impression that we can't take this all the way because we need your information."

The man grinned back at her, showing a mouth full of chipped teeth. "Can't get words from a dead man."

"You'd be surprised," the man in the corner tossed something up in the air, caught it. Tossed it again. Their subject followed the movements with his one visible, glaring blue eye.

"It's a chance, really. Consider it a job interview. If you pass, who knows. The boss likes you." She shrugged. "If you don't, we'll find out some other way. Whoever hired you, we can pay you more than they did."

The subject lunged across the table, rising to his feet so fast the chair behind him flew back and against the opposite wall. Eve didn't move. "And how the hell do you know what he paid me?" The upward motion of his head as he raised his chin to sneer at her exposed the empty socket where his other eye had been. Her composure didn't flicker.

"Your breath smells like garlic."

He swore, reached out to swipe at or grab her throat. Before the other man could move she had shoved the table back into the subject, pinning him and his chair against the wall with the other edge. Not content with that, her husband reached forward over her shoulder and grabbed the offending hand, breaking two fingers without preamble and drawing a blunted scream.

"Sweetheart," she murmured. "Was that really necessary?"

"Maybe," he shrugged. "Felt good, though."

She sighed, accepting with resignation born of long familiarity with his overprotective tendencies. "You see what's going on here?" Eve reached out and took a handful of hair, perching on the table as she drew back the subject's head so he could get a good eyeful of her. "Either I work the information out of you somehow, or I have to go home with Mr. Crankypants over here." She ignored the half-incredulous look behind her left shoulder. "And you have no idea how many jobs it'd take to work that off. I mean, I appreciate the resistance, I really do. I just..." She leaned in close, offering a suggestive grin. "I really like watching him work."

"She does," the other man admitted. "I mean, we get home..."

"But. Our boss would really like that information. And I'd like to have a happy husband. And I'm sure you'd like to get out of this with all... Well, most of your bones. And all your major organs intact. Right?"

"Of course right."

The subject said nothing. His single eye darted back and forth between them. It seemed like he was finally realizing how big of a shitpile he was in, and judging accordingly. Eve let go of his head and sat back, tensed to leap off the table at the first sign their subject would try something else, but getting his skull cracked and his fingers broke and a good thick line of bruising across his lower ribcage seemed to have taken the resistance out of him. Or so she guessed, up to a second or two before he spat in her face. She held her husband back with a hand on his chest, at least at first.

"Go to Hel," their subject hissed.

Eve sighed. "All right. Have it your way, I tried. Remember, this stops when you give us the name. Sweetie, you got it from here?" she slipped off the table. "I'll go see if his son will be more co-operative."

The subject had little time to protest before the first punch landed on his one good eye.

To: Sam Connor
CC: Peter Torkarov , Ash Dunlevy , Daifyn Ifans
Date: 3/27/2013
Re: Interview unsuccessful


Subject clearly provided an alias, as there is no record of a "Gunter Woden" in all city databases including recent arrivals. Subject unfortunately did not survive interrogation. Time of death: 23:57 Wed March 27. Interrogation will continue with subject's remaining son.