Page 7 of Touched

He glances around nervously, then obeys, plopping into the worn bar chair. Though his eyes flit everywhere, taking in the entirety of the dark room.

“Can I get you anything?” I ask, gesturing toward the bar.

He shakes his head. “Nah. Let’s be quick. Just here ‘cause you told me to be. What do you want?”

“You know what I want,” I reply, narrowing my eyes and leaning back in my chair, staring at him hard.

If I make you squirm a little more, how much will you reveal?

Tony fidgets a little but doesn’t break my gaze. He snaps, “What’s in it for me? I’m risking my ass meeting you here.”

“You stay out of jail,” I deadpan, before casually sipping my soda.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice drifting slightly at the end. “They’ll kill me for sure in there.”

Give me what I need, and I’ll keep my end of the deal. You give me something useful and you’ll stay out of prison.

‘Comeon, Tony. What can you reveal?

I continue to stare at him, my arms folded across my black polo shirt, the motion pressing the badge hanging under my shirt into my chest. I project a feeling of calm, though the urge to cross the table and shake him persists. I’m just waiting for him to decide how this will go.

He stares back at me in utter silence. His nervous eyes, and the clenching of his jaw, give away that he’s contemplating the answer he’ll give me.

To help him decide, I pull my handcuffs from my belt and slam them on the table so hard it bounces off the floor. The resounding noise echoes throughout the mostly empty bar.

His eyes widen, and he visibly jumps, before rapidly looking around to see if anyone noticed. Seeing no one gives the slightest shit, he blows out a shaky breath. “Fine. Porter’s. The warehouse. At the port. Down by the shipping barges.”

“Go on,” I say, needing to know who’s making the drop.

“What?” he asks.

Resisting a growl of frustration, I snap, “Names, man. I need names.”

“I ain’t giving you names, pig. You said you wanted a location for the drop, I gave it to you. Can I go now?”

“Not unless you want me to cuff you and stuff you into the back of my vehicle.” My eyes flash down to the handcuffs under my palm on the table before I lock my gaze on his again.

“Dammit,” he replies, his beady brown eyes darting around the bar once more before they land back on me. “Fuck me… I’ll take that drink now.”

I don’t break eye contact with the thug until he hastily looks away, swallowing sharply. Only then do I nod to the bar and raise my finger to a tired-looking waitress.

“What can I get y’all?” she asks as she approaches, swaying her skinny hips.

“Three shots of Patrón and a tequila sunrise,” Tony says.

I raise an eyebrow, then look at the waitress, who is waiting for my order. “I’m good, but he’ll be having Cuervo, not Patrón. Thanks.”

No top shelf stuff for you. I’m on a fucking budget.

She glances at Tony as if wanting approval, but he just glowers at me instead. Shrugging, she walks off.

“Spill,” I order as soon as she’s out of earshot. “Who’s arranging it?” Leaning forward, I place my elbows upon the table and narrow my gaze on the squirming man across from me.

Looking around warily again, he licks his lips.

“Stop fucking doing that. You look suspicious as hell,” I say, snapping my fingers and pointing at him.

After another long, annoying pause, he says, “Fine. The Trahan brothers.” It comes out fast, and with his thick accent, I barely make it out.

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