Dylan sat in the small interrogation room, the silence wrecking his nerves. To make things worse, the walls were painted a lifeless gray.
A single fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows on the worn table and mismatched chairs. Dylan sat beside 20 Shots, his expression calm, but his heart was racing.
Across the table were two detectives, a veteran with sharp eyes and a younger officer who looked eager to prove himself.
20 Shots leaned back in his chair, his cuffed hands resting on the table. Despite his bravado, there was a tension in his shoulders, noticeable in his restless fingers.
The older detective, Detective Harris, flipped open a file and spread a set of crime scene photos across the table. The images showed a body on a dark pavement, blood pooling beneath it.
Harris tapped one photo with a thick finger, his gaze shifting to 20 Shots.
"That's your friend, Ramon Carter," Harris said, his voice low but accusing tone. "Shot in the chest. Witnesses say you pulled the trigger. Care to explain?"
20 Shots shifted in his seat but said nothing, his jaw tightening.
"My client has already stated he didn't commit this crime. If you have questions, keep them concise, or I'll advise him not to answer." Dylan interjected smoothly, his tone polite but firm.
Harris smirked, leaning back in his chair.
"Let me guess... no comment? That's your game plan?" He leaned forward again, locking eyes with 20 Shots and completely ignoring Dylan.
"You were at the scene. Ramon's blood is on your hands, literally. Witnesses saw you argue. They saw you pull the gun."
20 Shots clenched his fists, but Dylan placed a hand on the table, signaling calm.
"We both know eyewitness accounts aren't always reliable," Dylan responded calmly. "And you're still relying on a statement from a single witness with a personal connection to the victim. You should be experienced enough to know how unreliable, one-sided informants are."
The younger detective, Officer Miller, leaned forward eagerly.
"The CCTV footage from the club conveniently vanished. How do you explain that? Hiding something?" He said, his tone accusing.
20 Shot's eyes twitched with anger, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.
"Man, I'm not the one who wiped the damn footage. Why would I? That's proof I didn't do it!" 20 Shot's denied, trying to sound as calm as possible, but the frustration in his tone wasn't hard to notice.
"You're saying someone else erased it? Who? The Tooth Fairy?" Harris raised an eyebrow.
"Maybe ask Ramon's cousin," 20 Shots shot back, his voice rising. "His Uncle owns the club. You think it's a coincidence he's the one pointing fingers at me?"
Dylan tapped 20 Shot's arm, signaling him to stay quiet with a finger gesture, and his gaze shifted to Detective Harris.
"Detective Harris, has anyone investigated the possibility of tampering with the club's security system? Given that the footage is missing, I think that's a critical avenue to explore. Or are we skipping over that because it doesn't fit your narrative?" Dylan retorted, his tone accusing.
20 Shots blinked, shocked by the vicious response of the timid lawyer. He didn't think Dylan was the type to go swinging, even the detective and officer were shocked.
Harris glared at Dylan but didn't answer immediately. Instead, he shuffled the photos back into the file.
"We're not skipping anything. But the fact remains: you were there, you had a motive, and Ramon's cousin saw you do it." Harris said coldly.
Dylan adjusted his tie, maintaining eye contact with Harris.
"And yet there's no physical evidence tying my client to the crime, no gunshot residue, no weapon, nothing but circumstantial claims. You should do better, Detective." Dylan shot back.
The detectives exchanged a glance, and Dylan could feel the pressure shift. They were fishing, trying to rattle 20 Shots into slipping up.
Harris leaned closer to 20 Shots, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"You think your lawyer's slick, huh? But you can't lawyer your way out of the truth. You killed your friend, and we're gonna make sure everyone knows it." Harris's voice oozed with disdain, as if he had a personal vendetta against 20 Shots.
20 Shots sat up, his eyes blazing with rage.
"I didn't kill him! I don't care what y'all say, I didn't do it!" He yelled viciously, his bloodshot eyes pinned on Harris, who wore a mischievous smile.
"That's enough." Dylan snapped, restoring silence to the room.
"This interrogation is over unless you have new evidence to present." Dylan stood up, his cold gaze meeting that of Detective Harris.
Harris gritted his teeth, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.
"We're not done here, Morningstar. You'll see." He threatened, packing his file.
As the detectives exited the room, slamming the door behind them, Dylan turned to 20 Shots.
"You need to keep your cool in there. They want you to lose it. Don't give them the satisfaction." He warned.
Huff!
20 Shots exhaled deeply, leaning back in his chair.
"They're all over me, man. How am I supposed to act like it's nothing?" He mumbled, shutting his eyes.
"By remembering that they have nothing concrete. I'll dig into the missing footage and the club owner's involvement. But until then, you keep your head down and let me do the talking." Dylan said, placing 20 Shot's files into his suitcase.
For the first time, 20 Shots nodded, a flicker of trust in his eyes.
"Alright, lawyer man. I'm counting on you." He said, his voice tinged with respect.
—
Dylan returns to his car, shutting the door and rubbing his forehead. He looked at his wristwatch, frowning when he realized it was already 2 pm.
"We have enough time to visit the club and take a look around without disturbing their business," Dylan mumbled under his breath, his breath barely a whisper.
"Errm… do you need me to do something?" Clara's voice reminded Dylan he wasn't alone.
He had been too immersed in the case, he didn't notice her presence.
"Velvet Viper Club, Near West Side, 948 W Randolph Street. That's our next stop." Dylan said.