The Untouchables (Ruthless People 2)

That stopped me. It took everything not to sock him in the face. “Support my team?” I laughed, pulling on my coat. “Kid, I’ve been here for seven years. I’ve been shot at, ran over and almost blown up. I work cases I can get arrests for. This ain’t a game, boy. My coat says ‘Chicago P.D.’ not Team Cop. My badge says Officer Brooks. You want to prove your stripes? You want to see the Callahans go down, even though you have no clue who they are? Fine, whatever. Just meet me in interrogation in five minutes.”

Grabbing a water bottle, I walked out of the pen.

“I ain’t no rookie anymore,” he yelled from behind me. What else could he say?

“Shut your pie-hole, kid and get us some coffee,” someone behind me yelled, but I didn’t bother to care or to look back.

You can always tell when the Feds were in town; they snatched any high profile case and made sure to slap their names in Big Bird yellow all over the joint. Walking down the hall, I did not meet anyone’s gaze before entering the file room. I didn’t have much time left. I was playing with a whole new type of fire here.

This water bottle was my only chance left.

The key to being a liar was that you had to believe your lies. It was as simple as that. Tell lies you can believe, and when you do, the world will believe them right along with you. So when I stepped into the hallway, I knew what I wanted to see. I knew the lie I would believe; the maid was a liar and I was going to make her admit it.

Everything felt sharp; my senses had never been so clear, and I was going play every single card I had. The FBI agents were all waiting, hoping they had something. Next to them was Scooter, who was just short of rubbing his hands together.

Staring at the tan skinned, dark haired woman praying at the table, I tried not to break character. “She said anything yet?”

She couldn’t have been a day over thirty maybe?

“She won’t talk until she sees a visa. It doesn’t make sense though. She has a kid over the border. Why not ask for him to get a free pass? She wants a visa for herself instead?” Scooter asked.

“After she told us about the First Lady, she was all ‘Hail Mary full of grace,’ over and over. If I were Mary, I would be annoyed,” the officer to my right scoffed before turning towards the two-way mirror. “This is a waste of time. They’re questioning the First Lady right now. It’s your collar you should go watch.”

“I’ll be over there in a minute. I just want to take a crack at her first.”

“We,” Scooter said, stepping up, “We want to take a crack at her.”

“Knock yourselves out. Ask Mother Mary for a prayer for me.” He laughed before walking off.

Step one; done.

“So, how are we going to go at her?” Scooter asked, trying to walk in, but I stopped him at the door.

“You’re not a police officer, remember? You’re a cheerleader. You can support the team from behind that glass.”

Stepping inside, the first thing I heard were her prayers:

“Dios te salve, María, llena eres de gracia, el Señor es contigo…”

“Antoniodita tú eres entre todas las mujeres, y Antoniodito es el fruto de tu vientre, Jesús. Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. Amén,” I finished for her, putting the water bottle on the table before helping her into the chair.

“Mary mother of all mothers,” I said pulling out my own chair. “My mother loved her too.”

“Do you have my visa?” she asked in a thick accent.

“No.”

“Then I have nothing for you.”

“I don’t think you ever had anything for me to begin with.”

“I worked in that house! I saw things! I heard things!” she yelled at me.

“Have some water,” I told her, sliding the water bottle over.

She pushed it back. “I’m fine, lo choto.”

“Really? Because you’ve been in here a while and the last thing I want is for you be dehydrated. Plus, I hope you do a lot of talking,” I stated, pushing the water back to her.

“No visa, no confesión,” she repeated before bringing the bottle to her lips. The moment she looked down, she froze. Her dark eyes slowly read over the words written on the backs side of the label.

“Are you alright, Ms. Morales?”

She just stared at me, eyes wide, frozen solid.

“It’s just water.” I said, grabbing the bottle. “Not poison. You’re safe here.”

To prove my point, I grabbed the water and drank.

“The Callahans….” she whispered, hanging her head down low.

“Ms. Morales, I know this is scary. My partner, he reminded me of the accusations against the Callahans. How some say they killed men, women, and even children. How they have no regard for the law. How they would hunt down anyone who tried to stand in their way. If that is true, I cannot imagine what you must have gone through in that house. What you may have seen. We know about your son across the border.”

She tensed, water pooling under her eyelids as her lips and arms trembled.

“My mother, she was an illegal, worked her whole life for people like the Callahans. She didn’t care though. She just wanted her boys to get the greatest chance in life. She would do anything for the boys—for me. Even take on people like the Callahans. That’s why you want a visa, right? So you could bring him over the right way. So he wouldn’t be labeled an illegal immigrant. I want to help you, Ms. Morales, but you’ve got to be honest with me. You’re the only one who can bring those murdering bastards down. We will protect you. I will personally protect you.”

I made sure that she could read my eyes, and it made the tears roll down her cheeks. Wiping her nose, she nodded.

Sitting up straighter, she admitted, “I lied. I don’t know anything. I just wanted my boy.”

“You’ve got nothing on the Callahans?” I stated again, glaring into her eyes.

Again, she nodded.

“I have nothing on the Callahans. I just wanted to get back at them. They fired me for no reason, I have nothing, and they took it all away. They just have so much, you know? I just wanted something for my boy.”

Shaking my head at her, I grabbed the water. “Hold tight, Ms. Morales. Hold tight.”

“Please, don’t deport me. Por favor! I’m the only one sending anything back. My son is still young. Just like your mama, I just wanted to give him the best, get myself a good job. I need your help, please! I need the visa.”

There was nothing more I could say to her, so I simply walked out. Scooter stood glaring at the woman, who had returned to praying, through the two-way mirror.

“Damn it. She’s got to know something. I can feel it. We need to get her to talk. We should charge her; obstruction of justice, filing a false report…”

“Yes, Scooter let’s charge the only eye witness we have to the First Lady’s deception, because she didn’t tell us what we were hoping to hear,” I snapped. “If you keep jumping head first into everything, your brain will be splattered all over the sidewalk soon enough.”

It was only after I had gotten out of the precinct that I dared to rip the paper off the water bottle. In English it translated to three simple sentences: