“ there’s nothing wrong with my memory. you’re just being paranoid. “ sing to michael t!
PARANOID. An innocent enough comment that left awful taste rotting on the young man’s tongue. It was in Michael’s very nature to ask questions, to challenge his surroundings, to never take anything at face value. It’d been his father who’d sparked that in him. But it had been his mother’s interrogations that had blossomed the flame. A childhood accented with question marks: Where were you? What time do you call this? What’s it gonna be, your family or your job?
But he wasn’t a child, and his father wasn’t why he was here. But having a familiar face would make this easier on the reporter. Steven Sing, another fresher face, not that much older than Michael himself by the looks of him. Edges rough and uncut; despite the coal not truly feeling the pressure yet, already his diamond was beginning to show. His eyes shone bright with that same passion he had for his own job. They walked diverging paths, but fate seemed determined for them to cross.
He swallows the other’s insult, whether intended or otherwise, and turns the page in his notepad. Michael wasn’t going anywhere without a statement, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to chase David for it.
“No, I’m sure your memory is fine.” He placates, the warm tone so much like his own father that It was a wonder they were not really blood. But what did blood matter, crimson pretty splattered amongst a broken home.
“I’m just asking you to—- really think about it, Detective. You’re saying there’s nothing odd at all with Detective Poltzer letting his informant go the day before the incident at 119th? K2K getting massacred must have relieved a whole burden from the PD’s shoulders, huh? No more loose ends. I think, yeah -- Polzter got a promotion after all that, right?”
@slashre