It’s been a week since Silas and Merc first visited. I know because I can see the same clock I saw that day, and I can see that it’s 20 minutes to nine.
I don’t always get to see a clock.
They are coming again today, presumably to finish what they started. By now, I imagine, they are well into the 30-mile drive.
I’m sure the investigation has kept them busy – they’re probably squeezing every minute out of the one-hour drive to prepare for our meeting.
There isn’t much further to go from where we finished in our prior meeting.
I like Mercury, liked her her whole life. I’m glad she’s back, if for no other reason than to give Bitsy something to worry about. I’m sure Mercury is leading the preparatory discussion with Silas and making notes, having reduced him to driving his rental car.
Talk about rental – seems to me the county is renting a cop in this case.
I know Merc well enough to know she will be mindful of their limited time. They know the drill now, and, I expect, will be more focused than last time. I don’t expect time for banter or niceties.
There’s only one question they need to ask, and only one I need to answer. The response I need to give feels like a millstone around my neck.
I am escorted on either side of me into the same, familiar monitored room where we met before, adorned in handcuffs that I know are mandatory.
Like I’m dangerous.
I greet Silas and Merc as step into the room:
“Good morning” I say, watching as the guard closes the door and stations himself just outside.
I am surprised that it’s Mercury who opens: “Let’s pick up where we left off,” she says, confidently and without emotion. “Mr. Wilson, are you guilty of murdering Mick?”
I see no choice at this point. “Yes, I killed him.”
Mercury inhales, straightens up, and smooths her suit jacket as she strides across the room. Her heels click clack on the concrete floor. Silas sits at the table, his hand on his mouth, watching me. Studying me.
“Why?” Mercury asks. “Who knows about this?”
“John and Bernie. No one else,” I say. “I … I don’t know why I did that and I don’t know if they told anyone else.”
“Fine, but why did you do it?” Merc asked.
“I was … following orders,” I say, and I can’t believe the words are coming out of my mouth! Armand murders people for breakfast – what would he do to a rat!?!
I collect myself. “There’s this guy … Armand. I was … in debt … to him. The ponies, all that … I knew him from back in the day … we’d sit and watch ’em run, sorta get into it a little. He won a lot and I didn’t … it was important to him to be rid of Mick, he tells me after a few beers one afternoon. He asked me to make the hit, clean and simple, and he’d make it worth my time. Wasn’t all that tough, really … but you know how it goes with these guys … he, of course, wanted more. Carson, he said … I’m not even sure why. But we all know how that turned out .. so here I am.”
Mercury sits down, crossing her legs, as Silas continues to stare. Mercury looks like her mother, but I’ll never tell her that. She wouldn’t want to hear it.
“Paul,” she says, almost in a whisper. “I feel for you and I’d like to help you out but I really don’t know what I can do.”
We sit in silence for five minutes … six … seven … then ten.
The buzzer once again rings, and, once again, our time is up. The guard takes my arm to lead me back to my cell. I smile and wink toward Mercury.
“Y’all come back.”
They seem ready to leave. I imagine they’re satisfied with the day’s work.
Jenny Page