Post by Declan Prescott on Jun 29, 2010 20:08:44 GMT -5
His black Mustang sat in the underground car park, waiting for him patiently. Just by looking at her, he could tell she was itching to rev her engine and let loose on the unsuspecting city. Tear the streets of Los Angeles up and power through the roads, like an unstoppable beast. 'Selena' he had named her. A name that was elegant, beautiful, but so deadly. After the huntress Artemis herself. One to be admired, lusted after and always feared.
He slid his hand gently under the driver's seat door handle. With a gentle tickle, he pulled the door open, as it clicked, almost sighed, in response. He was seconds away from entering, when an unwelcome distraction halted his advance.
"Doug!" a voice shouted after him.
Detective Douglas Maguire turned on the spot, seeing his chubby, balding partner, Benjamin Franks. He was marching towards Maguire, his arm in the air and waving frenetically. He reached Selena and Maguire, very much out of breath.
"Doug," he repeated, placing his hands on his thighs and panting loudly. "You seriously think she did it?!"
"No," Maguire replied, placing a hand protectively on Selena's front curve. "I know she did it."
"I did my research, Doug," the sweating detective responded, still panting. "Her parents her abusive deadbeats. She's an emotionally traumatised grape victim. She has the mindset of a child. How could she have committed murder?!"
"I don't know how she did it," Maguire responded, growing agitated that Franks' sweat droplets were landing closer and closer to Selena with each passing second. "I'm going around there now to confront Prescott. He knows what happened and I'm going to get the information from him one way or another."
"How can you know that for sure, though?!"
"Ben," Maguire spat, palming his partner away from the car. "When have I ever been wrong about something like this?"
Benjamin Franks stared intensely into Maguire's eyes, before nodding in surrender. He patted his partner on the shoulder and then began making his way back to the precinct interior. As he marched away, he shouted two words to his partner.
"Good luck."
I was never good with models. Cars just weren't my thing. All I knew is that it was dirt brown, rusted right through and was probably older than both my parents combined. Declan had given it to me as a gift. Although I think it was a gift for him. He'd sit there, laughing his ass off, every time he saw me try to start up the piece of shit. It took ten minutes on a good day! Nevertheless, I didn't have a car of my own. So I had to make do with the old bomb.
As sad as it was, the car I had dubbed 'Bessy' (after that dead cow - it seemed appropriate) was the nicest part of today's activities. I was camped outside the building Declan Prescott lived in, just as I had been everyday for the last two weeks. He was seventeen stories above me, but this was as close as I could get. Security in the building was tight. All three of my attempts to gain entry had ended with a restaurant quality beat down on my ass.
"I GOTTA DELIVER A PIZZA! PIZZA MAKES MAN CHAMP STRONG!!"
"THIS HERE IS OBESE TONIA! THERE'S A LONELY OLD MAN IN ROOM 316 LOOKING FOR A GOOD TIME!"
"Hey buddy... let Skeeny in and a picture of da next Man Champ's doodle is coming YO WAY!"
But I had to keep watch, as best I could. That demented serial killer he called a girlfriend was going to make her move eventually and I had to be ready to step in when she did! I wasn't going to let anyone or anything hurt my mentor!
Then it happened. A slick, black car pulled up on the sidewalk in front of me. A greasy looking man emerged from the vehicle. Then, as bizarre as it sounds, he licked the car. Where the driver's side door met the roof, he ran his gorged tongue along the paint! He wore a slick, navy blue suit and had his hair gelled back, the comb sticking out of his coat pocket. I knew who this lunatic was. I had seen him two weeks earlier at the GIW arena.
Douglas Maguire.
He crossed the street, nearly getting run down twice. It seemed like he expected the cars to move for him. All the same, he made it to his destination and entered the building, with that ridiculously cocky strut of his. Licking his lips, I saw him make his way to the elevator. He was disgusting.
He was on his way to see Declan. I knew it. If that detective had two brain cells to rub together, he'd know it was Cara who committed that murder. But Declan would confess to the crime himself, before allowing any harm to come to that blonde haired beast. Cara knew that. Perhaps that was her plan! Not to kill off Declan, but to send him behind bars. It'd kill two birds with one stone - make everyone think she was inocent and remove Declan from the picture. Hell, she'd be the one to take control of GIW and we'd all be at her mercy. I had to do something!
That detective had the intelligence and the focus to solve this case. So it was up to me to give him a distraction! Something that would take every bit of his attention away from my teacher. It was obvious. The dumb fucker shouldn't have given his weakness away so easily.
It took me twelve minutes of careful key turning, combined with accelerator tapping, but I managed it. Bessy's engine was running - if such a word could be used to describe the inconsistent groaning the motor gargled - and I slammed my foot down full force on the accelerator. Bessy slammed into the back of that overpriced, inanimate object. Both cars were banged up pretty bad. That detective would be reduced to one of two things when he saw the damage that had been done to his beauty - tears or random shootings on the street, induced by homicidal rage. I wanted nothing more than to see which it would be, but I was fully aware it'd be the last thing I ever witnessed. I had to get the hell out of dodge right away.
I pulled Bessy away from the curb and began heading towards the GIW arena. I had a match to prepare for after all and I knew that harlot Christina Adams would be about as useful as that recipe book I gave Tony for his birthday. No, it was all up to Brandon McSkinny.
Just like it always was.
"Ha!" Declan Prescott mused, gazing out from the spacious balcony of his LA apartment.
Cara Costello approached him from his right, slipping both her arms around his. Dressed in only a shirt of Declan's, that barely covered her crotch, she rested her head on his shoulder.
"What's so funny?" she asked in a lazy voice.
"A guy just rear ended the car in front of him, down there," Declan responded, pointing to the incident. "The car that did the damage seems familiar though - "
"Hey Declan" she interrupted, clearly having paid no attention to anything her boyfriend just said. "Who do you think will win the vote?"
"The In Your Hands vote?" he asked, before kissing her on the crown.
"Yuh," she replied, with a giggle.
"Does it matter?"
"Umm..." Cara trailed off and turned her gaze from the view of the city, to Declan. Her large, hazel green eyes, revealed the confusion in her head and it was clear she didn't know the answer to the proposed question.
"They're all just stepping stones on our way back to the top," he replied. "Dylan James... the lust in his eyes disgracing his supposed 'straight edge' philosophy every time he looks at his groupie Christina... I forget which one he's banging... maybe both. He's a punk, nothing more, and while he may have some impressive victories to his name, they pale in comparison to my résumé. Then there's Komosube... he's going to pay for what he did, sooner or later, anyway. I'd enjoy facing off against him, I'll admit. But even if it doesn't happen at In Your Hands, I can wait. I've always been a patient man. And finally... Travis Roberts. A guy who actually chooses to hang out with that deranged penguin. That alone means he's crazy, probably dangerous. He already has a win over Brandon Brown, just as Komosube does, so either of those guys have a fair chance at the Title. But there's no reason for me to face Travis Roberts. He's just..."
Declan trailed off into silence, as he saw Cara was again staring out towards Los Angeles, enjoying the wind, which had just picked up, blowing in her face. She had clearly lost all interest in his monologue, which only made Declan smile. After several moments she turned to Declan, nodding and smiling, as if agreeing with everything he had said. She then frowned and tugged on his shirt sleeve.
"What's up?" he asked.
"But what about Hastings and Deathman?" she asked, with concern. "Leaving them in the ring all alone last week couldn't have - "
"Don't worry about a thing," Declan reassured her, running his left hand gently through her blowing, golden hair. "I was simply protecting the woman I love. I'm sure Hastings can understand that and Deathman... well, if Deathman ever understands my intentions, you should have me committed."
"That's a horrible thing to say!" she barked, her brow furrowed with agitation. "Don't ever say that!"
Declan nodded and wrapped his arms around here, before speaking. "I was only joking, swee - "
His words were cut short once again, this time by a knock at the apartment door. Cara, wide eyed with panic, hurriedly pushed the shirt between her legs. She quickly darted to the bedroom, squealing to Declan not to open the door, until she was out of sight. The Significant Player smirked, before strolling towards the apartment door. Cara locked herself in the bedroom, as Declan peered through the peephole and felt his entire being be overcome with dread.
He took a deep breath in and swung the door open. Standing before him, grinning from ear to ear and sweating profusely, was Douglas Maguire. The same, weasel faced, grease covered detective Declan had been unfortunate enough to encounter a fortnight ago.
"Well hello, Mr. Prescott," the yellow teethed lawman bubbled with false politeness.
Bringing his arm to his side, Declan gestured to the snake to enter. Maguire nodded curtly and strutted into the apartment, with sickening arrogance. He leaned against a nearby case, which was filled to the brim with various wrestling DVDs. Declan remained where he was, closing the door, before folding his arms gruffly.
"What do you want?" The Significant Player spat, with hostility.
"The truth, Mr. Prescott" Maguire retorted, still smiling, but the aroma of casualty now void from his tone. "I just want the truth."
"The truth about what?"
"Ah," the detective said, waggling a finger at Declan and winking. "Already admitting you lied to me about something. I really do have ya nervous, don't I?"
"Why are you sweating so much?" Declan asked, casually raising an eyebrow.
"Seventeen flights of stairs, Mr. Prescott," he replied. "Or is it sixteen? I can never remember if the first floor is level one or ground. Plagued me since I was a child."
"Generally, people take the elevator."
"I played your little game for long enough," Maguire stated, still smiling and masking his annoyance with false happiness. "Don't try to change the subject on me. People who change the subject bug me. Miss Costello. I wanna know when and how that little lady killed that big old bastard on the fifteenth of last month. The truth that is."
"An interesting paradox," Declan mused, his words covered with a much darker tone than his opponent's. "The truth of a matter that never happened. I'd say you're going to be looking for quite a while, detective."
"I suppose you would say that," Maguire nodded, removing himself from the DVD case and standing upright, sinking his hands into his pockets. "But the truth of the matter is that I won't be looking for very much longer. You see, I'm betting after she stole the security tapes, she destroyed them somehow. Then she came here. Probably upset. Hell, even if she tried to hide it, I have no doubt you would have known something was up. That's what a loving boyfriend is for. Ya know, I can just tell when my little sweetie pie - Selena her name is, a complete bombshell - isn't feeling right. It's like a sixth sense? That's what love does to a man, Mr. Prescott."
Declan raised his eyebrow one more and smirked slightly, before speaking. "I thought people who change the subject, bugged you."
"Of course," the detective grinned, again waggling his finger at Declan. "But I do have a point to this, Mr. Prescott. Ya see, I've pegged Miss Costello at killing the poor sucker at around eleven thirty PM. I give her anywhere from thirty-to-sixty minutes to find a remote location and destroy the tapes, then another thirty-to-sixty to get back to her boyfriend's loving arms. So I suspect she arrived home sometime between twelve thirty and one thirty on the sixteenth. Now I'm quite certain that the security surveillance footage of this building would confirm my suspicion and send your lovely little bombshell girlfriend's face between sweaty, testosterone filled, dyke cunt for the rest of her precious li'l life. But, by some misfortune, those tapes have been 'misplaced'. Vanished from the face of the earth, in fact. Now what do you think the chances of the GIW HQ security footage and the footage from the owner's resident building going missing on the same night are? Because my guess is 'pretty fucking low'."
"Jeez," Declan said, rubbing the back of his head and squinting his eyes, as if thinking pointedly. "That puts Cara as your prime suspect. It's really incriminating. Almost makes your case too easy. Like she was being framed or something. Now that sure would make for an interesting media story. 'Cute, young blonde harassed incessantly by maniac detective'."
"DAMMIT PRESCOTT," Maguire roared, slamming his fist down on the kitchen bench, before marching towards Declan and pushing his face only millimetres away from The Significant Player's. His next words were spoken not with shouting, but an incredibly more dangerous hiss. "We both know you're protecting her. But listen to me and listen real fucking well! There is literally a plethora of different routes that murderer could have used to travel between the HQ, wherever she destroyed the tapes and this building. I have the most dedicated men on the face of the earth searching every street surveillance device in Los Angeles! Every security monitor, ever speed camera! All it's gonna take is for me to find one picture! Or a single inconsistency in your bullshit story! Just one fault to leak out of your mouth! One slip-up! Then I'll make sure the both of you ROT for the rest of your days!"
"You'll find it?" Declan inquired. "What happened to all those 'dedicated men' you had on the job?"
"SHE WILL BURN IN PRISON FOR WHAT SHE DID AND WHETHER OR NOT YOU JOIN HER IS SOLELY ON YOUR SHOULDERS!" he roared, before taking several moments to cool down. "Don't throw your life away. You deserve better."
Maguire flashed his stained teeth nastily, before pulling the apartment front door open and slamming it behind him. Yet the thunderous crash of the frame colliding with the wall never came, as The Significant Player caught the soaring wood in his hand.
"Maguire," he said, causing the flustered detective to turn on the spot. "If Cara had committed this crime and if I was lying to protect her, you know why I'd do it?"
The detective spat gruffly onto the hall carpet.
"Hypothetically. of course," Declan continued. "It would be because you asked when she did it. And how she did it. But never why she did it."
Maguire took a step towards the apartment, before Declan slammed the door forcefully in his face. The GIW owner sighed deeply and turned on the spot, leaning his back on the door. Staring back at him was the still near naked Cara Costello, tears swelling in her eyes. She buried her head in his chest, as he wrapped her arms around her tiny, soft frame and reassured her that everything would be fine.
Cara Costello felt the hot, stinging tears push their way from her eyes and roll down her cheeks. With Declan Prescott's arms around her, she felt warm. But she didn't feel safe. He was putting his very life in jeopardy just for her. But how long would he continue to do so? The detective's words, as hateful and horrifying as they were, made sense. Declan had always been a man of logic and reason. He would accept the reality of the situation and give her up. It was the only thing anyone in that position could do.
"Cara," Declan spoke, his words quiet, but not soft. A hardened seriousness edged around them. "What's wrong with you?"
Her entire being went numb. Her limbs began trembling with icy terror. Her throat was clogged with fear and she could barely muster out her pitiful response. "Nothing..."
"I know something's happening to you," he whispered. "And I know you killed that man. But I don't care about what you did or why you did it. I'm going to do everything I can to protect you, no matter what. But to do that, you need to tell me what's happening. Otherwise there's nothing I can do."
Cara shakily pointed her head upwards, seeing Declan's fiery gaze of concern meeting her look of uncontrollable fear. He was speaking the truth. She knew it. This man was throwing away everything he ever believed in and ever respected, al for her.
"I..."
"You can't!"
"I have to tell him. That was always the agreement - 'no secrets between us'. He's always honoured that and now I have to do the same."
"You don't know how he'll react!"
"It doesn't matter! I can't lie to him!"
"Than let me."
He slid his hand gently under the driver's seat door handle. With a gentle tickle, he pulled the door open, as it clicked, almost sighed, in response. He was seconds away from entering, when an unwelcome distraction halted his advance.
"Doug!" a voice shouted after him.
Detective Douglas Maguire turned on the spot, seeing his chubby, balding partner, Benjamin Franks. He was marching towards Maguire, his arm in the air and waving frenetically. He reached Selena and Maguire, very much out of breath.
"Doug," he repeated, placing his hands on his thighs and panting loudly. "You seriously think she did it?!"
"No," Maguire replied, placing a hand protectively on Selena's front curve. "I know she did it."
"I did my research, Doug," the sweating detective responded, still panting. "Her parents her abusive deadbeats. She's an emotionally traumatised grape victim. She has the mindset of a child. How could she have committed murder?!"
"I don't know how she did it," Maguire responded, growing agitated that Franks' sweat droplets were landing closer and closer to Selena with each passing second. "I'm going around there now to confront Prescott. He knows what happened and I'm going to get the information from him one way or another."
"How can you know that for sure, though?!"
"Ben," Maguire spat, palming his partner away from the car. "When have I ever been wrong about something like this?"
Benjamin Franks stared intensely into Maguire's eyes, before nodding in surrender. He patted his partner on the shoulder and then began making his way back to the precinct interior. As he marched away, he shouted two words to his partner.
"Good luck."
* * * * *
I was never good with models. Cars just weren't my thing. All I knew is that it was dirt brown, rusted right through and was probably older than both my parents combined. Declan had given it to me as a gift. Although I think it was a gift for him. He'd sit there, laughing his ass off, every time he saw me try to start up the piece of shit. It took ten minutes on a good day! Nevertheless, I didn't have a car of my own. So I had to make do with the old bomb.
As sad as it was, the car I had dubbed 'Bessy' (after that dead cow - it seemed appropriate) was the nicest part of today's activities. I was camped outside the building Declan Prescott lived in, just as I had been everyday for the last two weeks. He was seventeen stories above me, but this was as close as I could get. Security in the building was tight. All three of my attempts to gain entry had ended with a restaurant quality beat down on my ass.
"I GOTTA DELIVER A PIZZA! PIZZA MAKES MAN CHAMP STRONG!!"
"THIS HERE IS OBESE TONIA! THERE'S A LONELY OLD MAN IN ROOM 316 LOOKING FOR A GOOD TIME!"
"Hey buddy... let Skeeny in and a picture of da next Man Champ's doodle is coming YO WAY!"
But I had to keep watch, as best I could. That demented serial killer he called a girlfriend was going to make her move eventually and I had to be ready to step in when she did! I wasn't going to let anyone or anything hurt my mentor!
Then it happened. A slick, black car pulled up on the sidewalk in front of me. A greasy looking man emerged from the vehicle. Then, as bizarre as it sounds, he licked the car. Where the driver's side door met the roof, he ran his gorged tongue along the paint! He wore a slick, navy blue suit and had his hair gelled back, the comb sticking out of his coat pocket. I knew who this lunatic was. I had seen him two weeks earlier at the GIW arena.
Douglas Maguire.
He crossed the street, nearly getting run down twice. It seemed like he expected the cars to move for him. All the same, he made it to his destination and entered the building, with that ridiculously cocky strut of his. Licking his lips, I saw him make his way to the elevator. He was disgusting.
He was on his way to see Declan. I knew it. If that detective had two brain cells to rub together, he'd know it was Cara who committed that murder. But Declan would confess to the crime himself, before allowing any harm to come to that blonde haired beast. Cara knew that. Perhaps that was her plan! Not to kill off Declan, but to send him behind bars. It'd kill two birds with one stone - make everyone think she was inocent and remove Declan from the picture. Hell, she'd be the one to take control of GIW and we'd all be at her mercy. I had to do something!
That detective had the intelligence and the focus to solve this case. So it was up to me to give him a distraction! Something that would take every bit of his attention away from my teacher. It was obvious. The dumb fucker shouldn't have given his weakness away so easily.
It took me twelve minutes of careful key turning, combined with accelerator tapping, but I managed it. Bessy's engine was running - if such a word could be used to describe the inconsistent groaning the motor gargled - and I slammed my foot down full force on the accelerator. Bessy slammed into the back of that overpriced, inanimate object. Both cars were banged up pretty bad. That detective would be reduced to one of two things when he saw the damage that had been done to his beauty - tears or random shootings on the street, induced by homicidal rage. I wanted nothing more than to see which it would be, but I was fully aware it'd be the last thing I ever witnessed. I had to get the hell out of dodge right away.
I pulled Bessy away from the curb and began heading towards the GIW arena. I had a match to prepare for after all and I knew that harlot Christina Adams would be about as useful as that recipe book I gave Tony for his birthday. No, it was all up to Brandon McSkinny.
Just like it always was.
* * * * *
"Ha!" Declan Prescott mused, gazing out from the spacious balcony of his LA apartment.
Cara Costello approached him from his right, slipping both her arms around his. Dressed in only a shirt of Declan's, that barely covered her crotch, she rested her head on his shoulder.
"What's so funny?" she asked in a lazy voice.
"A guy just rear ended the car in front of him, down there," Declan responded, pointing to the incident. "The car that did the damage seems familiar though - "
"Hey Declan" she interrupted, clearly having paid no attention to anything her boyfriend just said. "Who do you think will win the vote?"
"The In Your Hands vote?" he asked, before kissing her on the crown.
"Yuh," she replied, with a giggle.
"Does it matter?"
"Umm..." Cara trailed off and turned her gaze from the view of the city, to Declan. Her large, hazel green eyes, revealed the confusion in her head and it was clear she didn't know the answer to the proposed question.
"They're all just stepping stones on our way back to the top," he replied. "Dylan James... the lust in his eyes disgracing his supposed 'straight edge' philosophy every time he looks at his groupie Christina... I forget which one he's banging... maybe both. He's a punk, nothing more, and while he may have some impressive victories to his name, they pale in comparison to my résumé. Then there's Komosube... he's going to pay for what he did, sooner or later, anyway. I'd enjoy facing off against him, I'll admit. But even if it doesn't happen at In Your Hands, I can wait. I've always been a patient man. And finally... Travis Roberts. A guy who actually chooses to hang out with that deranged penguin. That alone means he's crazy, probably dangerous. He already has a win over Brandon Brown, just as Komosube does, so either of those guys have a fair chance at the Title. But there's no reason for me to face Travis Roberts. He's just..."
Declan trailed off into silence, as he saw Cara was again staring out towards Los Angeles, enjoying the wind, which had just picked up, blowing in her face. She had clearly lost all interest in his monologue, which only made Declan smile. After several moments she turned to Declan, nodding and smiling, as if agreeing with everything he had said. She then frowned and tugged on his shirt sleeve.
"What's up?" he asked.
"But what about Hastings and Deathman?" she asked, with concern. "Leaving them in the ring all alone last week couldn't have - "
"Don't worry about a thing," Declan reassured her, running his left hand gently through her blowing, golden hair. "I was simply protecting the woman I love. I'm sure Hastings can understand that and Deathman... well, if Deathman ever understands my intentions, you should have me committed."
"That's a horrible thing to say!" she barked, her brow furrowed with agitation. "Don't ever say that!"
Declan nodded and wrapped his arms around here, before speaking. "I was only joking, swee - "
His words were cut short once again, this time by a knock at the apartment door. Cara, wide eyed with panic, hurriedly pushed the shirt between her legs. She quickly darted to the bedroom, squealing to Declan not to open the door, until she was out of sight. The Significant Player smirked, before strolling towards the apartment door. Cara locked herself in the bedroom, as Declan peered through the peephole and felt his entire being be overcome with dread.
He took a deep breath in and swung the door open. Standing before him, grinning from ear to ear and sweating profusely, was Douglas Maguire. The same, weasel faced, grease covered detective Declan had been unfortunate enough to encounter a fortnight ago.
"Well hello, Mr. Prescott," the yellow teethed lawman bubbled with false politeness.
Bringing his arm to his side, Declan gestured to the snake to enter. Maguire nodded curtly and strutted into the apartment, with sickening arrogance. He leaned against a nearby case, which was filled to the brim with various wrestling DVDs. Declan remained where he was, closing the door, before folding his arms gruffly.
"What do you want?" The Significant Player spat, with hostility.
"The truth, Mr. Prescott" Maguire retorted, still smiling, but the aroma of casualty now void from his tone. "I just want the truth."
"The truth about what?"
"Ah," the detective said, waggling a finger at Declan and winking. "Already admitting you lied to me about something. I really do have ya nervous, don't I?"
"Why are you sweating so much?" Declan asked, casually raising an eyebrow.
"Seventeen flights of stairs, Mr. Prescott," he replied. "Or is it sixteen? I can never remember if the first floor is level one or ground. Plagued me since I was a child."
"Generally, people take the elevator."
"I played your little game for long enough," Maguire stated, still smiling and masking his annoyance with false happiness. "Don't try to change the subject on me. People who change the subject bug me. Miss Costello. I wanna know when and how that little lady killed that big old bastard on the fifteenth of last month. The truth that is."
"An interesting paradox," Declan mused, his words covered with a much darker tone than his opponent's. "The truth of a matter that never happened. I'd say you're going to be looking for quite a while, detective."
"I suppose you would say that," Maguire nodded, removing himself from the DVD case and standing upright, sinking his hands into his pockets. "But the truth of the matter is that I won't be looking for very much longer. You see, I'm betting after she stole the security tapes, she destroyed them somehow. Then she came here. Probably upset. Hell, even if she tried to hide it, I have no doubt you would have known something was up. That's what a loving boyfriend is for. Ya know, I can just tell when my little sweetie pie - Selena her name is, a complete bombshell - isn't feeling right. It's like a sixth sense? That's what love does to a man, Mr. Prescott."
Declan raised his eyebrow one more and smirked slightly, before speaking. "I thought people who change the subject, bugged you."
"Of course," the detective grinned, again waggling his finger at Declan. "But I do have a point to this, Mr. Prescott. Ya see, I've pegged Miss Costello at killing the poor sucker at around eleven thirty PM. I give her anywhere from thirty-to-sixty minutes to find a remote location and destroy the tapes, then another thirty-to-sixty to get back to her boyfriend's loving arms. So I suspect she arrived home sometime between twelve thirty and one thirty on the sixteenth. Now I'm quite certain that the security surveillance footage of this building would confirm my suspicion and send your lovely little bombshell girlfriend's face between sweaty, testosterone filled, dyke cunt for the rest of her precious li'l life. But, by some misfortune, those tapes have been 'misplaced'. Vanished from the face of the earth, in fact. Now what do you think the chances of the GIW HQ security footage and the footage from the owner's resident building going missing on the same night are? Because my guess is 'pretty fucking low'."
"Jeez," Declan said, rubbing the back of his head and squinting his eyes, as if thinking pointedly. "That puts Cara as your prime suspect. It's really incriminating. Almost makes your case too easy. Like she was being framed or something. Now that sure would make for an interesting media story. 'Cute, young blonde harassed incessantly by maniac detective'."
"DAMMIT PRESCOTT," Maguire roared, slamming his fist down on the kitchen bench, before marching towards Declan and pushing his face only millimetres away from The Significant Player's. His next words were spoken not with shouting, but an incredibly more dangerous hiss. "We both know you're protecting her. But listen to me and listen real fucking well! There is literally a plethora of different routes that murderer could have used to travel between the HQ, wherever she destroyed the tapes and this building. I have the most dedicated men on the face of the earth searching every street surveillance device in Los Angeles! Every security monitor, ever speed camera! All it's gonna take is for me to find one picture! Or a single inconsistency in your bullshit story! Just one fault to leak out of your mouth! One slip-up! Then I'll make sure the both of you ROT for the rest of your days!"
"You'll find it?" Declan inquired. "What happened to all those 'dedicated men' you had on the job?"
"SHE WILL BURN IN PRISON FOR WHAT SHE DID AND WHETHER OR NOT YOU JOIN HER IS SOLELY ON YOUR SHOULDERS!" he roared, before taking several moments to cool down. "Don't throw your life away. You deserve better."
Maguire flashed his stained teeth nastily, before pulling the apartment front door open and slamming it behind him. Yet the thunderous crash of the frame colliding with the wall never came, as The Significant Player caught the soaring wood in his hand.
"Maguire," he said, causing the flustered detective to turn on the spot. "If Cara had committed this crime and if I was lying to protect her, you know why I'd do it?"
The detective spat gruffly onto the hall carpet.
"Hypothetically. of course," Declan continued. "It would be because you asked when she did it. And how she did it. But never why she did it."
Maguire took a step towards the apartment, before Declan slammed the door forcefully in his face. The GIW owner sighed deeply and turned on the spot, leaning his back on the door. Staring back at him was the still near naked Cara Costello, tears swelling in her eyes. She buried her head in his chest, as he wrapped her arms around her tiny, soft frame and reassured her that everything would be fine.
* * * * *
Cara Costello felt the hot, stinging tears push their way from her eyes and roll down her cheeks. With Declan Prescott's arms around her, she felt warm. But she didn't feel safe. He was putting his very life in jeopardy just for her. But how long would he continue to do so? The detective's words, as hateful and horrifying as they were, made sense. Declan had always been a man of logic and reason. He would accept the reality of the situation and give her up. It was the only thing anyone in that position could do.
"Cara," Declan spoke, his words quiet, but not soft. A hardened seriousness edged around them. "What's wrong with you?"
Her entire being went numb. Her limbs began trembling with icy terror. Her throat was clogged with fear and she could barely muster out her pitiful response. "Nothing..."
"I know something's happening to you," he whispered. "And I know you killed that man. But I don't care about what you did or why you did it. I'm going to do everything I can to protect you, no matter what. But to do that, you need to tell me what's happening. Otherwise there's nothing I can do."
Cara shakily pointed her head upwards, seeing Declan's fiery gaze of concern meeting her look of uncontrollable fear. He was speaking the truth. She knew it. This man was throwing away everything he ever believed in and ever respected, al for her.
"I..."
"You can't!"
"I have to tell him. That was always the agreement - 'no secrets between us'. He's always honoured that and now I have to do the same."
"You don't know how he'll react!"
"It doesn't matter! I can't lie to him!"
"Than let me."
