"You're a dumbass." He looked like he wanted to punch me. His face was red and I could tell he had to use every ounce of control he had to stop himself from hurling something at my head. I didn't care, the feeling was mutual. Plus he was a dumbass. I told him seven times I was five hours away visiting family in Westmont so there was no way I could've killed Mayor John Geats. My alibi checked out and this man knew it he just liked harassing me for some annoying reason. "We've been over this. Why can't you get it through your thick skull that I'm not the murderer?" I crossed my arms and stared lazily at the man before me. FBI agent Don Eppes looked like he was seconds away from physically harming me. He clenched the edge of the metal table until his knuckles turned white and a tic was starting in his jaw. I was pissing him off. And it amused me. But the moment I smiled I knew he would place handcuffs on my wrists. Even though I did nothing wrong if I let him know I was finding this whole thing humorous he would go off the edge and I would end up behind bars. Not how I wanted to spend my night.
He shook his head and his hard eyes pierced into mine. I just shrugged and slumped down in the metal chair I had been forced to sit in. You know maybe I should start from the beginning. Maybe that would clear a lot of things up.
My name is Jackie Walters. I am twenty three years old and a model citizen. Well I was until FBI agent Don Eppes decided that I murdered the mayor of Los Angeles. Me, who knew nothing about the mayor didn't know his name, his age, or the fact that he was found black and blue in a room one floor above mine in the apartment building I was currently living in. I was an innocent civilian. So how Agent Eppes decided I was the murderer is beyond me. I mean god I was five hours away when the mayor was murdered. There was no possible way I could've done it. Well another agent, Sinclair I think, suggested I could've hired someone to off him but why the hell would I want him dead? I didn't know the man! I never went out much and I never watched the news. Too depressing. But that didn't matter, what mattered was they believed I was the murderer.
Here's how it went down. I was sitting in my apartment, just got back from my trip to Westmont , my brown hair in a messy bun, wearing slippers, sweats and a tank top, watching Titanic when six men in bulletproof vests came busting in, guns drawn, yelling freeze or they'd shoot. I, being clumsy and easily scared, shrieked and jumped ten feet landing hard on the hardwood floor. They took that as a sign of me trying to escape. I was immediately handcuffed, never even asked if I was OK, and sent to the FBI's interrogation room where I've been bitched at and yelled at for ten hours straight. They at least had the decency to give me coffee. It sucked but it was caffeine.
I sighed and sat up straighter, ignoring the pain in my back, and leaned my elbow on the surface of the table, placing my chin in my hand. I stared at Agent Eppes who was saying something. I don't know I was ignoring it. Probably bitching at me some more.
I tilted my head and frowned. No matter how frustrating this man was, I had to admit he was one attractive son-of-a-bitch. His muscles flexed under his tight black shirt as he spoke with his hands and his ass was amazing. He had to have been at least ten years older than me. But I've always said I like older guys. More mature.
"What the hell are you saying?" I almost fell out of the chair as his voice interrupted my thoughts. I quickly straightened up and stared at Agent Eppes, "What?"
He was smiling. Actually smiling. Looking minutes away from laughing at me. "You were talking about how amazing my ass was."
"Crap." I have this thing where everything I think I'm thinking, I actually am saying out loud. "Uhm… I didn't." Yes denial. Always works for me.
He actually did start to laugh. He placed his hands on the table and leaned close to me. "I heard you. You also said that I was one attractive son-of-a-bitch." His humorous filled eyes pierced into mine. I was frozen under his gaze. But I could slowly feel my face turning red.
"Uh…. I need to go to the bathroom. Too much coffee. Went right through me." I showed him the almost empty coffee cup and his smile widened, like he knew I didn't have to just wanted to stop his questioning. But he did something that surprised me. He nodded, "OK. But I'm putting you in handcuffs so you don't try to escape." Please. I'm wearing slippers. I'm not going anywhere. Plus even if I did try, this is an office filled with huge, muscular FBI agents, I would be tackled so fast my head would spin. I don't feel like having a two hundred pound guy all muscle throw himself on me. I would probably break. "Like I'm really going to run."
He came over to me and pulled me up out of the cold metal chair. "You tried earlier." He placed my hands in front of me and handcuffed them, then pushed me gently out of the interrogation room and into the main office.
"Please. I was not trying to run." I looked over at him and was shocked to see he was unsuccessfully hiding a chuckle. "Wait… You knew I wasn't trying to run didn't you?" I stared at him, seething, as he just smiled wider. "So you tackled me…why?" He pretended not to hear me the bastard and just pushed me towards the restroom, nodding at the agents as we passed them. I just sighed. When we got to the restroom, I held out my handcuffed wrists which Agent Eppes stared at with confusion. I sighed impatiently, "You can't really expect me to go to the bathroom with handcuffs on." He stared at me for another minute before saying, "Alright, but no funny business." He grabbed the key from his back pocket and unlocked my handcuffs. I scrunched my nose, rubbed my raw wrists, then bolted into the bathroom. I locked the door behind me, I didn't trust him, and looked around for a way to escape. I would not last in jail. A small window by the sink caught by eye. Thank you, Lord Jesus.