A/N: Don't own WD. And thanks to my reviewers. All of them :)
Word of advice my lovelies. Pulp fiction, aka, Noir, is usually a very amoral style, in which neither the heroes nor the villains are completely good or completely bad. So, if you think the Governor is the only bad guy in the story or if you are sure Michonne is in the right, you haven't been paying attention. These are very gray antiheroes we are dealing with. Part of the reason why I wanted to make this a noir-fic is because if the ambiguity of these characters themselves in the Walking Dead. Neither character in the series, not even Shane or Philip, are completely bad guys, and that's what makes them such good characters. The fact that they are human.
VII. The Devil Looks after his Own
He's there, sitting on her chair as she enters the office. She stops dead in her tracks, cursing inwardly for having left her revolver in the car.
"Hello, Mrs Johnson."
"Blake." She answers curtly and walks towards the desk. "That's my seat."
"Of course! My apologies." He gets up and holds the chair for her to sit. She just stands there, looking at him.
"What are you doing here?" He's smiling at her, and she wishes she could just punch his face.
"You have nothing to fear. I just want to talk."
"We have nothing to talk about."
"I think we do. Sit down…"
"No." she says curtly. "Please get out of here before I call security."
Philip's smile is gone from his face and now his expression is unreadable.
"Mrs Johnson, you're being ridiculous. Security let me in here. Why would they throw me out?" His voice is dangerously low. "Even if you called for help, who do you think they would believe?" The woman gulps. He's right. He's a white man, she's a black woman. She's got everything to lose in this situation. "Sit down." Reluctantly, Michonne walks towards the chair and sits.
Where is that damned stalker of mine when I need him?
Maybe he's listening. Maybe she's safer than she feels right now.
She doesn't know.
Philip sits in front of her, across the desk, his eyes never leaving hers.
Philip Blake, otherwise known as the Governor: The leading hand behind the actions of the Woodbury gang. He's responsible for at least sixty murders and extortions in the last five years and directly connected to even worse crimes. His people are everywhere and for a while the corrupted judicial system has tried to avoid convicting him.
Not anymore.
They now got him where they want him. And she won't let him escape this time.
"I'm impressed by your determination, Michonne." Her name in his lips sounds like a jab. "I admire that in people, whether they are men or women. Determination can get you far in life. But it can also destroy you." His hands snatch a picture next to him of her and her husband on their wedding day. "Ain't that right?" When he gets no answer, he just keeps on going. "When I started out as a boy I learned that lesson fast. I learned to watch other hotheads make mistakes and to never repeat them. I learned to be careful, and that's something that's kept me alive all these years. What's helped me climb the ladder."
"I know exactly how you climbed the ladder." He smiles.
"Yes, you do, now do you?" She gulps.
Philip is smarter than most gangsters. He got his position and respect at a very young age, when he singlehandedly killed his bosses. He is not easy to fool and not easy to evade.
The more she learns about him, the more she questions whether she can take him down. She's experienced failure before, and the consequences for it were disastrous.
But now that she has nothing to lose, nothing left to protect, she isn't afraid anymore.
"You are a smart woman. You must be if you went through this whole investigation almost completely by your own. Smart people are usually careful. They understand the pragmatism of situations. They… learn from former mistakes." He accentuates those last words.
"Yes. They do." she shoots back.
"Now, you may think you know what you're dealing with. But believe me, you don't." She snorts. "Why is that funny?" No answer. "Exactly what do you think you know about me?"
"I know enough. And soon the court will too."
"You sound so sure; seems like the betrayal of one of your most reliable sources hasn't affected your case at all." She jolts up and stares down at him, her hands balled in fists. "Now, now, my dear; no need to get violent with me. Andrea made her choice. I had nothing to do with it, you can take my word on that."
I won't take your word on anything.
"You're going down."
"Stubborn, are we?" He bites the inside of his mouth, annoyed. "I'll make it easier for you. You want money? No? What about Andrea's safety? Or yours for that matter?" The tension in the room is increasing by the second. "You know me. You know what I'm capable of. You're risking too much, Mrs Johnson. It is simple. Drop the case, say you're frightened, say you're pregnant, whatever helps. And I'll leave you alone."
"You can't scare me." She leans on the desk, just a few centimetres from his face. "You're going down, Philip. That's final. Now, get out of my office."
She straightens up and walks around the desk towards the door. But before she can reach it a hand grabs her arm. She bats it off and takes her knife out, pointing it at his face. His hand hits hers with so much force the knife goes flying. Her wrist is firmly grasped between his fingers and he comes very close to her face.
"Listen here, honey, I'm giving you a chance to walk out of this unharmed. It's something I don't give to everyone. And it's mostly because I like the way that ass of yours moves when you walk."
"You filthy pig." He laughs.
"One of the many you've encountered, slut. What? You expect me to believe a woman, a nigger, got this position in the court without sleeping around? Would you like me to ask mister Grimes?" He rejoices in her shocked expression. "Yes, babe, I know all there is to know about you. Andrea tells me wonders in bed. All women are the same: Prostitutes for favours. But I won't let a jezebel like you take me down, you understand?"
A slap lands on his cheek, making him turn his head. He takes a deep breath and for a few seconds the time around them seems to slow down.
Then it comes back, full force, as his hand connects with her left cheek, throwing her against the desk. She tries to get up, only to have him pin her helplessly against the wood. One hand closes firmly around her throat while the other holds her hands together. She can't move.
"Last night was just a warning by the way. You think that hick of yours can protect you from me? You are wrong. Not even Grimes himself will be able to protect you from me. From what I plan on doing to you."
He presses himself against her, between her legs, and she wants to gag. Her left cheek is burning and her eyes are starting to water. After moments that seem like an eternity, he finally gets off her, and she slides to the floor.
"That's right. Cry, little bitch. That's nothing compared to what might happen if you don't leave me the hell alone." His hands straighten his now messed up hair and clean the blood off his lip. "And you hit like a little girl."
-o-
Two men stop him as he makes his way to the door. Very big men in tailored suits that don't fit them at all.
The Governor's men.
"Where ya goin pal?"
"Let me through."
"The babe in the office's busy."
"I'd like to see fer myself." He tries to move forward but the second man pushes him back violently.
"Didn' ya hear? She's busy."
Daryl takes a step forward, reaching under his coat, and both men do the same. At that moment the door behind them swings open and a man walks out. He has a messed up appearance, like he's just walked away from a fight.
"Leave him be. Let's go." Both men follow their leader like obedient dogs.
The Governor ignores Daryl's icy glare following him.
He storms inside the room, guessing the worst, only to find the woman lying on the floor, cleaning her tears with the back of her hand. A mix of relief and dread washes over him.
I should've gotten here sooner.
What could he have done anyways? Get shot? Get his ass kicked? Dealing with Gangsters is not like having a bar-fight.
He walks towards her and helps her get up. She eyes him up and down, but doesn't push him away.
"I'm fine. He just wanted to scare me." She says, dismissive.
His hand flies to her chin, turning her head towards hers so that he can see. Her cheek is starting to darken.
He hit her. That son of a bitch.
"He did more than scare ya. Did he hurt'ya somewhere else?" She shakes her head. "I'll take ya home."
"No, leave it. I'm fine and I got work to do." She scurries away from him and sits on the chair. He eyes her doubfully, not wanting to leave her alone.
He feels if he does she might get attacked again.
After a moment of holding her head between her hands she turns to him.
"You have a cigarrette?" She asks him. He schuffles through his pocket, searching for his case, takes it out and takes a cigarette he himself lightens and gives her. She takes it. "I'm ok now. They won't come back. You can leave."
She wants him away from her.
Self preservation or just natural disdain for him? He guesses it's a little bit of both. After a moment of unmoving silence, he finally walks out and closes the door to her office, giving her the pricacy she needs.
Everybody Wants to Rule the World - Lorde
