I was free again. Now, accompanied by my loved ones, I headed out of the police station.
There was an unexpected stop, which was supposed to be a short conversation between my mother and the mayor.
The walls were beige and glistening. I leaned against one.
While my older brother looked from the moment she kissed me angrily in his presence, and I didn't understand why.
"I'm glad we can finally be together again." I heard voice of my love- Aviva. She clung to me almost as if we were cuddling together in bed. Then she hugged me and kissed my cheek. I blushed.
I looked into her eyes, holding her hand and said; "I'm also glad I can be with you again. You don't even know how much I missed you."
We began to kiss in love on mouths, but it wasn't too long. Martin knocked on my shoulder.
"Hey you two, I don't think this is the right place."
I turned to look into his face and answered. She was still with me watching what happened next.
"And why not? They just let off me, I have a right to this."
"That's the problem. Those policemen passing by still see you a criminal they'd like to get back behind the bars."
"Martin, what is it that you suddenly dig into me?" I asked and Aviva at that moment stopped be pressed against my chest and retreated with a little tense.
I was looking into my older brother's face. He was silent.
"So leave me alone now, it's my life not yours." I said, and a little angry and tired I marched away.
"Chris, where are you going?" Jimmy asked but my reply was "Leave me alone for now."
I walked down the hall with my hands in my pockets. I heard Aviva's reaction to Martin's behavior from behind, why he started digging at me during our little act of love. I acted as if I did not hear it.
I walked for a while with my hands in my pockets, then turned back. Before I could recover, I hit the mayor.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean this." I said, when the politician, who saved me before another time in prison looked at me.
"It's alright. Also, my accountant sometimes crashes into me when he temporarily plays the prosecutor."
I was trying to think of something to get out of this conversation with the mayor. It was too late and I was looking forward to everyone afterwards.
It was supposed to be a Sunday unless I was mistaken, but during my troubles I stopped seeing the date. I was silent for a while, but then I had an idea that made me find out more about Bishop while killing time before my girlfriend and my brother calm down.
"Could I please have a look at the evidence concerning my rival?"
The mayor looked at me thoughtfully, and it took a moment to reply; "Yes, you can, but only for five minutes, you university hero."
Finally, he asked for help from one of the local police officers who worked here, and eventually led me and the mayor into a warehouse where the shelves were all white with a black marker pen. Lights were up above.
"So here's the evidence from Karynski's personal belongings. His chemical production and weapons is still on forensic."
The mayor pointed to one particular box, and I carefully lifted it down, and I looked at the things inside on the table that was by the wall in this row.
There was a glove I didn't even know she had, a whip he tortured me and, to my surprise, about eleven flash drives. It was written on one of them Dark Web Bussines and from what it looked like, there were certainly Bishop's personal information, passwords, mails, nicknames and so on, and maybe something about IT and the economy and business.
They were all in the same closable plastic bag, and when the mayor wasn't looking at it, I opened it inconspicuously and, using my sleeve, grabbed that particular flash and kept it in my pocket.
I closed it again and put the bag of flashes back in their place in the box.
The mayor turned on me at that moment; "Are you finished, kid?"
"Y-yes, I'm." I said when I turned back at the mayor.
After I put the box back in its place and the mayor of the city officially left, I went back to my loved ones.
"Where you were?"
When I came back to my surprise Aviva didn't ask me but my mom.
"Just do something. Shall we go home?"
While my love for me came again, Martin just grinned and waved his head to the left and right as if to say "I know you did something suspicious brother."
After saying goodbye to my friends with love, I found myself in my room again.
It was dark outside and I was sitting in my room, still dressed in the flows I stole from the gas station.
The school is supposed to start for me again next Tuesday, so I can recover a little afterwards.
It was dark in my room, I was sitting in the dark, but the moon shining through the window to my room made sure I wasn't in complete darkness. I took the flash from my pocket and looked at it, while it was on my left palm.
Then I got an idea that made me steal the flash from the evidence on my good old college rival on the run Bishop.
I came to my computer, which was on the desk on the other (left) side of my room, and turned it on.
I signed up and plugged the flash. A window with a lot of compromising information popped up on my monitor. Bishop kept his login information there, and even in addition to the described illegal business outside college, there was instructions on how to access the Dark Web.
I turned on the search engine and switched my account to incognito mode and tried.
Suddenly, the page shortcuts for some reason changed from us to onion, and for a moment I thought this was going to be a bad joke. I reconsidered when a black background page appeared in front of me with links to other pages whose link was in the title. I clicked on the first one and sipped an energy drink from a straw, whose can had stood unopened on a computer desk until then.
A page of a drug store suddenly popped up in the full-screen settings window. I clicked back to the data on Bishop's flash drive and logged in there under his name.
There was a fresh message in the post office from one of the administrators of this illegal business. I did not wait and started chatting with the drug dealer under Bishop's name.
I guess she was a woman in that site because she had a nickname there Passion can kill you 2009. Bishop's nickname here was PolishMaster.
The chat looked like this, but for your imagination, the site had a beige background and red boxes to sign in and view messages in both mail and live chat.
Passion can kill you 2009: Bishop, it's me, Shannon. Where did you stay with your last dose of drugs that you had your attitude until Sunday? Because Sunday is already and our customers, drug cartels somewhere in Mexico and those junkies in depression will be angry.
It was 10 minutes old message and I started writing on my keyboard reply. Then I have send it.
PolishMaster: Somehow I delayed with the troublemaker who tried not only to destroy my paradise of love and passion, but also my college drug making. The police almost closed it for me.
After three minutes the answer came.
Passion can kill you 2009: I'm glad you got out of it. You're one of the few people here who studied high school chemistry with a focus on pharmaceutical substances, so you're familiar with those medicines.
My reply was with this new thing about Bishop:
PolishMaster: I've always done a job, a job and a short job with firm Honeywell before I went to college in Falcon City. I was a chemist in pharmacy.
Honeywell attacked me, because in local vocational high schools, according to what I saw and heard, they often have chemists practice. Even the college students. But after two minutes an answer came that changed my view of my rival.
Passion can kill you 2009: I love you Bishop.
After this, while I was looking at the monitor of my computer I only swallowed and I keep continuing playing on the Bishop, so my reply with the girl I absolutely don't know was:
PolishMaster: I love you too Shannon.
The girl then changed the subject and continued.
Passion can kill you 2009: You'll have to go to one site and settle the billing. It's about the local gun dealers here in the city and they offered you your armed gang with weapons they don't have in the grocery stores when you do what they want.
So I replied:
PolishMaster: What they want from me?
Her reply was:
Passion can kill you 2009: They want to take advantage of the fact that you are from Poland and that your father managed to fight with the local secret police and the German Stasi during the Cold War as he tried to get to America. They still believes your family knows something about their Russian competitors
I swallowed, but I continued in chat.
PolishMaster: Oh my.. and what they want from me?
After a few seconds the reply was there.
Passion can kill you 2009: Discard one branch of their Russian competitors and then you can charge. They doesn't know what you look like yet.
I swallowed again and I replied.
PolishMaster: And when and where?
She replied.
Passion can kill you 2009: Set up a Dark Web account on their online store here and I'll make sure they send you the information. I look forward to our next meeting.
Before I could reply, Bishop's girlfriend sent me a link to that page. And before I could reply again she wrote another message saying:
Passion can kill you 2009: You have everything there, love, just don't let the Russians kill you.
I swallowed again, but then I decided to reply as if I was Bishop himself again.
PolishMaster: Don't worry, Shannon, if I managed to kill the psychopathic troublemaker, I can do this.
She then replied:
Passion can kill you 2009: I don't know if your men can handle them. We are all 18, but they are around 30 and 40 are damn armed.
I replied:
PolishMaster: I can do it, trust me. I can make explosives out of what I have in my dorm, don't worry.
She replied:
Passion can kill you 2009: You seem calm to me.
I replied:
PolishMaster: Believe me.
Her reply was:
Passion can kill you 2009: Ok.
And yes, the conversation ended and I was thinking what I should do next, because I was tired and I felt tension.
I went to the page with the weapons she sent me and did what she wanted.
I logged out, got away from Dark Web, erased history (for sure, though it didn't show up there) and shut down the computer.
I pulled the flash drive out of my computer and hid it in the closet in one of the pockets of one of my jackets and sweatshirts.