The motel Charlie picked was indeed a sleazy one, not that he could afford much more with the cash he was given by O'Leary, not if he wanted it to last more than a few days. Charlie suspected that was O'Leary's plan all along and he resigned himself to a possible bed bug infestation.
As long as he could pull this case through and come out alive and successful in the end, Charlie supposed some bug bites were worth it. Of course he was quite aware that if he managed to capture the dirty cops' attention, he would have to deal with much worse.
Right now though he just wished he could burn the bed and the room he was currently residing in. He had arrived to the town of Leighton three days ago, early morning. The eleven hour ride in the bus wasn't the most comfortable one, but he didn't complain. One look into the mirror told him the circles under his eyes would work in his favour. O'Leary told him to look haggard after all.
When Charlie arrived to Leighton, his first steps led to the motel in the poorer looking part of the town. After he hassled a bit about the price of the room and booked it for a week, his next steps led to a payphone. The card with his contact's number felt like burning a hole in his pocket his whole way there. For some reason he had the nagging worry that he would lose the number or that the person on the other side simply wouldn't pick up.
Those worries though were unfounded as a male voice sounded before the third ring finished.
"Yes?" the man didn't introduce himself and Charlie wasn't planning on blurting out his name either. Not the real one at least.
"Uh... I've got your number from a friend. He told me you were expecting a call..."
"Are you in town?"
"Yes... I just arrived."
"Good. Have you already found an accommodation?"
The voice didn't seem to be one for niceties, but Charlie was alright with that. It was obvious the man didn't want to waste time with chatting over the phone. Though Charlie was a bit leery about giving his current address. On the other hand... this was supposed to be his contact. If he couldn't trust the man, there was hardly anything he could do there. O'Leary didn't provide him enough information to carry on by himself.
So Charlie told the stranger his address and room number.
"Good. Be there at noon. I'll stop by during lunch."
Not waiting for an answer the man hung up. Charlie looked at the phone with a frown then left the booth. Wondering what fresh hell did he get himself into.
He fought back the urge to call Blake or Lawson, just to hear a familiar voice. To have a chance to explain his possible future absence. But O'Leary's warning was still fresh in his mind and it would be foolish to jeopardize the operation before it even started. So Charlie looked at his watch and decided to use the next two hours to walk around the town and make himself at least a bit familiar with the streets.
When noon came he found himself sitting nervously in his room, checking his watch every other minute.
Two minutes before the clock turned to twelve there was a knock on his door.
Swallowing down his nervousness, Charlie walked towards the door. He squared his shoulders, took in a deep calming breath and opened the door.
He wasn't really expecting to see a clean shaven man with slick, light brown hair and a friendly smile... but that is what he got.
"Mind if I come in?" the man said, casting a look at the empty corridor.
Charlie blinked, then with a shake of his head opened the door further, allowing entrance.
"Not to be rude, but... who are you?" Charlie asked once the door was closed and he faced the stranger.
"Not at all. I'm senior sergeant Gary Johnson." The man reached out and Charlie shook his hand.
"I'm Charlie... Morris," he said, hesitating. He had no plans of sharing his actual name with anyone in this town until absolutely needed. At least the alias O'Leary picked for him was also a Charlie, so there was less of a chance for a slip up.
"You're not in your uniform," Charlie pointed out, feeling just a tad suspicious. After all, how was he to know this was really his contact?
Johnson laughed.
"No, I'm not. Actually this is my day off, which is fortunate. Otherwise we would've had to wait until tonight and that would just cost us precious time."
While that made sense, Charlie still needed some proof.
"How can I be sure you're the one I was supposed to meet?" he asked, aware that the phone could've been picked up by someone else.
Johnson inclined his head, then nodded.
"True. I suppose O'Leary wasn't too open about information. The man can be a right secretive ass if he wants to."
Charlie felt some of his apprehension leave. Especially seeing that Johnson also didn't seem very fond of the man.
"Yeah, that he is. Uh... do you want to sit down, sergeant Johnson?" Charlie asked, pointing towards the rickety looking chairs. Johnson cast a doubtful look at them, then at the sturdier looking bed.
"Trust me... you don't want to sit on that," Charlie muttered and Johnson chuckled, following him to the chairs.
"Right. You know, for someone who isn't familiar with this town, you did manage to pick up one of the worse motels there are. And please... call me Gary. I'd rather... we keep job titles out of this conversation."
Charlie nodded. That was fine with him. As long as he would finally get to know everything he needed to proceed with this case.
"So... can you fill me in? The files I read were rather lacking in details and O'Leary... well. He didn't offer up much info either."
Johnson nodded, pulling an envelope from his pocket and handing it to Charlie. Charlie took it, frowning a bit as he saw the only thing inside were several newspaper clippings and a copy of a photo. He quickly ran his eyes over the clippings, not finding anything interesting about the articles. Only thing standing out were the photos. One was of some kind of ceremony with several cops receiving an award, the other was of an opening of a new wing at the local hospital. One of the faces in the background was circled.
"Who are these people?"
"Those are the guys that plague this town." Johnson pointed to the photo taken at the hospital. "That is sergeant Richard Graves. His father is a rich businessman who owns this town's biggest factory, and who is also a gracious sponsor of the hospital."
Charlie grimaced. He knew from O'Leary that the cops he was sent to catch had power, but he didn't know they would have so much influence in the town. As Johnson continued talking, Charlie realised he might've gotten himself into a more dangerous situation than he predicted.
"This one is sergeant Kenneth Barnes. The photo is from when he received an award along with several of his colleagues for rushing into a burning building and rescuing several workers. It would be rather laudable, if not for the fact it was most likely him and his cronies who set fire to the building in the first place."
Charlie's eyes went wide at that.
"What? Why?"
Johnson shrugged.
"It was a new business that was a rival to the Graves factories. It is best to nip the competition in the bud before it manages to grow, at least that is the philosophy of the Graves family."
"Let me guess. This third one... is the son of the mayor?" Charlie said only half joking. The smile fell from his lips however when Johnson didn't even smile.
"Douglas Rigby. He's actually the mayor's son in law. Not that well liked in the family, but... still family."
Charlie blinked. Well... it was no wonder they couldn't get rid of those three. He just wondered what were his own chances at succeeding under these circumstances.
Johnson must've seen the rising doubt.
"I know. It looks more than one person could handle. Believe me... I know."
"I don't understand why they sent me," Charlie admitted. "Wouldn't someone from the inside be a better choice? What about you? You seem to know the situation pretty well."
Johnson shook his head, a grimace on his face.
"Actually, when I was sent here two years ago that was the plan. Me getting close to those three, become a part of their group and get some evidence that couldn't be disputed. But... they never let anyone from the station get close. They don't need a fourth in their midst. Not enough to get something on them anyway."
Charlie felt his stomach churn. How the hell was he supposed to achieve more than a cop who worked with them for two years now?
Johnson shook his head, as if reading his mind.
"It's different with you. They don't know you're a cop... can't know that. And it took us a few years but we finally have enough knowledge to figure out how they operate. All we need now is to catch them in the act."
"A fight ring... that might be illegal, but with the connections they have, it would be nothing more than a slap on the hand," Charlie protested.
"It will be more if there are weapons involved. We just... need to catch them during one of the... special fights."
Charlie frowned. He knew Johnson meant a death match. O'Leary had hinted at that and Charlie wasn't so naive as to think betting on a couple of guys in a fist fight would be enough to put the dirty cops behind the bars. Blood was spilled and there was a pretty big chance it will be spilled again.
"Look, if you have any doubts about this Charlie... you better return home. This is no game and I would hate to see you get hurt," Johnson said calmly. It was clear he was desperate for some help, but he also knew the risks.
He was giving Charlie an out.
Charlie appreciated it... but that was hardly an option now. He had made his choice back in Sydney and he felt like turning on it now would mean betraying himself. It would be like a scared dog slinking home with the tail between its legs, back to the safety and normalcy.
Charlie didn't want that. Or rather... he wanted something more. To prove himself and to his father that he chose the right career path. That he was capable of handling things even without Blake and his friends.
"It would be a waste of time to turn back now. I want to help. So tell me... how should I go about this?"
Johnson gave him a hard look, then seeing the determination in Charlie's eyes, nodded.
"There's a pub down on Parkland street..."
Three days.
Charlie had been frequenting the pub for the last three days, nursing his beer and playing pool, letting the smell of cigarette smoke and cheap booze permeate his skin and clothes. He haven't shaved for almost a week now and there were shadows under his eyes, supporting the role of a downtrodden traveller he was playing.
He didn't even have to work for the look. Sleeping in that blasted hotel was all but impossible. Charlie swore there were bed bugs crawling over him at night, though every time he turned on the light and looked he couldn't see a thing. But if it wasn't the feeling of creepy crawlies running over his skin, it was the sounds coming from the street or the neighbouring rooms that kept him up at night. Sounds of too loud beds, moans and curses. Fights and screaming that made him want to go out into the hall and lock up everyone who even beeped in the middle of the night. But he couldn't do that. He wasn't here as Charlie Davis after all. He wasn't a cop.
Just another low life, minding his own business.
Third night... sitting at the bar, drinking a beer. Watching... waiting. For someone familiar to appear.
Charlie had memorized the faces of all three cops before Johnson took the file with him.
'If you catch their eye, they will search your room. Don't leave them any hint of doubt,' Johnson warned him.
Charlie nodded and took the advice to heart. He had already left all his documents or trinkets that could link him to Charlie Davis back in Sydney. Even the keys to Blake's house.
"Fancy playing a game?"
Charlie looked up from his beer. A guy a few years his junior but possibly a few beers heavier was standing next to him with a cue in his hand and a questioning look.
Charlie blinked.
"What?"
"We need a fourth for the game. You in?"
Charlie looked around, making sure his targets weren't there. It was Friday night but the pub was barely half full. It was still fuller than the previous two days. Charlie glanced at his watch and noted he still had three or four more hours to kill until he would give up and return back to the hotel.
"Why not," he muttered, grabbing his beer and following the man to the pool table. There were two more guys but they didn't look like much of a competition. One of them was already waving slightly and Charlie expected him to be asleep on the chair before they even finish the first game.
"So... whose turn it is?" he asked as he put the chalk on the tip of the cue.
Two games later, Charlie had one win and one loss on his count. They were about to start a third game, when Charlie noted a few newcomers entering the pub. He cast one look at the two men, then did a double take.
The lighting in the pub wasn't good, but he was pretty sure it was Kenneth Barnes and Douglas Rigby strutting towards the bar as if the pub belonged to them.
Charlie took a sip of his stale beer, hoping to calm his suddenly wildly beating heart. This was it. His chance to get their attention. Now all he needed was a fight... possibly one he could win.
Charlie looked at his three co players. One was already drunk enough to topple at the smallest touch. The other two guys were still pretty much sober, or at least holding their own, but Charlie saw the beer pouch adorning one and the slight frame of the other. They might pack a punch... but it shouldn't be anything he couldn't handle.
"Say guys... anyone would like to make this more interesting?" Charlie spoke up as Steve, the man who called him into the game was setting up the table.
"Watcha mean, mate?"
Charlie patted his pocket with his wallet and raised an eyebrow.
"How much?"
Charlie smiled. He pulled out a bill and put it on the table, out of sight of the two cops.
"You in?"
Steve smirked.
Charlie didn't think it would be so hard to start a fight. Truly... it took him three more games to get to the point where two of the guys had opted out in lieu of just watching, while Steve was frowning as Charlie drove the last ball into the hole. Charlie smirked and grabbed the wad of cash, scrunching it up in his pocket. Three games and he won all of them, not even trying to pretend any more that he was balls at the game.
He supposed having no real hobbies at the academy and spending his free nights playing pool with a couple of guys was time well spent. Or maybe Steve and the others had been just a tad more drunk than him.
Charlie didn't ponder it. He also didn't much care for the money. Steve wasn't a bad guy and while Charlie didn't really talk with the other two, he had a feeling they were just normal blokes trying to chill after a week of hard work.
He would have rather left them well alone, but... he wasn't there to chill and he couldn't afford to wait another week for his targets to return. As it was, Kenneth and Douglas were on their third beer already and starting with shots. Charlie was keeping an eye on them, expecting the third one to appear as well, but no luck with that. He shrugged. Johnson didn't say which one of them chose their fighters, but he knew that Douglas was the brains of the operation.
With that said though... Charlie needed to make his move. Before the men decided to leave.
With a sigh and a silent prayer, Charlie steeled for what was to come.
He knew that Steve was low on money. The man had bemoaned the fact for the last hour. Which was also the reason he was so willing to play against Charlie for money. Charlie had made sure his first few games looked more like good luck than skill, a few times even missing the ball whatsoever on purpose. So it was understandable Steve was more than a bit peeved when he won three times in a row without breaking a sweat.
He was even more peeved when Charlie grabbed the cash, downed the rest of his beer and nodded at him.
"Well, it was nice to play with you, mate. I'm afraid I need to be on my way now though."
Charlie nodded a farewell to the other two, who didn't appear to be paying much attention anymore.
"What?" Steve froze, the frown on his face deepening. "Are you bloody serious?"
Charlie wasn't, but the man didn't need to know that.
"Yeah. I've had enough of drink and company. Time to head home."
Steve shook his head.
"No way in hell. I want another game."
Charlie paused.
"Look, mate. I don't really feel like playing anymore."
"Too bad. I don't feel like letting you walk away with my money... mate."
Steve stepped closer to Charlie, the pool cue's end slamming loudly against the floor. One of his drunkard friends raised his head and looked at them, but Charlie didn't care. He caught movement in the side of his vision... Kenneth was looking his way, obviously attracted by the raised voice.
Charlie's normal instinct would be to try and settle the situation. Smile, raise his hands in an unthreatening manner and try to calm down the offender. Or use his police rank to get some respect.
He couldn't use any of it now. What was more, he had to actively work against this instinct and do the exact opposite. For the second he was actually glad for the two beers he managed to drink.
"I won that money fair and square," Charlie said and held himself straight, his face the same look of arrogance that his younger brother used on him for the last few years. Based on the tensing of Steve's jaw line and the low growl coming from him, it was a success.
"The hell you did! You could barely hit the ball on your first game!"
Charlie shrugged.
"I'm a fast learner." Another smirk and he turned to leave.
A hand grabbed his shoulder, squeezing hard and spinning him around.
"You're a cheater, that's what you are!" Steve spat at him, and Charlie didn't even try to convince him otherwise. He just shrugged, pulling his arm out of Steve's grip.
"So? What are you gonna do about it?"
The fist that landed on his right cheek was expected.
It hurt nevertheless.
Charlie grunted and went with the blow. He stepped back, one hand reaching up to his face, to check for blood. There was none, though he was sure his face would bruise.
Steve was glaring at him and his other two companions stood up. Charlie looked around the pub, making sure that Kenneth and Douglas were still around and he wasn't causing commotion for nothing. He saw that both men had turned around on their bar stools, watching the scene with smirks on their faces. Enjoying the show.
Charlie saw the bar keeper looked only mildly annoyed and none of the other customers seemed to be interested in partaking the possible fight or stopping it.
Just the scene he wanted.
With a nod and his own jaw clenching, Charlie looked Steve straight in the eyes.
"You punch like a girl," he said and smiled.
Steve let out an angry shout and his fist flew again. This time however, Charlie ducked then charged himself.
His fist caught Steve in the solar plexus and as the man gasped for breath, bending over, Charlie used one of Hobart's favourite moves. He grabbed Steve by the shoulders and pushed down, driving him right onto his raised knee. Charlie heard a nose cracking then Steve slid down to the floor, only half conscious.
Charlie felt bad, but there was nothing for it. Instead of kneeling down and checking on the man's condition, trying to render help, he stepped back and looked up. Just in time to see Steve's two friends charging at him. One was wielding an empty beer glass, the other only had his fists.
Charlie cursed as he caught another punch in the face, this one driving him to his knees. His vision swam for a moment, but he could still see two pair of boots approaching him. This was no time to rest. He raised his head just as he saw the beer bottle heading his way.
He reacted on instinct, throwing himself to the side, straight at the feet of the other attacker. Charlie didn't know where was up or down, but he felt a weight crash into him as the man stumbled and fell.
It got him a precious moment to get his bearing. Charlie saw movement, heard raised voices approaching, but he tuned it all out. Right now all he knew was he had to win this fight. At any cost. Because there was no way in hell he was going to repeat this whole charade again.
Charlie struggled back up to his feet, ignoring the pained grunt he heard as his elbow leaned into something soft and yielding on his way up.
His vision was still blurred and the bad lightning and cigarette smoke didn't help any. But he did see something long and pointy headed his way. Once again, he rolled to the side, only hearing wood hitting floor with a smack and a set of curses following.
He was starting to think that maybe he did overestimate his own strength, or rather he underestimated the rage and persistence of the three drunks. Gritting his teeth, Charlie once again tried to get back to his feet when luck seemed to turn his way. He reached up to use the pool table to pull himself up, when he felt the pool cue. His fingers curled around it and he yielded it almost as a sword when the third man from the party swished his own cue at him.
Starkly reminded of one of the lessons Hobart gave him about using whatever you could get your hands on, Charlie swished his cue. Wood hit wood, once... twice. On the third encounter, Charlie could feel the cue of his attacker give a bit. He saw the man's hands trembling.
Resolved to finish this fight, Charlie pushed forward, feeling the cue give and clatter to the floor. His opponent wasn't about to give up just yet though. He spat and cursed and punched.
The amount of alcohol consumed though gave Charlie all the advantage he needed. He sidestepped the punch and used the man's momentum to get behind his back. He dropped his own cue in lieu of getting the man into a proper chokehold. Then... he pulled his arm closer to his chest and waited.
It didn't take more than a minute. As soon as Charlie felt the man's weight growing heavy and his body going limp, he eased up his hold. No sense in letting the man break his own neck.
The fight was over.
Charlie took a deep breath and looked around.
All he could hear was his own rattling breath and the moaning coming from the three fallen men.
No one else moved.
Charlie felt stupidly exhilarated but at the same time horrified. He had just attacked three men. Caused multiple injuries.
All three were alive though, that much he saw. Steve was already coming to his senses, spitting blood and cursing. Charlie's left hand twitched, the right one curled into a fist.
What now? Was he supposed to run? Should he stick around?
He wasn't sure what was the smartest move. Were the cops even there or had they left? How come no one tried to intervene?
All these questions rushed through his mind. Before he could make head or heel of them though, two hands grabbed his shoulders, squeezing tight.
Charlie's eyes widened and he looked at his would be attackers.
Kenneth and Douglas.
His body tensed instinctively, still pruned for fight.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Kenneth warned him in a low voice.
"You can come with us on your own... or we will lead you out in handcuffs, mate," Douglas said, pointedly looking at the bar keep who was holding a cricket bat and glaring at Charlie.
Charlie swallowed, the fight going out of his body.
"Hey, this wasn't my fault," he protested feebly as he felt the hands squeeze tighter around his arms, leaving bruises.
"We can talk about it outside," Kenneth said with a snort.
Outside of course meant the back exit and an empty alley. Before Charlie could protest he was slammed face first against the wall of the building, his arms painfully twisted behind his back.
He let out a pained grunt, his whole body throbbing at the contact. One of the man was holding his wrists at such a position he couldn't have moved even if he wanted without risking dislocating his shoulders. The other started patting him down.
Charlie grimaced as he felt a hand sneak into his pockets. The wad of cash was of course gone, followed by his wallet and the motel key. He heard the rustle and turned his head as much as he could to see what was going on.
It had to be Kenneth restraining him, because Douglas was busy going through his wallet and studying his ID.
"Charles Morris, from South Wales, Georgia. A little bit far from home, aren't you?"
"Hey, that's mine!" Charlie protested and tried to turn around, even though he felt a painful twitch in his shoulders. Kenneth wasn't giving him an inch to move. On the contrary, he seemed to push a bit more.
Charlie yelped in pain and stilled.
He heard a snort, then a rustle. Someone's hand sneaked into his jacket pocket which had already been emptied... only to come out with something.
"Now now, what do we have here?" Douglas said and without warning, Kenneth had spun Charlie around, slamming his back against the wall.
Charlie blinked, grimacing as his hands fell down to his side and his shoulders gave a cry of relief. Kenneth's palm was resting on his chest, a quiet warning that if he made a wrong move he would be delivered a quick punch to the solar.
Douglas though was wearing a smirk on his face, his hand dangling a small pouch filled with white pills.
Charlie frowned in confusion, then his eyes went wide.
"That's not mine!" he protested.
Kenneth snorted.
"They are all saying that, Doug. Isn't that strange?"
Douglas sighed, as if this whole thing was rather exhausting.
"And they are always lying," he said. "Care to explain these, Mr. Morris?"
"They aren't mine!" Charlie hissed through gritted teeth and moved forward, one hand showing away the hand on his chest. It was a foolish move. Charlie barely even made a step forward when the same hand slammed back onto his solar plexus, driving the air out of his lungs.
Charlie bent forward, coughing and spluttering, even as someone had been well meaningly tapping on his back.
"Now now, I warned you, didn't I?" Kenneth spoke only inches from his head. Charlie winced, unable to find the breath to reply. He spat on the floor instead, as much to get rid himself of the foul taste in his mouth as in reaction to the words .
Kenneth didn't seem to take it personally though. He chuckled, giving one more clap to Charlie's back, almost driving him to the ground. It was only Douglas grabbing his shoulder in a tight grip that kept Charlie on his feet at this point.
"I think Mr. Morris here has had enough for the night. Why don't you help him to the car, sergeant Barnes? I'm sure a night in a cell will help stir his memory... and make him a bit more cooperative."
"With pleasure," Kenneth answered and as Charlie's chest finally stopped seizing and he got his first proper breath, he felt a pair of handcuffs lock around his wrists. Soon after he found himself being manhandled towards a police car. He blinked again, wondering just how useless or corrupted was the local police chief, if he let his people ride the police cars off duty while getting drunk.
He kept putting up a token of protests, going as far as to call Kenneth a dirty pig when he kicked the back of Charlie's knee to get him into the back of the car faster. All Charlie got for his trouble was a chuckle and a door slamming heavily, missing his foot only by a hair.
Once inside the car, Charlie felt the adrenaline and the fight leave his system. All of a sudden he realized just how claustrophobic the back of a police car could be. He had never driven in the back, not handcuffed and at the mercy of two dirty cops. Out of reach of people he could trust.
The weight of his decision to take this case just hit him full on. He made the first step... got himself noticed. But... he was also trapped and pretty much unable to protect himself. He couldn't hide behind the badge anymore.
His chest felt heavy, but it had nothing to do with the bruises. Kenneth and Douglas were giving him contemplating looks in the rear-view mirror and Charlie swallowed. He had to push back the doubt and fear that seemed to course through his body. This was all part of the plan. He was doing what Johnson told him... what O'Leary expected. He was on the right track.
A few bruises and a ride in the cop car should not make him a freak out.
Charlie's hands curled into fists and he got a look of determination on his face. When he saw Douglas eyeing him, he gave him a glare. The only response he got was a chuckle. The bastard was enjoying this.
"I didn't do anything," Charlie spoke gruffly, surprised at hearing his own hoarse voice. He blamed the cigarette smoke in the pub for that, not the tightness of his throat.
"At the very least, you caused a fight at the pub," Kenneth pointed out.
"I didn't throw the first punch."
Kenneth shrugged, the conversation obviously over.
"You can't lock me up," Charlie kept on. He wasn't sure what he expected, definitely not the car coming to a stop and the two men just letting him walk away with a pat on his shoulder. The night at the cell was quite a fair punishment. If it weren't for the bag of pills Douglas had planted in his pocket.
"We can and we will. You started a fight. You had a bag of unknown substance on you. And if you don't shut up this instance, I will add an attack on a police officer. With any luck, you might make it out of jail before you turn fifty."
"Any other comments, Mr. Morris?" Douglas asked with a face that said Charlie should definitely think about it.
Charlie clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together.
"I want to talk to a lawyer," he muttered.
To which both Kenneth and Douglas shared a look, then chuckled.
"A little bit of advice, Chuckles," Douglas spoke, turning towards Charlie, who winced at the nickname. "It's Friday night. In this town, lawyers don't work during the weekend. So if I were you..." Douglas's face turned stony, "I'd shut up and make sure I would be alive come Monday."
Charlie looked into the dark cold eyes and couldn't help but feel a shiver run down his spine. It was like looking into the eyes of a hungry shark that was just presented with a juicy piece of meat. Douglas must've noticed the reaction, because his lips twitched in twisted amusement.
"Now... once again. Do you have any questions?"
Charlie knew if his mission was to succeed, he had to survive this ride at least.
He shook his head.
Douglas nodded, then settled back in his seat. Charlie looked down at his hands. The knuckles on his right hand were split and bleeding. The left one had a scrape across a palm he didn't remember getting. He didn't feel the pain though. All he felt was coldness. All he could see was the slight shaking of his handcuffed hands. He was just where he needed to be, Charlie thought to himself and repeated the same thought during the whole ride. He was where he needed to be. So why the hell did it feel so wrong?