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By the time they found a parking spot, the rain was steady, and the sky was getting darker. With a couple of umbrellas between them, they dashed toward the door, hoping to not drown in the process.
“I didn’t know it was supposed to rain,” huffed Moose as they entered the sheriff’s office.
“It’s always supposed to rain here,” smirked Patrick. “I swear to God, it rains more than it doesn’t.”
“Yeah, but the pay-off is we get all this lush green around us. I’ll take that over the desert any day of the week,” said Cowboy.
“Agreed.”
“Mornin’ boys,” said the desk officer. “Sheriff’s waitin’ for y’all.”
“Thanks, man. Nice to see you,” said Christopher.
“You too,” he nodded lethargically. Obviously on the night shift, he was ready to leave and head to bed, but the rain just might delay him a bit.
“Good morning, sheriff,” said Moose.
“Fellas, nice of you to come out so early. I wouldn’t have known to call except for that photo and the address of the café in his phone. Got no ID at all. Fingerprints are gone, no license, no passport, nothing.”
“How did he get here? If he doesn’t have a passport, he wasn’t on a commercial airliner. So, how?” asked Cowboy.
“Good question. I figured you boys could help him remember. If he can. Bartender definitely hit the shit out of him.”
“How is the bouncer?” asked Moose.
“He’ll live, but he was fucked up for sure. Folks in the club said the Korean was moving like Jackie Chan and Chuck Norris had a baby.”
“Fuck,” muttered Cowboy.
“You boys, be careful. He’s handcuffed to the bed, but I don’t know if that’ll last.” The men nodded, walking down the long corridor to the elevators for the holding cells. When they stepped off, another deputy nodded, pressing the button to open the door to the cell.
“Third one on the left,” he said.
When they reached the cell, the man was lying peacefully, his hand still cuffed to the bed. That was a bit of a relief for them. They worried that if this man was as good as they said, he might find a way out of the handcuffs. Opening the cell door, he stared at them, then sat up.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Your English is good,” said Moose.
“I speak many languages. What do you want?”
“We want answers,” said Cowboy. “Why are you here?” The man said nothing, leaning back on the cot against the wall. He just stared at the men.
“Did they only send big men to get me? Are you the biggest?”
“They who?” asked Christopher. The man shrugged, then looked up at Moose.
“I remember your face,” he said. “You protected the woman and child. It won’t matter. She won’t live.” Moose stiffened, fighting the desire to kill the man.
“She’ll live,” said Patrick. “You won’t. But she will.”
“You won’t kill me,” he laughed. “Your weak country won’t allow you to kill me. You’ll send me back eventually.”
“Or, we’ll send you to Guantanamo or worse,” said Cowboy. “Or, since the sheriff is our friend, we’ll drag your ass out of here, beat the living shit out of you, and then feed you to the alligators.”
His face sobered as he stared at the three men. Did they have such power as to be allowed to take him from the cell?
“So, what’s it to be? We kill you here or out there?” asked Moose.
