Jenn had yanked off Tate’s hood, and Tate’s eyes bulged as he frantically looked in all directions. Hendricks did all the talking. She felt Tate would respond better to a male authority figure. Who knew what kind of humiliating relationship Tate had with adult women.

She’d been a little worried about Hendricks. He had decades of experience with traditional interrogations and possessed tremendous instincts. But this was something else entirely. She’d been coaching him for a couple weeks now, and while he got it in the abstract, it was very different in reality. She needn’t have worried; Hendricks was a natural.

“You’ve done it now, boy,” Hendricks had begun.

Tate tried to speak through the gag, but it came out as futile, clownish gurgles.

“You really thought you could get away with it? That we wouldn’t find you? Bad news there, son. This is the end of the line for you. Should have gotten off this train a long time ago, and now you’re a long way from home.”

Jenn had yanked the gag out of his mouth.

“I want a lawyer,” Tate had demanded.

Hendricks had laughed. “There are no lawyers in hell, son.”

“This is illegal. I want my lawyer!”

“I am your lawyer. What do you need?”

“You can’t do this,” Tate had cried. “I know my rights.”

“There are no rights out here, boy. Where do you think you are?”

Tate’s eyes had been wide, filled with an animal panic. His mouth had worked silently like he still had the gag in it.

“Listen to me good. We know who you are. We know what you did. We all know it. We just want to hear you say it. You messed with the wrong man’s child, and there’s no coming back from that. You have any idea how powerful he is? How far he can reach? I suppose not, or you would have messed with some other kid, am I right? Well you’re in it now, boy. What’s done is done. There’s only here and now left to think about. How it’s going to go for you from here on out. Is it going to go long or is it going to go short? That’s what you need to decide. How do I make it go short? Because, believe you me, you don’t want this to go long.”

“I swear to Christ, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Hendricks had slapped him. Not hard, but the effect had been powerful. Tate had shut his mouth and stared up with sullen fear.

“That kind of talk right there,” Hendricks had said. “That kind of talk is what makes a short thing go long.”

“I swear,” Tate had whined, eyes darting back and forth between them. There were no good cops here.