|Abel Parrish + Fenrir (devourer) wrote in paxletalelogs,|
@ 2017-05-25 10:29:00
these nigga tattle tattlin' like they shit ain't wrong
Who: Abel & NPC prisoner.
What: Abel gets some very interesting information about Obed.
Where: Newport Prison.
When: May 22.
Abel looked up from the yellow legal pad he'd been jotting notes down on as a CO escorted his most current assignment into the visitor's room; tall, beige-orange walls surrounded the dark floor and bolted metal furniture, creating a semi-hostile environment. Dressed in a full orange jumpsuit, the man was thick from top to bottom -- he was even missing a neck, the way flesh engorged around his face. Dark brown hair was ruffled on the crown of his head, winding down around his face in a sparsely-grown beard. Cuffed and shackled, the man took a seat across from the psychologist, clearly unhappy to be present in the current situation.
The man's eyes narrowed in Abel's direction. "My attorney set this up?" Abel nodded, leaning back in his own chair. He was the direct opposite of the man in dark navy and a pressed, white shirt. Hair slicked back, all edges and a loose smile, Abel did his best to provide a calming presence. It did not work.
"For what? What I gotta be evaluated for?"
"It's a typical attempt to circumvent some types of punishment, Mr. Gao," Abel reassured him, hands flat on the table before him to imply that he meant no harm. All the same, he kept a close eye on his pen and the cap situated in his right hand. There was no need to have this man shanking another prisoner or himself by the time he got back to his cell.
"Now, I understand you've been arrested for distribution. Heroin. You wanna tell me a little bit about that?"
The man, Gao, shrugged. "Ain't no different from what I already told the police. I did what I did."
"But you weren't under any duress? Do you want to tell me a little bit about how you even got into--"
Gao straightened his arms on the table, the chain between his handcuffs clinking lightly on the bolted table. He slouched in his chair, as much as he was able to.
"There ain't nothing to say. Money's money, you know? There's nothing there in that rabbit hole, doc, so quit digging."
Abel sighed, seeing that this was going to be a quick and, as he'd suspected, pointless interview.
"I got other info, though. Bigger fish."
"Something you want to give to the police, probably," Abel said, capping his pen and making it clear that he was going to start packing up to leave. Gao watched his motions, quickly starting to say more as if attempting to keep Abel in his chair.
"The place we was at -- what we been selling through? It ain't like we just muscled in there. We ain't all street corners and such, you know. It's an operation."
Abel's brow arched, clearly nonplussed. "And why didn't you share those salient details with the authorities?"
Gao shrugged. "I tried. They weren't interested. You know the LAPD; quick close and shut, if it's done it's done, and they go out to slap each other on the back. Bunch'a pigs."
"And that kind of talk is the quickest route to death row, Mr. Gao."
The man laughed. "California ain't executed anyone in years. Fuck, they commuted Manson and his bunch'a freaks to life in prison. If they ain't gonna kill that asshole, they ain't gonna kill me. Not when I know things. You ever heard of Strigidae?"
Abel's hands went flat to the table, and he shook his head, shrugging noncommittally. "Screech owls? What about them?"
Gao shook his head. "Naw, man, not no fuckin' birds. It's the name of the company. We got a deal with 'em, you get me? Long as we keep our places neat and tidy, we don't bring no interest down on anybody's heads, we're all good. If I said I could give 'em whoever's involved on that end, you think that could get me off?"
Abel made a face, shrugging lightly. "Maybe. The fact that you're telling me and not someone with some actual authority makes me think you don't know anything. Maybe you're just playing games with me. You really think that's a better defense to take than to try pleading incompetence or insanity?"
Gao laughed. "You think they're gonna believe insanity on a fuckin' drug charge? You see how fuckin incompetent my attorney is? These fuckin' pro-bono state shits don't know how to wipe their own ass."
Putting his briefcase on the table in front of him, Abel frowned. He took a long moment to open the tabs on each side, their smart clicks punctuating its lid swinging up, put his pen and pad back inside, shuffling the manila folder full of Gao's details, and then closing it before he even made eye contact again with the prisoner.
"I'll think about it. Like you said, us 'state shits' don't know how to wipe our own asses." He called out for the CO, as Gao sputtered about having information, that someone just needed to listen to him, that there was more. Two COs came into the room to escort the prisoner as he became increasingly combative, but Abel lingered in the visitor's room, missing the potential show in the hallway.
Instead, he'd pulled his phone out and was Googling the term the man had given him; it was indeed the scientific classification for a particular breed of owl, but what he was more interested in was a result that came up a few scrolls down from that.
It was also the name for a real estate management company owned by one Obed Brandt.