Read Online The Killing House by Chris Mooney - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chris Mooney
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been stretched too far back. Mrs Dempsey's botched facelift came to mind as Jimmy rolled down the window.
On the heels of that thought came another one: Why would an undercover cop pull me over?
Jimmy handed over his licence and registration. The lady cop didn't take them. She held up a leather wallet displaying a heavy gold badge. Beside it and tucked underneath a clear sheet of plastic was an ID with 'FBI' printed across the top in big bold blue letters. The accompanying picture showed a middle-aged woman with black hair worn tight across her scalp. Her name was Marie Clouzot.
FBI . She's a federal agent, oh sweet Jesus.
'Are you the owner of this vehicle, sir?'
Jimmy nodded. Then he said, 'It's my dad's car.'
'Your name?'
'James Weeks. What's - did I do something wrong?'
'Well, Mr Weeks, it seems you're driving a vehicle that was used in the commission of a robbery.'
The heat that spread across Jimmy's face was so intense he thought his skin would melt.
'Several eyewitnesses reported seeing this model of BMW at the pharmacy last night, and they gave us a licence-plate number. Your licence-plate number, Mr Weeks.'
Everything came into a sharp and sickening focus - the way her eyes moved behind her sunglasses as she searched his car, her breath steaming in the frigid Pennsylvania air. His lips and jaw trembled as he stammered his way through an explanation.
'There's got to ... No, that can't be true. This car belongs - it's my dad's car.'
'Where were you yesterday, Mr Weeks?'
Yesterday. He'd had hockey practice after school. After that, he'd spent a few hours doing homework and preparing for Mr Glassman's upcoming ballbuster history test, and then he'd gone over to George Durant's house and played the new Call of Duty game until nine or ten - and he'd driven there in his mother's shitty Toyota Corolla.
Jimmy told all of this to the FBI agent.
'Where do you live, Mr Weeks?'
'Boynton Street,' he said. 'It's not that far, less than ten minutes.'
'Are your parents at home?'
Jimmy nodded, kept nodding.
'Do you have a cell phone?'
'In my coat pocket,' he said. 'I can call him right now, he'll -'
'Please keep your hands on the wheel, Mr Weeks.'
'Call him. My dad. He'll tell you where I was. I didn't - I wouldn't hold up a drugstore.'
She stared at him from behind her sunglasses.
'I swear to God I'm telling you the truth,' Jimmy said.
'Here's what we're going to do. You're going to get in my car. I'm going to drive you to your house, and we're going to sit down and talk to your parents, see if your story holds up.' She opened his door. 'Make sure you lock your car.'
He did. Agent Clouzot told him to get into the passenger's seat. He did. After she got settled behind the wheel, she asked him for his cell. Jimmy gave it to her. She examined it for a moment before slipping it inside her jacket pocket.
She started the Chevy. Then she took out a pair of plastic handcuffs.
'Please turn around and place your hands behind your back.'
'But I - I haven't done anything wrong.' Jimmy felt the sting of tears. Felt embarrassed and ashamed for acting like such a pussy - especially in front of a woman.
'Mr Weeks, the last person who professed his innocence attacked me while I was driving and almost gotme killed. If you're as innocent as you say you are, then you won't mind wearing these until we arrive at your home. It's for your safety, and mine. If you refuse, I'll place you under arrest.'
Jimmy's mouth felt like cotton. He swallowed dryly.
'We can talk to your parents at your house, or you can call them from our federal office. What do you want to do?'
Jimmy, frightened by the idea of being arrested and having to call his parents, turned around in his seat. He stared out of his window and, heart thumping at a frightening and furious clip, placed his hands behind his back.
This is some sort of mix-up , he told himself as the woman tightened the cuffs against his wrists. I didn't rob a pharmacy. My parents know
On the heels of that thought came another one: Why would an undercover cop pull me over?
Jimmy handed over his licence and registration. The lady cop didn't take them. She held up a leather wallet displaying a heavy gold badge. Beside it and tucked underneath a clear sheet of plastic was an ID with 'FBI' printed across the top in big bold blue letters. The accompanying picture showed a middle-aged woman with black hair worn tight across her scalp. Her name was Marie Clouzot.
FBI . She's a federal agent, oh sweet Jesus.
'Are you the owner of this vehicle, sir?'
Jimmy nodded. Then he said, 'It's my dad's car.'
'Your name?'
'James Weeks. What's - did I do something wrong?'
'Well, Mr Weeks, it seems you're driving a vehicle that was used in the commission of a robbery.'
The heat that spread across Jimmy's face was so intense he thought his skin would melt.
'Several eyewitnesses reported seeing this model of BMW at the pharmacy last night, and they gave us a licence-plate number. Your licence-plate number, Mr Weeks.'
Everything came into a sharp and sickening focus - the way her eyes moved behind her sunglasses as she searched his car, her breath steaming in the frigid Pennsylvania air. His lips and jaw trembled as he stammered his way through an explanation.
'There's got to ... No, that can't be true. This car belongs - it's my dad's car.'
'Where were you yesterday, Mr Weeks?'
Yesterday. He'd had hockey practice after school. After that, he'd spent a few hours doing homework and preparing for Mr Glassman's upcoming ballbuster history test, and then he'd gone over to George Durant's house and played the new Call of Duty game until nine or ten - and he'd driven there in his mother's shitty Toyota Corolla.
Jimmy told all of this to the FBI agent.
'Where do you live, Mr Weeks?'
'Boynton Street,' he said. 'It's not that far, less than ten minutes.'
'Are your parents at home?'
Jimmy nodded, kept nodding.
'Do you have a cell phone?'
'In my coat pocket,' he said. 'I can call him right now, he'll -'
'Please keep your hands on the wheel, Mr Weeks.'
'Call him. My dad. He'll tell you where I was. I didn't - I wouldn't hold up a drugstore.'
She stared at him from behind her sunglasses.
'I swear to God I'm telling you the truth,' Jimmy said.
'Here's what we're going to do. You're going to get in my car. I'm going to drive you to your house, and we're going to sit down and talk to your parents, see if your story holds up.' She opened his door. 'Make sure you lock your car.'
He did. Agent Clouzot told him to get into the passenger's seat. He did. After she got settled behind the wheel, she asked him for his cell. Jimmy gave it to her. She examined it for a moment before slipping it inside her jacket pocket.
She started the Chevy. Then she took out a pair of plastic handcuffs.
'Please turn around and place your hands behind your back.'
'But I - I haven't done anything wrong.' Jimmy felt the sting of tears. Felt embarrassed and ashamed for acting like such a pussy - especially in front of a woman.
'Mr Weeks, the last person who professed his innocence attacked me while I was driving and almost gotme killed. If you're as innocent as you say you are, then you won't mind wearing these until we arrive at your home. It's for your safety, and mine. If you refuse, I'll place you under arrest.'
Jimmy's mouth felt like cotton. He swallowed dryly.
'We can talk to your parents at your house, or you can call them from our federal office. What do you want to do?'
Jimmy, frightened by the idea of being arrested and having to call his parents, turned around in his seat. He stared out of his window and, heart thumping at a frightening and furious clip, placed his hands behind his back.
This is some sort of mix-up , he told himself as the woman tightened the cuffs against his wrists. I didn't rob a pharmacy. My parents know
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