Poker Face

The alarm blared as the mechanism on the steel door slid back the metal bars from the wall. Jack pulled on the stainless bar, which felt heavier than he was used to, to reveal the room. As the door silently swung back to lock behind him with another clunk, no further noise was made. That is, until a muffled laugh came from the other end of the room from where Jack stood. 

Clutching the documents in his hands, Jack strode confidently to the table, metal like the room, but didn't sit. The man sitting under the lamp light was hunched over the table like a goblin, although there was nothing to hide except his face. 

The man didn't move, but Jack could discern his black eyes scrutinizing him, examining his face, his posture, and his demeanor. Jack didn't care. He had a demeanor to maintain. "Look up at me, I've already seen your hideousness one too many times." 

The man didn't move but began shaking his head. The light remained still overhead, obscuring his face

"How long has it been? A year? I lost count a few months ago. Is that why you came? Our anniversary, Brother?" He said, lifting his head just enough so that Jack could make out his white teeth and flared nostrils. 

Jack tossed the file on the table in front of his bent face. "There's a group of serial killers. I want to know what you think." 

The man grinned beneath his oiled curtain hair. "What makes you think I want to scratch your balls cause of some new schoolboys." 

"I thought you might be interested." Jack replied. 

The man laughed at Jack's lie. Normally when the police, or pigs as he called them, visited, they offered him a better view, more books to read, or more frequent audiences with visitors. But then again Jack was no ordinary standard lawman: he knew just how to push the man's buttons. That's how the bastard caught you in the first place, a voice said in his mind as he nodded. Jack wasn't the one interested. 

"You still think I take pleasure in making others suffer?" He asked, pulling the papers closer to his view. 

"Don't you? You did lie to Shannon and you killed about half a dozen officers while escaping. Not to mention you co-masterminded those acts of terrorism. Oh right, and you tried to..."

"NO! Grow up. Don't throw around those dead insults like they do." He hissed gesturing to the door.

"Alright fine, tell me what you think of them. Then we'll deside who's crazier." Jack said coldly sitting down in the opposing chair. 

His head raised higher with a shrug. What did he know? He was trying to show the city, the world what they were descending into. Corruption of police, businessmen, and even mediocre civilians was filling the musky smog of the city, disrupting natural order. Stability and routine were morphed into abuse and perversion. Now terrorism. My how they've fallen, even given your standards the voice whispered again. 

He pulled the file close to him, his chains restricting his movement to the table's equator and no further, and began flipping through the photos, dates, forensics, and records. The ridiculousness of the pages made him scrutinize it further. With each turn and every grotesque description or detail that was presented on the page, his smile widened, letting out a snicker or two. 

"Well, they've got the makings of Bolshevik right here, don't they" He giggled after the first two pages. "I mean this is real KGB shit. Such precision with these victim scenes, and...you were right. Better than me." 

Look for a pattern Look, the voice appeared to grow louder, augmented by the dead energy of the interrogation room. As he turned a few more photos, examining the ominous painted words, disemboweled victims and murder sites, he recognized the killings as linked to his own. 

"Well shit. You didn't come here cause of Shannon, did you. That haircut of yours don't do your mind justice, you know."

"No doubt you see that the killings match up with your previous ones. I take it this is feeling rather cheap to you. Another mastermind stealing your flair." Jack said with a lighter but ever firm tone. 

The prisoner shook his head. "On the contrarary, sir. This violence and this gore, this is more arbitrary than that. Unlike me, this guy's had no plan. Probably, I came up with this whole idea in a sleepless week at best." 

Jack didn't move from his upright position seated. He considered the possibility of his suspicion being true, but worried that the prisoner might realize he was tipping his hand. "You mean there's a leader? Who is he?" 

He's a nobody, and wants to be somebody. Targeting the senator, and those officers is an easy answer. He wants these officials to die so his name will ECHO THROUGHOUT THE AGES." He finished ecstatically, yet quietly, with his casual laugh. But after his cackle, his head lowered to shroud his entire face in darkness again.

After a moment he lifted it again into the full light, revealing the scar beneath his left eye. He resumed a more collected countenance compared to before. He cocked it to one side.

"Sorry did I miss something brother?" He asked with suspicious politeness.

"I see you're still hallucinating. Or are you just trying to hide something?" Jack said, in an attempt to stir annoyance out of him, hoping he'd let slip possible secrets of these killers.

"Strike three, Sherlock." He giggled, "First off, those doctors behind those doors can't diagnose shit. And second....wait...maybe that's it. Maybe you should've majored in therapy. You'd be so much more fun. Though I'll admit that Poker Face you got going is definitely police material."

Jack sometimes forgot more than most he had a bad temper, and having to endure the crypticness and theatrics that surrounded this man, same as these mysterious killers, was not amiss under his radar. But he had a job, a demeanor to maintain. True to that form, he intended to jump to the point as he leaned in, unafraid of his former adversary. "Who is this leader? Some philosophical psycho like you?" 

He sighed. "Actually yes, but only because he's an actual psychopath, and not the modifier you used. This guy is targeting officials like I did, but not because of their corruption. It's because of their profession." He glanced down at the photos, back and forth. "I mean, two officers, a fashion model, and the senator, yeah. This guy is like a subspecies to the bowlers you're used to." 

"So you think he's got a political agenda?" Jack asked. 

He scoffed. "Oh no, no, no. All this is very personal. Whoever's in charge feels as though these people are responsible for his...suffering." He smiled at his earlier rhetorical question. "He sees these people gulping down Demi-Sec Champagne and dancing around the bright lit streets in their fancy getups while he and his cronies are left to the gutter. Sound familiar?" 

Ignoring what was presumed to be a taunt about Shannon, Jack pressed his other question. "Why is he leaving these messages like you did before? What're these killers gonna do next? Just what the fuck is the deal?" 

He bared his teeth in a smile at Jack's accidental exposure. He knows it's one of yours. Don't tell without a fight a voice whispered in a harsher lower tone. The man took no notice of the advice, but then coincidentally saw right through Jack's ruse. "I don't know him for sure. Maybe he hates nice things? Or maybe he's a fan of mine and these boys are just copying my stunts. What can be said except he's an amateur, eh." 

He himself knew exactly which one of his former partners was pulling this shit. He thought discovered it 2 days ago when his cell guard turned out to be a messenger from Mr. Red. Told him that 'he'd bust him out' soon. Lies, of course, but still. The nerve of his former partner, imitating his trademarks let alone having no sound purpose. "Theories, brother?"

Jack was no stranger to his mystification of even the most simple of things, which is why he remained collected until this point. But the intended in-and-out visit he planned was beginning to drag.

So he met his gaze again. "I don't. But these people are mimicking your kills, chaotically so, but nearly on the dot. We both know those crime scenes were confidential, so the people responsible for these ones must have been there, before or after." He paused as the man curled his lips and blinked, as if to hide a squeal.

"Are you saying I'm involved? Because if so you are way off base broth-"

"If I wanted to appreciate the killer-mentality, I would've consulted Sigmund Freud, never you." Jack interrupted sharply,

He giggled, "Smartest thing you've ever said so far. Now we’re speaking English."

There it was, the tell. Jack knew he had the snake in a chokehold, and he wasn't about to let it hiss its way out. "These serial killers are the same ones you hired. Don't deny it, it's been spilling out of your fucking mouth from the start. That would make their leader a friend of yours no doubt. Who is he, and don't tell me it's Mr. Blue, Red, Salmon or any shit like that. What's his name?" 

The man's face was in faux at Jack. The voice reprimanded him for giving away the secret so easily, but he then proceeded without the slightest change in tone. "I couldn't tell you his name because in all honesty, that little hermit never told me. Only reason you found out my name is because I trusted Shannon enough with it, until she turned out to be your bitch. If you want to find Mr. Black, I suggest you re-read the file on the Cartel bust where you saw him." 

"I thought you were Mr. Black? Isn't that what they called you." 

"Not anymore. I'm sure the idiot's taken every trademark I had, and now he thinks he kills for the same reason I do? The man's a terrorist, a mediocre unpredictable terrorist. That's why you can't get him." 

Jack knew that if Mr. Red's whereabouts were known to Mr. Black, the latter would be throwing more bait on the table. Since he wasn't it meant that the deductions of a former killer was all he had. But Jack's agenda was not finished yet, and if he was going to take anything meaningful away from this interrogation, he would have to tread carefully in the tar pit that was made of Mr. Black's words. 

"Well then, if Mr. Red is killing the people who fucked him up, just how is that any different from what you did." 

Mr. Black paused. His brows twitched and he looked down at the open file in front of him. He then looked at his shackled hands and waited for the voice to guide him. But for 15 seconds, there was nothing that disturbed the serenity of his mind or the room. Must've been as clueless as him.

As he spoke, he found the words leaving his mouth almost as involuntarily as one's aorta pumping blood. "You don't remember who I was before I started those attacks around the city. I used to work in the Cartels along with my fellow men. But after 2 years of aiding those fat bastards in order to drug and please this hellhole of a city, I made a decision. I knew I was a slave to one of many forms of corruption. Drugs, prostitution, alcoholism, social media, and idiosyncrasy. In my place, one would deem it impossible to climb the corporate ladder, become something poignant for the world, but even more distressing was how I saw no one else thinking the same. It was as though I was in a bubble watching everyone live out their faded indistinguishable lives and was helpless to stop it. Until I realized, I could. After promising revenge and profit to some of my friends at cartels we organized our hit and run gang. We would take out the worst of the worst, the most aimless, and we'd make an example of their 'work'. As I revealed to Shannon and Mr. Red, I had hoped this would bring others to the light. Out of everyone I encountered in the gutters of the city, Shannon was the only proof that my views weren't simply fantasy. Up until the Cartel burning, it was me, the gang, and her back to back against whatever the world threatened us with. She wanted change for this city just like me. But, conformity is seductive, just like the lawmen who enforce it."

Jack accidentally let a smirk slip at his immature taunt. He disguised it as a scoff, which it partially was. Bullshit. The man fucked her brain up. Tried to turn a decent person into a psychopath. It took a moment to realize Jack was looking to the side of the wall, wrapped in darkness he could only see the blinking security camera. His stoic countenance was rebuilt as he turned to his Black...who was grinning devilishly like before. The light graced all of his features except his sockets underneath his hair. The daunting cackle re-appeared again, and Jack it was his snicker that gave Shannon away.

Jack's confidence crippled. The tell had replaced itself with a mirage that Jack was oblivious to. The snake had bitten him in his blind spot.

The blind spot was where Black knew Jack got scared, but this was a trigger for his aggression to rise. While Logic was never inactive, Anger always triumphed before his other emotions did. He pulled himself out of Black's pit. "I've put up with your theatrics long enough. Let's get back to the case. Where's Mr. Red."

"Why brother? Tell me your thoughts on this. Surely Shannon, a former vigilante, had her theories if not you. Ask her."

Jack flinched. "I'm not here to talk about us."

"Then what do you want?"

"I want to know where Mr. Red and the others are going next."

"You know exactly what they're going to do. And you've already seen his face before. Have you studied this case file." He slammed the notebook shut with a clink of his chains and folded his hands intently. "No, what you want to know is if she's clean as a whistle. Be honest, it was Shannon who provoked you to come here and learn their patterns, my patterns. But now upon learning they have none, you're just trying to put an ease to your own guilt. The guilt that she's still an extreme She-UI."

Jack was too precarious to speak. He hated it, but Mr. Black's actions, although entirely inexcusable, would be talked about more than his own. Every moment spent with him just made him feel a compound of emotions. Guilt, shame, pride, and doubt were all things he hated feeling. But the choices your brother makes can certainly do that he thought out loud in his head.

"You don't know shit about her. She changed her mind for the better. I'd stop talking unless you want me to tell the doctors to bring the lethal injection."

Black took the insult as a go-signal for him to strip away the unfazed mask further. "Doesn't really matter now does it. That's your problem, you think knowing your superiority is going to heal you. You don't have the nerve to look Shannon dead in the eye the way you've done to me, like always."

Black was sucking the demeanor out of his brother's eyes little by little and it seemed like Jack was tipping to him more and more. We've been jealous of his youthful fame, now he can't bear to see us make the real changes he never will, the voice repeated to Black what they both already knew was true.

"That's why she fascinates the both of us. She was free with me, free to make poignant choices. To be remembered. You just got a bit jealous because unlike her, you're bound by rules. The rules are for a reason, an that is to limit and suspend all the activity that these people here are adjusted not to lay eyes on. See that's the difference between vigilantes like us and and bastards like you: the latter is only as pure as society lets it be. You think you're more remarkable than others, but you're never gonna be Batman. That's a goddamn fact about---"

"ROCCO, enough!" Jack shouted with the tortured authority. Black paused at the name their parents gave him. Jack was at his wits end, and his cold demeanor had all but melted. He knew his shout wouldn't be enough to silence his crazy brother, but much to his surprise it did. Memories swarmed that not even the voice could silence. Black knew Jack was right, but that was part of what made his brother so unbearable. Against Blacks impulses, he was at a loss for words all of the sudden. He felt pissed at himself and when he was pissed with himself, he said nothing.

For another 18 seconds. There was silence. Although neither of them spoke or made eye contact, there was defense and agony in their eyes, both in the light this time. The interrogation room's flat energy seemed to lock them both in under the lamp, while nothing physically changed.

Black spoke finally, cocking his head to the side of his brother. "Okay, but let me ask you something. If the court of law pardoned her after she exposed me, what makes you think she's now against the law?"

Jack broke his eye contact in setback at his final word, but then met his stone gaze again. "You're crazy." He managed, realizing that his demeanor was shattered and a common phrase was all that could suffice now. "This was a waste of time."

After another round of menopause, Black watched him drag his feat to the steel door which prepared to open. Jack's head hung as he reached for the handle, and he forgot that the file was still on the desk in front of Black. The voice promptly recommenced he say something. It didn't specify whether it was a threat or salutation.

"Hey Jack. You're never gonna fully get her graces because like me, you are godless. There is no limit to what you'll do, and the dimensions of your morality bend more than Mr. Red does on a waterboard. Despite your indifference and hypocrisy, you've got at least the courage to confront her. Whether she's involved or not you're right about one thing: you do get each other."

Jack, drowning in his failure to intimidate, recalled the file and kept his head down as he heel to toe his way there and back again.

"You know, if it weren't for your delusions, and your schizophrenia, you'd've made a good Lawman."