Devil's Hide and Seek

It was Monday morning. Mark was sleepy and tired. He had a priest in custody who was a suspect for people trafficking. He was nodding in and out of reality, slowly falling asleep in his chair.

Khm, khmg, cough, coooughhh.

"Oh, Smith, sir. Everything is ready. I was waiting for you."

"Okay, let's do this," Smith said with his Morgan Freeman voice imitation.

Smith and Mark played the good cop and the sleepy cop for this interrogation—classic secret agents' strategy.

Mark was just leaning on the table, struggling for his life.

Smith looked at the priest with disgust.

"So, Matteo, I hear you are a very respected priest in this area."

Matteo nodded and then asked, "What is with him?" pointing at Mark.

Mark was confused. "What? With me?" and looked at Smith, lost.

"Ignore him. He was playing video games all night and it went terrible. Focus on my questions, okay, Matteo? We are here to help."

"Help with what?" Matteo asked while he twirled his thumbs.

"We will help you to confess your darkest sins without any torture. You see, Mark here, although he is sleepy, he is famous for his, let's say, extracting information skills. I mean, look at him. He is torturing himself every day, poor soul."

"Look, if you say everything to me now, confess your sins, Mark can just stay sleepy and drink his coffee without ever raising his fists at you."

"Okay, I admit—"

"Go on." Smith sat down.

"I do sometimes drink a little bit more wine and blame the nun for it."

Smith was staring at Matteo with this look in his eyes that could kill. In his eyes, the violence unimaginable to a regular person was contained. If he unleashed his skill and anger at this priest, the priest would have a bad, bad day, week, and afterlife.

"Ok," Smith said. "I leave you to Mark." And as he was leaving, he saw Mark just throw his mug of hot coffee on the priest and start beating him up.

After Smith grabbed coffee, he returned to the room. The priest was now nicely refreshed with a few new colors on his face, and his posture was now a little more suited for a believer.

"You monster," the priest said.

Smith threw the table at the priest... The priest was on the ground crying.

"Weee are the monster? Weee?" Smith yelled with spit going everywhere. "You are lecturing me while hiding behind that fake robe and using religion to deceive poor people in need. You have no morals, you have no purpose in this world. You are just a speck of bacteria in this world. Using people's trust like that, I would kill you and not even the devil would find you. Sit him back up, Mark."

Mark was slowly waking up, but now that Smith was talking again and interrogating, he was getting sleepy again. The interrogation room was just a table and four walls painted green. The wall was painted in some weird fashion—it had some little holes and marks. The green paint on the wall was anything but clean. There was blood and many other stuff on it. It looked like a paintball wall.

Smith continued his interrogation. "Do you know this story, Holy Father? It goes something like this. Devil asked 3 people to hide, and if he finds them, he will sentence them for eternity in hell."

"One hid in the woods, but the devil found him."

"One went deep into the ocean with a submarine or something and hid, but the devil found him."

"The devil never found the third one."

"I will do the things that I did to that third person that the devil never found to you if you don't tell me everything you know about the transport and scheme of people that have been missing since going regularly to your church."

"Okay, listen, I don't know much, but this Don Leonardo, Don Michelangelo, Don Raffaello, and Don Caprio told me to notice them when someone comes to my church alone and, like, a little bit sad or troubled. It could be that they only wanted to help. I gave them some information. That is all."

Smith still had a deadly stare in his eyes. And with his deep voice, while twirling a pen in his hand, asked Matteo seriously, "Do you think I am stupid, or do you think maybe Mark is stupid? Are you naming Ninja Turtles here? And they have maybe helped them—helped with what, with selling them to slavery?"

"They come to town next Tuesday, and they are always in church on Sunday, okay? It's all I can say. That should be enough. Please don't kill me."

Smith looked at him and smiled. "Me kill you? What gave you that idea? We are a government agency."

"I know, but I can see in your eyes you are thinking about it."

Mark intervened. "He thinks about killing people all the time. But he is very kind, actually. Don't worry about it."

Mark stood up. "You will be the bait, Mr. Priest, okay? We will put you there and we will pick up these turtle guys. And if anything goes wrong, I let Smith kill you with his pen. Deal?"

"Deal."

Smith and Mark exited the interrogation room. Mark asked Smith, "Do you think we went a little overboard, sir?"

"Come over for dinner some day, Mark, at my place. Bring family. We can have a nice meal and chat."

"Sir, I've beaten so many people in this interrogation room, but this priest made me extra angry. I think I went a little overboard."

Smith looked Mark in the eyes, deep, deep, staring into his soul. "If we don't get this done, some kid, some girl could go missing tomorrow. Do you think that human traffickers are talking nicely to them and making them tea? Mark, don't feel bad for them. They are getting what they deserve."

Smith went on his way.

Mark had never seen Smith that angry, and that scary. Sure, he'd seen him throw a slap or act as bad cop, but he felt this time, if he had got to the priest instead and started beating him, he would not stop like I did.

Mark was done with work and finally home. He made juice from some oranges and lemons for him and his wife. He plugged in his game even though his wife gave him a bittersweet look.

She was talking, but Mark had earphones on his head. He could only hear gunfire from his game.

His wife slapped his headphones so hard that they made a rotation of 90 degrees and still stayed on his head.

"Your dad is in critical condition. I just got a call."

"I don't care," Mark said and returned his headphones on. He looked at his wife and said, "If you do that ever again, I am done."

Susan went out of the room. After these words, hurt deep.

She came back with coffee.

"Sorry for hitting your headphones, Mark."

"It's okay, sweety. Sorry for being in a bad mood. Tough day at work."

"I am done, I am done. This is not happening. This is not possible." Sophia was panicking as she woke up in bed next to Keane. "What? Did you? Me? What? No, please tell me no."

"It is okay, dude," Keane said while slowly waking up. "We didn't do nothing. I just carried you here since you passed out and put you in bed."

"But why next to you? Did you drug me and use me?"

"You are welcome," Keane said with a bored look on his face. "You fainted at the bar. I dragged you on my back here and put you in bed."

"What? Why did I faint?"

"Wilson will explain to you," Keane said nervously.

Sophia found her phone next to the Keane's king-size bed and called Wilson up.

From the other side of the phone, a familiar voice greeted her.

"Hi, Sophia."

"Sabina?"

"Ya. Wilson is busy. Call him later."