Thread: We Were Meant to be Broken [El & Juno]

Brady only had to take one look at Anderson to know who the good cop was in this duo. That wasn't saying much. Brady cared very little for law enforcement and wasn't it lovely that he'd spend the remainder of his life pandering to them. He didn't say anything when Anderson held the door open for him though the gears were already turning in his head. The room felt just as stuffy and uncomfortable as it always did. He didn't think it ever changed, regardless of what precinct he was in. Young looked nervous as fuck and Brady could only imagine why they had called him in. Well, if he needed a little nudge in order for him to sing like a canary, Brady would give it to him. You gotta be kiddin' me. He's gonna interrogate me? You bring in some kid who's still wet behind the ears? What are you, 16? 22, Brady corrected patiently. He had settled down into the chair, the dog-tags that hung around his neck jingling in the thick silence. Young eyed him with a look most people often got when they heard that liver and onions was the main course. You a genius or something? I don't believe intelligence can be accurately quantified, but I do have an IQ of 191, an eidetic memory, can read 21 000 words per minute- He paused, noting the lost look Young's eyes. Brady relented. Yes, I'm a genius. A genius who's gonna set everything right because you know these guys can't do squat on their own. There was a glimmer of amusement in Young's eyes that Brady didn't fail to miss though it quickly gave way to the nervousness. He could see a bit of sweat gathering around the suspect's temples. He was already beginning to force a baseline. Often getting personable in the subtlest ways helped as one could detect any deviations from otherwise normal behaviour. You're lookin' a little nervous there, Mr. Young. The nervousness sparked for a moment before the suspect averted his gaze, rubbing his feverish face vigorously. I'm sittin' in a fuckin' precinct in a goddamn boiler room. What do you expect? It is hot, he agreed, glancing over at Anderson before returning his attention to Young. But he doesn't care. They don't care. They enjoy this, you know? What do you know about it? As far as I'm concerned you're just one of them. Brady snorted. I am not a cop, Mr. Young. I'm just your lowly grad student looking to make pay for his kid. You... you got a kid? he asked incredulously. Brady nodded and reached beneath him, not missing the way Young flinched as if expecting something foul. The guy was definitely on edge. He produced his cellphone and brought up a picture of a laughing toddler with paint covering her pudgy little hands. Young studied the picture and glanced up at Brady. Looks like you. Brady nodded once more though he was hardly paying attention to that. He could only see what was in front of him. Most people softened when confronted by the sight of a child but Young hadn't. He kept swallowing as if he were having a hard time keeping a calm composure. His eyes were narrowed and almost defensive. Brady couldn't see his hands but he was willing to bet a hefty sum that he was fidgeting. Brady made a very subtle motion with his own hand and hoped Anderson understood that he required the case file. If shit went according to plan, this wouldn't take too long.