Ace Up My Sleeve

 235.

Outnumbered and caught with red-handed with criminal intent, Sarccino chooses to comply with the arrest procedures without resistance. Harlan is considering this as they transport him to the holding facility they share with the local bureau. Having affirmed his understanding of his Miranda rights he remains silent in the back seat of Harlan's SUV cuffed to the door. Once booked he is parked in interrogation room B. He sits casually in the bleak white room taking inventory of the desk to which he is affixed by the pair of wrist chains and an anchor, one opposing metal chair, the obligatory one-way mirror and the video camera in the corner where the wall meets the ceiling. To the casual observer it might appear as if he has been here before.

I have been briefed on the arrest and hurry to assemble the necessary components for my assignment, Julie for intel and Mustang for ambulation. We arrive at the FBI facility in less than twenty minutes, where I will be the initial interrogation officer, this after a brief discussion with Julie, who felt that I might carry excessive conflicting baggage into the exchange, and not the tabula rasa required for standard operating procedures.

"All clean slate's aside, nobody knows the details of this more than I, and nobody has more lead-off interrogation experience, so, with all due respect, I'm the guy."

Knowing that to argue would be opening several large cans of worms, she professionally agrees without any outward signs of concern.

We check into the facility after being briefed by Julie on the drive. I have a handful of questions for Mr. Sarccino and as well as an ace up my sleeve should it be a necessary card to play.

We go to the com room and watch him through the glass.

"Are we sure this is the guy?" I ask Mustang.

"100%" she instantly responds, "was he packing?"

"Smith & Wesson 442, 2" barrel, 38 cal."

"Tan leather shoulder holster?"

"Yep."

"Alright, I'll take it from here. You stay with Drysdale and should I need you, I'll call."

I take the little-used cane from the chair and with her steadying hand, stand. Still weak and unbalanced I take the first few steps towards the door, and then down the hallway and finally to the interrogation room opened by a young agent. He holds the door for me as I walk in and navigate to the table. I sit opposite Sarccino without taking my eyes off him.

I notice that instead of looking at my limp he seems to be trying to get a better look at the scars on the back my neck.