You Have My Word

 237.

We leave Sarccino to his devils and demons until he calls for clarification. I reenter the small room and repeat the procedures, water bottle on table, file folder in front of me. To emphasize the growing amount of paperwork we have been adding to his sheet, the file is stuffed with legal condiments, a slight we used to call 'one with everything.' Sarccino's demeanor has changed dramatically, now portraying the language of a man defeated. No longer asking for respect he now pleads for mercy.

"Clemency and witness protection, or no deal." He opens as I pull my chair towards the table.

"We will need confessions to four very serious crimes and your involvement with a known terrorist cell." I respond, "Plus the obligatory names and last knowns of their ranking officers."  

"Clemency, protection, and something else," he adds now seemingly comfortable with the prospect of ratting out the hand that feeds, a prospect he initially thought to be highly unlikely.

"What's that?"

He loudly moves the wrist chains to their maximum range and taps on the 'motivational' file folder with his right index finger. He seems to be invoking a code of sorts, man to man, holding my gaze in his. I briefly consider that he sees this deal as part of a catharsis for the pain he is personally responsible for. Or, with a flash of thought equally as quick, he might be thinking that here is a guy who has spent the last eight months in a coma as a result of three slugs I put in his back, making him someone with superior motive control and revenge cravings so objective that he can be trusted as both man and cop, variations on the theme of honor among thieves perhaps. I am considering all this as we stare each other down.

He again taps on the folder and says "Nothing happens to the kid. I want your word on it."

For maximum effect I extend the silence between us to its most uncomfortable duration. It has never been my style to use the families of perps as leverage in coercing information, but in this rare instance I urged its use. There was a monumental debate in the com room as we watched Sarccino open the folder and immediately get its message. Of the four in the room a vote ended in a 2-2 tie, Julie, as expected and interestingly Harlan, making the dissents. We left it with the understanding that should an explanation of intent be necessary, the tactic would be off, but should there be a confession without a verbal exchange, we could excuse the breach in moral protocol THIS ONCE.

Sarccino tapping his fingers on the file is enough to satisfy our terms and close the deal, still I can't resist a fleeting glance into the mirror as we successfully skirt the ethical 'means to an end' issue du jour.

"You have my word."