thanksrainman: (don't be stupid)
[personal profile] thanksrainman
“Dominick Wilson,” Gus said simply. “Least, I think that’s his name. For all I know, he’s been using a fake one for the last twenty years. But the dumb fuck’s even listed. How do you think I found him?”

“Who’s that?” this attorney asked, taking notes of the entire conversation.

“Guy who got me set up as this Fisher person,” Gus says. “What’d he do, anyway?”

Todd shook his head. “Can we stay on topic, please?”

“Right, sorry.” Gus sighed, able to recall faces, but not remembering any names at all. “Ya know, my memory ain’t what it used to be. That happens when you fall, sometimes.”

Todd looked up at Gus from across the table. “Funny you should bring that up,” he said. “There’re no medical records for you anywhere during the last two years. And this wasn’t mentioned anywhere in your papers from Jean.”

“I fell,” Gus said simply.

“Douglas, I can’t help you if you don’t work with me,” Todd said tiredly. He began to gather up all of his papers. “You’re in a lot of trouble here, and I feel like I’m just wasting my time.”

“No, no. Wait, wait, wait,” Gus insisted, reaching out slightly to stop him from walking away. “I... I know something big, but you gotta get me immunity. I ain’t gonna get out of doing time for this thing, just to get locked up for that one.”

Todd slowly looked up at him. “How big?” he asked cautiously.

Gus cringed. “Big enough that it went national.”

“Douglas,” Todd prompted.

“You gotta get me immunity,” Gus insisted.

“I can’t do that unless I know what we’re dealing with,” Todd told him. “If you’ve got enough information, then there’s a good chance they’ll work with us.”

Gus sighed again and counted silently on his finger. “Talking five, probably six, here. Maybe more,” he said. “Including a cop, a reverend, and a fed.”

It took Todd a moment to catch up. “Are you talking about a body count, here?” he asked, startled.

“Yeah, but I swear, I didn’t kill anybody,” Gus insisted.

“You’ve got to be honest with me.”

“I am!” Gus had intended to keep this whole ordeal as his own little secret until the end of time, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised that it just might be his ticket to (relative) freedom. He scrubbed his face with his hands and inhaled deeply. “Okay, here’s what happened.”

He told Todd about the plan to blackmail the reverend, and how that sort of went to hell about ten minutes in. The more he went on about the entire horrible night, the more he seemed to remember. The snuff film collection they’d found, how Charlie drowned the guy pretending to be the reverend in a septic tank, and that stupid fat fucker that turned it into his personal mission to seriously mess with their night.

Of course, there was a large chunk of the night that was missing from his account – specifically everything after the moment he was shot, but he didn’t stop there.

Damnit, if he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. After all, everyone loves to hear about corrupt cops. Corrupt sheriffs are even better. Corrupt sheriffs that cover up the murder of their own husband to be able to walk away with two million dollars are a sure win.

“What did you do with the money?” Todd asked after Gus finished.

“Have you ever tried to disappear?” Gus asked. “It’s fucking expensive.”

“What have you been doing the last six months?”

“Sleeping, mostly,” Gus answered. “Seriously, I’m fucking done. I don’t care about anything anymore. I just want to be able to fall asleep in a comfortable chair with the TV on, and the only place I can do that is at home.”

“Douglas, this may take a while to process,” Todd pointed out. “They’re going to have to check every detail to make sure you’re telling the truth.”

“Of course I’m telling the truth,” Gus insisted.

“Would you believe you?” Todd asked simply.

Gus hardly had to even think about it. “No,” he admitted. “Well, put it through on rush, or something. Cause I can’t live like this. I fucking hurt. Literally. You ever fall off a second-story ledge?”

“How have you been handling all this?” Todd asked, realising it was an obvious question that had been overlooked.

That pesky conscience thing returned, and Gus realised that answering this question would implicate someone who hadn’t actually done anything wrong.

And then he realised that there’s no way on earth anything could be traced back to him anyway, and they’d need a name...

“I know a guy,” he said. “A doctor. He wrote prescriptions for me.”

“Does this doctor have a name?” Todd asked.

Gus had to think about this one. “Sandhu,” he said, knowing he was probably pronouncing it wrong. “I don’t even know his first name. I’ve always just known him as Doc, really.”

He really fucking hoped there was no way that this would get back to the guy, and realises belatedly that he probably should have made something up. Though, it’s unlikely that they’d look to England, even if Guppy was from the same universe.

“Is there anything else?” Todd asked.

Gus thought about this and shook his head. “I don’t think so. Like I said, I been going out of my way to avoid this shit.”

“Okay,” Todd said, getting up. “Well, I’ll get this through as soon as possible. I think we’ve got something solid here.”
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Gus Dickinson

September 2010

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