99 Problems

                                    

                                          
Despite the forewarning, this arrest was the most aggravated Mickey had ever felt. By the time he'd been processed and dumped in an interview room, Mickey was basically clawing at his skin, absently rubbing at the inmate number written on his arm. It didn't help that no one seemed to be in any particular hurry to deal with him. They left him to stew for a while in the empty room, and by the time the detectives finally made an appearance, Mickey had long reached the end of his patience.
                          
"Fuck off!" he snarled the moment the detective pushed her head inside, "I ain't saying shit without my lawyer."
                          
The detective rolled her eyes, but did not argue. She simply turned heel and exited the room. However, a few minutes later, the door opened once again. Mickey was not amused. "What are you, fucking deaf—" his invective stalled at the sight of Agent Fowler—folder in hand—and one of his sidekicks strolling into the room. Mickey clapped his mouth shut and stared stonily ahead at the blank wall. Agent Fowler was undeterred by the lack of a warm welcome.
                          
"Mickleback, how's it going?!"
                          
Agent Hernandez was careful to keep her face as neutral as possible, but she most heartily concurred with Mickey's massive eye-roll at Fowler's chirpy greeting. Mickey remained silent, even as a smiling Fowler took a seat across from him at the narrow table. "Ran 'a fowl' of the law again, huh? What did I say about doing that?"
                          
Mickey didn't know where to look for rescue. This went beyond his Miranda rights; this had to be a violation of the Geneva Convention or something. Hernandez hid her own visceral reaction behind a polite cough while Mickey glared at her senior agent.
                          
"Now don't get all worked up. I'm not here to question you or anything," Fowler reassured the young man, "I was in the building, heard you'd been booked and I thought I'd come say hi; keep you company a little bit."
                          
Mickey believed that the way he believed in Santa. Still he said nothing, though he couldn't help his curiosity as Fowler opened his folder and started pulling out pictures, laying them out before Mickey. They were surveillance photos, mostly of Sal, from all over the city.
                          
"I gotta say that after all this time Salvatore still knows how to surprise. I mean, between us," Fowler said and leaned forward conspiratorially, "he's officially off the reservation now, isn't he? Gone off the deep end?"
                          
Mickey sniffed loudly and shifted in his chair so he could ignore Fowler even more pointedly. Fowler simply went on laying out more photos, the last few showing Sal heedlessly partying with his now ex-friends.
                          
"I mean this mess over at Cicero... the man has lost his damn mind. I tell you, I'm surprised Fischetti hasn't sorted him out yet, but then I suppose he has Linda to consider. Still, can't imagine her good will's gonna extend to Sal for much longer," Fowler mused as he set down pictures of Sal and Ian out on dates and getting cosy in public. Mickey's eyes darted towards the pictures before once again staring blankly at the wall. "Moving your goomar onto your property, honestly. Let me tell you, Agent Hernandez, that is something that is simply not done. Gotta have big balls or a deranged mind, just breaking all the rules like this—running around with young boys, taking drug fuelled holidays in the middle of a shake up. Can't imagine any of the top boys are too happy with the way Sal's been running shop. I mean really, what the hell, Mickey?" Fowler asked lightly, only to be met with more silence. "You know what I think? I think this is Sal's way of going supernova. It's the death of a star is what this all is. You ever see a star go supernova, Mickey?"
                          
Mickey had seen it, lying on the floor of the planetarium watching whole star systems grow and die while Ian lay warm and solid against him. He swallowed convulsively, but said nothing as Fowler continued.