can figure out, except maybe his wife, but one thing he is, is loyal. Another thing that I can’t get past is that everything he said is right. Mickey did snitch on Percy. She even thinks the reason her family was killed could somehow tie back in to her wearing that wire while Percy was in prison. But, why would she admit all of that to us if it wasn’t true? And why go back to the Reich if she thinks there is even a possibility that they know about her deception?
The only thing that makes sense is that none of this makes any sense.
Yet, after everything Preppy has just said, I still feel the overwhelming need to defend her. To protect her. “She snitched when she was just a kid, and it was only on Percy. Nine and I both know that fucker had it coming. Kid always had a few screws loose, even way back in juvie.”
Preppy cocks his head to the side. “Okay, with that reasoning in mind, let me ask you this: would you or could you snitch on someone when you were fourteen? Ever even consider it?”
When I was fourteen, I was deep into dealing and building my own business on the streets. I’d already made a name for myself, and I knew the rules of the game I was playing. The code of honor amongst thieves. The answer is simple, yet so fucking hard to admit. “No.”
Preppy continues, “And, again, with that reasoning still in mind, would you say that you are someone who has on occasion done some questionable and possibly highly illegal things that in the mind of society as a whole would say deserves to be snitched on?”
I sigh because I know what he’s getting at. “Yes.”
“And she’s a genius, right. A professor of psychology, or some shit, right?” Preppy asks, folding his hands together. “A mind master?”
“Doctor,” I correct.
“Even better. So she’s a doctor of psychology. Therefore she knows how the mind works. How it responds. You might even say that she has a degree in manipulation. Sure, she claims to have been using her powers to fuck over the Reich, but what says that she isn’t using that shit on you, too? Even if she’s not playing on their side, there’s nothing to prove that she’s playing on yours, besides her word, which I have proven here today to be unreliable bullshit.”
“I like you better when you’re spewing nonsense,” I admit, tired of this line of thought and the fact that I even have to think about them.
Preppy slaps his hands on his thighs, rubbing at his khaki pants. “Well, there you have it, my friend.” He counts, ticking off his fingers as he goes. “She snitched.” Finger down. “She tried to rob you.” Finger down. “She played a part in jacking your shit and attempting to turn King against you.” Finger down. “She lives with Neo Nazis, and has their mark burned into her shoulder. She’s chanted their chants and walked their walks since childhood.” Finger down. “And last, but certainly not least, she left you just when you found out who she really was and that her father was a founding member, which she claims to not have known, but how the fuck wouldn’t she know that?” There are no more fingers left on his hand. He opens his fist and wiggles his fingers, pointing to them. “These little piggies don’t lie, my friend, and they’ve decided that she doesn’t exactly sound like wifey material. He sits back with his hands resting at the nape of his neck. “The motherfucking prosecution rests.” He purses his lips. “Never thought I’d say that one. Heard it a bunch of fucking times from the other side of the courtroom though.”
I look to Nine and then at Preppy, feeling both enraged and defeated. “You know, I’ve been fighting battles and losing at every turn, and I’m so fucking sick of it. It’s time to make a few changes.”
“That’s the spirit!” Preppy cheers, slapping me on the shoulder. “A little homicide will make you feel as right as fucking rain. I’m practically a doctor. I would know.”
I laugh at what I was going to tell Mickey before I found my apartment empty and realized she was gone. It seems ridiculous now. “I can’t believe I was going to tell her that I’d help her get her revenge and get her out of the Reich.” As much as I want to hate Mickey,