Narration

Transcript

Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
after six hours of going over it, then going over it some more. Arvin Little Dap Williams's stories still held water. He didn't know Tristan's last name, but he knew where he lived. And by the time Yolanda came in the next morning, Maddie had already gotten all the vitals from the housing wheel. An hour later, with I, a cone and Mullins standing out of sight halfway down the hall, Maddie murmured to Yolanda's, He knocked on the door. You sure you don't have another little one on one pep talk with him? I'd like to drag this ******* kid out by his hair, she said. Through her teeth. Maddie knocked again, and a woman wearing yellow Playtex cleaning loves peered through the width of the top chain, then opened up when she saw the badge. We'd like to speak to Tristan. You'll understand he's not in trouble or anything. Tristan, her face crinkling with anxiety, is she reflexively look toward the bedroom. You should wait for my husband will be quick. You'll understand, leaving Ire Cone in the living room. Maddie, Yolanda and Mullins walked past two small kids quietly watching TV to the bedroom, natty sliding the woman off to the side. Before opening the door, Tristan sat on the foot of the bed, hunched over his spiral notebook, his beat book alternately squinting at his ex stepfather's house rules and dropping rhymes, rules by fools to be observed by tools. Don't giggle with my liquor drugs a quicker make you sicker blood runs thicker in the street, where we, the elite defeat any kind of heat you want to bring. Ain't no thing I'm a player, a slayer. So be understand, full of the handful that I am shadows dark in the page, Tristan looking up to see the three detective standing over him. And if you say obey, get up, Please hold on. Kristen still head down, scribbling as he gestured for them to wait. You better pray because it's a brand new day. Then hands on his biceps lifted him like a child. The notebook hitting the floor. It was midday, and Eric was trying to remember how to get out of bed. At this point in time, no one seemed to care whether he was human garbage or not, and it was just killing him. The indifferent choir in his head consisted among others of Ike Marcus's father, those two detectives and Bree, strangely like Marcus himself, was not among them, most likely because he had died oblivious to what Eric was about to do or not do for him, although they would play catch up somewhere soon enough. There was no office for assistance here, no grievance committee, no redemption center. And then he saw Harry steals gift basket.