Chapter Text
What they would call the devil is a man with a strong nose in a light blue uniform. He sits across two cops in an interrogation room.
“You know, I think it’s time you accept the situation you’re in.”
The stringed light overhead swivels as if a ghost twirls it in boredom. You couldn’t blame a dead soul for being bored in the first place, but it’s most likely they’re limp from the hard-wall silence.
The named devil has not spoken for forty minutes.
“Come on. You …you of all people know how this is gonna end.”
He has smiled closed-lipped at every other question as if each one is a joke that’s not funny enough to laugh at, he has squeaked his body weight onto his chair at every other accusation. In the beginning of this interrogation, he did make it too easy to gun down the two cops’ words with every scratch of his goatee. Their attempts of manipulation that can't possibly work because yes, he of all people knows how this is going to end, meaning he knows all too well how to bring a person to that point, the finale of a confession.
The cops know that, but they’re still on the clock…and to make it personal, this is one of their own. The devil was their friend. The man to play poker with.
“Lalo, we know what you did. This? This is just mandatory–this is us giving you a chance to make this easier for you .”
The younger cop takes to looking at the table.
“For her.”
The devil’s name sits on a small plaque on the desk next to theirs. Everything that used to be has been bloodied. Literally.
They haven’t had the chance to give him unstained clothes, to let him wipe the red off his body.
“Ah. I’ve surrounded myself with the nicest guys, no?”
The two cops breathe out at Lalo’s words. They’re not useful. They’re mocking, but any word is better than none.
“...You used to be a nice guy, Lalo.”
Lalo leans back on the chair, hands on his knees.
“I’m not anymore? That’s too bad, then. What does that mean for me? I should kill myself for how not nice I am now. Or…” Lalo blows a raspberry in what’s obviously false thought. “...Something. Yeah. Something. I’ll go with the latter.”
“No, you know what? It’s easy to see you never were nice–”
The hand of the cop reaches out for the other. Their emotions are not the ones that are supposed to rise to a boil.
“Mike, we can’t just let him sit on his ass for the next hour.”
…No. They can’t. Not if they want to find you.
If there’s anything left to find.
“Yeah, Michael–come on, I know you–and me, we’re both used to the beat cop routine, but you gotta let other guys have a chance at me.”
Mike doesn’t lean forward, he doesn’t sigh. He only tries to think about how to go about this.
How to finally stop failing you – get you out of the hole Lalo Salamanca’s had you in for a year. Right under their noses. God only knows what he’s done to you, and he’s hoping you can find out from you.
Not from an autopsy. Hell, not even from Lalo’s impossible confession. From you.
“You’re not getting out of here. Even if you manage to leave this room, which you won’t, you’re not making it out of the station. There is no point in holding onto where you’ve trapped her.”
There’s a snort from the bastard on the word trapped. Like it’s unbelievable Mike could use that in the first place.
That means something, but he won’t beat at it now. He needs more reaction for the boil to…boil over, but that means something. And he won’t let it show that it does either.
He’ll poke. Pinch, because Lalo has kept you trapped in his house for half of the year, that the crew knows, what he did in the early half to get you in his grasp is something he only wants to know because he has to.
“Lalo.”
…He’s seen the polaroids. He’s seen the room.
“I’ve seen the polaroids. I’ve seen the room.”
So, trapped seems like pretty much the right word to him.
“If you care about her, which, for her sake, I’m gonna pretend like you do, you’d tell us where she is.”
Lalo shifts, arms going up to cross over his chest. He smiles thin.
“What are you doing, man?”
“Telling the truth. We’re gonna pretend that you didn’t just use her for your sick games because this is about us finding her. This is not about getting a confession out of you. This is us giving you a chance but really? We can do this without you. But I’m sure she’d be happy to know that you actually cared about her enough to not let her rot away wherever you put her just because you failed to not get caught. That everything you forced her to do meant…something.”
Lalo’s smile drops.
There it is. Mike pokes, pinches. Rips a hole through the veil.
There’s no way the fucker could believe that whatever he’s done to you is… mutual. Is something along the lines of love, but it’s obvious the idea that people believe what he’s doing to use is, well, torture…that seems to get at Lalo. Why? That doesn’t matter, but if this can make Lalo break, then Mike will keep on it.
“I mean, when we do find her–”
“Okie.” It’s nearly humorous from Lalo’s mouth. Mike blinks.
“...You don’t want her safe, do you?”
Lalo looks away from the wall, eyes readying on Mike’s face, because this means something.
“Trapped. That’s the word you use…so whatever you’ve got yourself thinking about when it comes to me, Michael…nah. You got everything figured out.”
“If you’re willing to let her die because you’re not getting out of here–”
“You got everything figured out. About me, about her, but not you. Cause…” Lalo drags the word everything out on the low end of his throat, scratching his bicep before leaning forward. “Cause you can’t see that I see what you’re doing here.” He points to his chest on the word I. “It’s a better try than whatever the hell rookie’s been doin’ to me, but why would I need to… defend myself? Honestly, Michael. What you think of me, if you believe it’s all fact, then what can I do?”
…The faces Lalo can make when he’s talking, whether it’s for the sake of emphasis, humor, or charm. Mike’s never found it that tolerable.
What can Lalo find tolerable? Bullshit questions and interrogation methods? Yeah, he’s been able to for almost an hour. But just because he says poking at whatever he feels about you is pointless doesn’t mean that it is.
It’s almost childish, really. Mike’s basically going “Yeah, thought not” to Lalo, but if it works, it works.
This could almost make up for letting what Lalo did to you happen.
“I was hoping you’d tell me that she loves you. Or that you love her. That wherever she is, she’s there willingly. If you did defend yourself, or however you put it, I’d take your word. Maybe it’d make the jury go easy on you.”
“...Michael.” Lalo turns to rookie. “Rookie. What I’m gonna do is shut up and wait. I suggest you guys go ahead and do that too.”
Mike sighs. He makes sure he does.
“Wait for what? A lawyer? It’s the fact you won’t even deny it, Lalo. What is she gonna have waiting for us when we find her? Will she even deny it? What happened to her, I mean.”
Mike can hear Lalo patting his hand on his thigh. The bastard’s only looking up.
“I don’t think she’ll do you that solid, even. A year isn’t enough to fully break her down. But maybe you don’t need everyone else to be convinced that what you did to her–sorry, had with her is something that isn’t, well, entrapment. Kidnapping.” Mike looks to the wall behind Lalo. “Sexual torture. And so on. Feel free to add anything else. It’s a “as long as I know who I am”, maybe?”
Mike tilts his head to one side quickly, as if letting the purposeful thought fall against his skull.
“Or maybe you just don’t care that we and everyone else knows how awful of a monster you were to her. That makes sense too.”
Pat, pat, pat, pat.
“Mike…I gotta use the bathroom.”
“Use it, Rookie. This ain’t daycare, you don’t gotta ask.”
“Go.”
The younger cop gets up from his screeching chair. Mike doesn’t breathe out.
He just looks to the scratches and bite marks on Lalo’s arms.
This motherfucker thinks nothing of what he’s done. And Mike wishes that he didn’t feel the need to spite, to see Lalo fumble that smirk off his face and those noises out of his throat, but he’s never been perfect–even when it came to the job.
“Would you at least tell us if we’re looking for her or a corpse?”
The patting stops. Mike doesn’t hear the younger cop open the door.
There it is.
“What? You didn’t think that after everything we found out that we still wouldn’t dare think that you’d stoop to offing her the minute you find out we’re coming to take her away? No, maybe I shouldn’t be thinking you as possessive, I know you. There would be none of that “if I can’t have her, no one can” bullcrap. Getting rid of her probably wasn’t anything more than a disappointing chore, but it meant starting over, maybe. That on the off chance you get out of here, there’s room for another poor young woman to rape and hold hostage.”
He doesn’t even know what he’s meaning to do with what he’s saying, other than making, as he thought, Lalo fumble…but still, it’s like he can tell that the accusations of this girl, this girl he’s kept away being something lesser to Lalo is something Lalo can’t handle.
And if it’s the only thing Lalo can’t handle, if it’s the only thing he's showing true reaction to, then maybe the accusations aren’t true.
Mike doesn’t know where to begin with that.
“Michael.”
“Yeah?”
Lalo lowers his head back down. Mike stares into the black of his eyes.
“You don’t know me. That’s the whole reason why it took you so long to find out just what was going on. You don’t know… nothing.”
“You’re not denying it’s her body we’re gonna find by the end of the night. You’re making to easy to assume what’s probably the truth, that you threw her away the minute she wasn’t going to be useful–””
Mike doesn’t move at Lalo slamming his hand on the table. It echoes, he thinks.
“Domingo, put your gun away. Go take your shit.”
“Mike–”
“You don’t know what she’s asked of me.” Lalo doesn’t blink with his eyes wide and tense, everything slightly wrinkled on his face curling with the furrow of his brows and mouth. His tabled arm bends. “You don’t know what I’ve given her.”
“No. I don’t, so tell me. It’s obvious the corpse talk gets you riled, is it because it’s bull? Or that it’s true but still, you’re offended that I’m accusing you of the crime anyway.”
Lalo leans back, eyes still on Mike like he’ll burn a hole through him, but he smiles anyway.
No. He only smiles once he’s played with his ring for a bit.
“You’re gonna find her, right? So…you don’t gotta ask me anything about her. You really…you–” Lalo presses his thumb over his ring to the point where Mike thinks he could break his finger.
“You don’t need to be thinking about her as much as you’re doing right now. Okay? You? Thinking about her as a corpse? You’re, what do I say? You’re one sick puppy, man.”
“...Lalo–”
“Why would I go ahead and do that to myself?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think of little Kaylee as a corpse?”
Mike feels his arms heavy at that.
It’s a nice try. It’s easy to go for. And that’s the type of man he is now. Always was.
“Sorry, Michael. I’m not asking that to hurt you, I’m not that kind of guy. Just…you don’t, right?”
Mike doesn’t speak.
“Yeah. So why would I think of her as a corpse? Let alone… you know.”
…He can’t even say it.
“You should be smart enough to put what’s got your heart all hard on me aside, partner. If you did, you’d realize that I wouldn’t do that.” Lalo sniffs. “Put her in a place where I can’t reach her.”
Mike stares, only barely glances at Domingo still standing.
“Lalo, you’re never gonna be able to reach her again.”
Mike and Domingo both wait on a reaction. Anything that isn’t Lalo’s dead stare.
They wait for a minute. Then two.
Just until he begins spinning the ring again.
“This is gonna be over soon.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
He’s not looking at Mike as he spins, like he’s…soothing himself.
“It means what I say. Gonna be over before we all know it.” He looks to the wall. “Didn’t mean to waste my guys’ time like this. You know how much I put myself out for this crew.”
This bastard of a fellow cop. This monster of a man.
“...You think she’s gonna keep your name safe on the stand?”
Lalo licks his bottom lip with a heavy sigh. Mike can see that pushing him is putting that in tense territory, and that’s where they need to be right now.
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“It means that even if you’ve broken her to the point of Stockholm syndrome, she’s gonna tell the truth about what happened to her. Alright, you care about her enough. You’ve talked against your best interest to tell me that, so I believe you, but I’m not gonna believe this is some romance story for her too.”
Mike can’t know what Lalo’s smile means at that, but he continues to push.
“Is it important to you that she cares about you just as much as you care for her? I’m betting not.”
“...Mm. What time is it?”
“Domingo, what time is it?”
“...Is he allowed to know th–”
“Molina.”
Domingo checks his watch.
“1:45.”
Mike can’t know exactly what Lalo’s smiles mean, and he can’t exactly know what it means when they drop like his does now.
“Really?” Lalo straightens his back out. “You sure?”
“...Yeah.”
“Something you’re waiting on?”
There’s nothing from the man across from him, because he is waiting on something–he can’t make mocking and spiteful, arrogant humor a priority when he’s waiting on something.
Something that’s already supposed to be here, maybe, based on the way Lalo’s eyes get restless. The way he fully straightens out to squeeze his knees.
“You’re never gonna reach her again–”
Everything’s a blur once Mike’s words are broken. He didn’t think Lalo would ever break, at least not this quickly.
But there’s no doubt that he’s boiled over without the two other cops in the room knowing, or maybe, whatever he’s waiting for had him riled up so quickly, that his anger has boiled so fast that Mike’s words were just a knob to the flame.
Either way, there’s a table being flipped before he can reach his gun. Or move out of the way.
Lalo moves to the corner, all the white-knuckle obvious, in a way that’s never been Lalo.
“You don’t know!” Somehow his words are spit out and a whisper at the same time. Mike groans as he rises slowly. “You don’t know. You don’t know. You don’t know.”
Mike gestures to Domingo to lower his gun.
“What don’t we know?”
…Lalo isn’t being cornered, but he’s putting himself in the corner as if he is, like there’s more to it in his sick mind.
He drags himself down, bent at his knees as he brings his knuckle to his mouth.
The ring pressing against his lips and teeth.
“We were waiting…we’re gonna keep waiting.”
“For what, Lalo?
“For her.”
Mike turns to the soft voice of Domingo. The stupidity, the nerves of his face and voice gone. He looks back to Lalo to see there’s no reaction to the words.
But he’s right. It’s the truth. He’s been waiting for you.
“You’re not keeping her anywhere, are you? That’s why you’re not telling us? Cause she’ll be okay? She’ll come here? Unless she decides to not–”
“Krazy. Shut. Up.”
He’s been passing time with interrogation.
But you’re not here, and maybe it’s that that has Lalo Salamanca pressed small in the corner of the room, soothing himself with the routine of spinning a ring.
Whatever has been done to you, it’s you that has Lalo Salamanca like this, and it’s no longer just the question of what he’s done to you, it’s what you’ve done to him.
“You said you saw the photos?”
Mike rubs his back. “Yeah.”
“...Mind if I have one?”
Lalo curls his ringless hand into a fist. Then uncurls. Then curls.
But with either question, maybe this is just what happens when the devil falls in love.
“I mean, come on, guys. They are mine.”
No. Mike, even in the end, believes naming whatever’s been done to you as something of the devil is cowardly. That it’s what makes humanity cowardly. That thinking Lalo Salamanca to be the devil because of what he’s done is nothing but denial that the people around you can do what he’s done.
It’s never the devil, it’s always the man you play cards with.