The two say a few more things back and fourth--mainly Mike catching the other's inconsistencies, and he finally sets the bat down. Petro face is cut and swollen and bruised, nose broken, and Mike sighs.
"Petros, you know I can't let this go. Help me help you here--you fucked me over with bus 82 and ran to your boss, so he trusts you. Just wanna know where Whistler in particular fits in there. Guns? Money? Whistler's girls?"
"I swear to god--"
"I need a name, Petros. Just a name."
"I don't know."
"You're...what. 5 years sober?"
"6."
"Right. Six." And Mike grabs the towel and the bottle back. "Billy, hold his head still."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2015-07-19 09:26 am (UTC)"Petros, you know I can't let this go. Help me help you here--you fucked me over with bus 82 and ran to your boss, so he trusts you. Just wanna know where Whistler in particular fits in there. Guns? Money? Whistler's girls?"
"I swear to god--"
"I need a name, Petros. Just a name."
"I don't know."
"You're...what. 5 years sober?"
"6."
"Right. Six." And Mike grabs the towel and the bottle back. "Billy, hold his head still."