The Donors Read Free

blank or something. When he turned to the other cop, Steve could swear he saw a kind of little yellow glow in his pupils. The yellow-eyed cop leaned over and whispered something in the younger cop’s ear. The young cop looked surprised.
    â€œYou’re shitting me!” he said and then rose. “What the hell is that all about? Are they Feds?” The young cop seemed pretty pissed at whatever the news was. Steve relaxed a little. Maybe they had to let him go. He knew the little brat would be too scared to fuck him.
    The older, yellow eyed cop stared vacantly at the wall. “It’s all taken care of, so don’t worry about it.”
    The first cop looked at Steve in disgust and shook his head. Then he stormed from the room. The older cop held Steve’s eyes and then a thin, tight smile flashed for a moment on his lips.
    â€œDon’t leave. There are some men who want to talk to you.” He smiled that hard, mean smile again, but his eyes still looked dead, vacant maybe. Steve looked at the gold name plate above the cop’s right breast pocket—Maloney. He tried to remember that in case the asshole tried to rough him up or something. He’d have the shithead’s badge. Steve shifted nervously and fought not to look again at the cop’s strange eyes, but then the older cop turned and left, closing the door behind him.
    Some men? What men? They had to be some kind of cops , he guessed. Something in the cop’s icy voice and dead eyes made Steve shudder. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead and ran down his back under his flannel shirt.
    What the fuck?
    The man who walked in towered above him. Steve couldn’t tell if he was big as well as tall because he wore a long gray trench coat, with no belt, that came nearly to his ankles. A shorter man with a similar coat stood beside him. Both wore gray hats, like Bogart in an old black-and-white movie. The wide brims cast shadows that prevented Steve from seeing their eyes. The shorter man closed the door behind them and then stood behind his boss, arms across his chest. The tall man spoke. His voice was deep and even with no emotion. The voice sent a chill through Steve.
    â€œMr. Prescott, my name is Mr. Clark. This is Mr. Smith.” The tall man indicated his partner with a long bony finger, the skin so pale it seemed translucent. He paused for a long time, like Steve was supposed to say something. Instead, he shifted uncomfortably on the vinyl seat and felt a droplet of sweat trickle down his neck from his face. He wanted very much to see the man’s face, but couldn’t. Only a thin-lipped mouth, like a purple cut across his white face, and then above that, shadows.
    â€œYou more fucking cops?” Steve asked. He tried to seem bored, but realized he sounded small instead. The tall man bent his head forward as if holding his tongue and then spoke again.
    â€œMr. Prescott, my name is Clark and this is Smith.” The same long pause, only this time Steve looked down and said nothing. “Do you know why you are here, Mr. Prescott?”
    â€œMy name is Steve and yeah, I do. My girlfriend’s rocket-scientist kid burned his hand. I tried to help him and now you cops are trying to fuck me over. I didn’t do nothin’ wrong, but I get in trouble. I should have let the little shit burn.” He wanted to exude toughness, but again his voice sounded different than he intended.
    â€œMr. Prescott, we are not policemen.” The man behind him opened a small notebook. “We need you to answer a few simple questions. What is your full name, please?”
    â€œMan, you guys are killin’ me. I already answered all this shit. Ask your fucking cop friends.” The tall man tilted his head slightly but his face remained shadowed.
    â€œMr. Prescott”—the voice was like ice—”what is your full name please?”
    Steve sighed nervously and tried to swallow but his throat felt