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“Whose driver went all horror movie on two people.”
“Did I?”
“If you didn’t, who did?”
“I’ll tell you the same thing I told everybody else. You want to know who killed that white boy and his bitch; I need to be doing my recovery on the outside.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Anderson said.
“You shot at a cop,” Cranston added, “even if you’re cleaner than virgin snow, you aren’t walking away on that.”
“Sure, but then I got shot like six times in the back. They tell me I may never be able to pee right and shit. I think I’ve suffered enough.”
“You’re the only one who thinks so.”
“Until you all start being a bit more sympathetic, I guess the murder is going to remain unsolved.”
“We’ve got you.”
“Nah, you don’t and you know it. That razor don’t mean shit, I’m surprised you haven’t thrown Phoebe’s nice ass back in here.”
“Keep her name out of your mouth,” Anderson said.
“Damn,” Lucas replied, managing a smile, “You sound like you’re sweet on her or something.”
“Just watch your mouth, punk.”
“Her name might be in my mouth a lot after you get the charges dropped.”
“Are you saying Phoebe did it?” Cranston asked, drawing a look from his partner.
“Nah, like I said, as long as I’m in here, the murder case stays unsolved.”
“How do we know you even know shit? I told you, give us something, and if it checks out…”
“—I look like some punk? I know how you cops play people. Get me out and I serve up the perpetrator of the Masterson Hot Tub Massacre on a tray like you just got some McDonalds or something.”
“You know, the longer you hold out, the more likely somebody solves this thing without you and then you get nothing for sure,” Anderson said.
Lucas tried to laugh, but it hurt, so he stopped and then told them, “I don’t think I have to worry about that.”
“Think about it, Lucas. This here might be your best chance to get yourself out of this mess.”
“You heard the terms. Come back when you meet them.”
“Your loss, Lucas.”
“Next time, let me know you’re coming so I can call my lawyer.”
“You mean Harry Lee’s lawyer,” Anderson corrected him. “You know he’s just here to make sure you don’t talk about your boss when you’re trying to make a deal.”
“Lucky for me, I know enough I don’t need to say shit about Harry to walk away from this shit.”
“You’d better hope so. I don’t think prison will be easy for a guy like you,” Cranston told him.
“What do you mean ‘a guy like me’?”
“A guy who was getting his ass kicked by a girl the last time he was breathing free air,” Anderson said.
