WANTED MAN | ROYAL DELUXE

https://youtu.be/YSAMOBVncSg

the law ain't never been a friend of mine

i would kill again to keep from doing time

you should never ever trust my kind

i'm a wanted man

i got blood on my hands

do you understand?

i'm a wanted man

if you ask me to change

i don't know, if i can

i'll always be, who i am

🥀🔪🥀

As Tinsley exited the Interrogation Room, Ricky rocked in his chair triumphantly. He was glad the man had lived up to- no, exceeded his expectations. He was clever. A damn hard find when the vast majority of the world was populated by morons.

He let the front two legs of his chair hit the ground with a dull thud, finding his eyes in the two-way mirror that lined the wall of the interrogation room. There was no one behind it, still, he felt uneasy. His own two eyes peered back at him and Ricky took himself in. Everything was silent, even whatever that had been going on in the next room over was quiet, and he felt the weight of being stuck in the room with himself.

Goldsworth's gaze tore from the mirror to find the handcuffs still positioned neatly on the wooden table and he picked them up, toying with them. He wondered when Tinsley would return.

🥀✒️🥀

It was not often that C.C. found himself in the chief's office. It wasn't that different from his own, only larger and more clean. He preferred his room, if he was honest. Tinsley enjoyed his organised chaos and found that any office without it felt incredibly bare, almost uninhabited. The detective wasn't fond of such a feeling.

He relayed the primary themes of the discussion that had occurred only fifteen minutes ago with Goldsworth to the man he knew as his boss.

"He wants immunity," Tinsley finished, still struggling to believe he had accepted such an offer. The detective had by no means confirmed to the criminal that he would be granted such a request, but he had said he would figure something out with the chief.

The chief laughed heavily, wheezing until he was coughing. He only stopped when he caught sight of C.C.'s expression. "He can't be serious," the officer questioned, mouth still reminiscent of a smirk.

Tinsley sighed. "It seems that he is." His superior furrowed his brow and the detective continued before he could send him and the case from the room without a second thought. "Look, I think we give him a shot. Not immunity, obviously, but we might be able to cut ourselves a deal. He says he has names, and if I'm honest sir, I do not take Goldsworth to be a liar."

The chief was not convinced, eyeing C.C. with a questioning look. "But if he is-"

"Then you get him for every life sentence he's charged with."

His boss considered him carefully, tapping his fingers on the table with one hand as he flattened his moustache with the other. The silence stretched on and on, allowing Tinsley to continue to take in the room they were situated in.

The more he looked around, the more he noticed the smaller signs of it being lived in. An ashtray sat on the desk, as did a lighter beside it. Paperwork was scattered atop it, looking untouched in days. A picture frame was positioned at the edge of the large table, though it was flipped upside down.

"These names, how big are we talking?"

Tinsley was snapped from his momentary reading of the room to look back up at the chief. He shrugged. "Says they're people that'll get the commissioner into the palm of your hand."

The policeman seemed to take to this well, the ends of his wide mouth lifting slightly into an ugly, greedy smile. Still, there was some hesitation evident in his eyes. After all, capturing this criminal was more than enough for some hefty media attention (and validation). "You sure about this Tinsley?"

C.C. paused, truly considering his next words. This was him sticking up for Ricky Goldsworth. He never found himself particularly interested in the man's case, but everyone had heard of his stories, both inside and outside the police. His face was plastered all over the city with that stupid, smug look (apparently it was permanently on his features, even in sketch form). This was dangerous. This was most likely going to backfire. This went against everything Tinsley stood for. Then again, it some how aligned with it all as well. So for the second time that day, the man found himself speaking in a voice of total confidence when really, he had a million doubts.

"I think we give him a chance."

🥀✒️🥀

Tinsley re-entered the interrogation room to find Goldsworth still swinging on his chair. His face lit up upon noticing the door open and the criminal smiled widely. He opened his mouth to say something, which, judging from his features, was most likely going to be snide. The detective stopped him before he could utter a single syllable.

"Nope. I speak, you listen."

Goldsworth obliged, holding up his hands in defeat. He still kept his amused smirk, though, settled himself to listen.

C.C. made his way back to the centre of the room, standing on the opposite side of the table. He placed Ricky's file back onto the wooden surface. "If you live up to your claims, and it ain't just talk, then you could earn yourself a reduced sentence," he began. "Probably looking at a good while, but you might be able to get by with ten years then off on parole."

Ricky furrowed his brow in response, clearly unimpressed. Tinsley continued, cutting off any protest he apparently wanted to voice.

"Still speaking," he said pointedly to shut him up. "We will be able to terminate this deal at any time if you don't live up to your word. And be warned, you don't fuck with this deal, Goldsworth." Tinsley leant forward on his fists, staring with deadly intensity at the criminal across from him. His voice lowered seriously. "The second you turn on this, I can and will kill you. Or, another fun alternative, we bring you back here and I see to your execution myself. The boss don't like being made a fool of and I gotta say, neither do I." He paused momentarily, surveying Ricky's expression carefully for any hint of what he might be thinking. Though, as much as he hated to admit it, the criminal had a damn good poker face. "You're pushing boundaries. We don't usually mess with this shit and Chief already thinks you're bluffing, so I suggest you prove otherwise real quick or that noose will be on your throat before you know it."

Ricky maintained his unfazed manner. When he spoke, his voice was equally serious. "What do you think, detective?"

Tinsley was taken aback, for the question was not what he was anticipating. "What?"

"You said the Chief doesn't believe I'm telling the truth, what do you think?" He asked calmly.

There was a glint in his eye and C.C. wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. He pushed off the table to stand back up, continuing eye contact as he did so. "You know what I think."

"Sure, but I want to hear you say it."

Tinsley could have rolled his eyes, almost immediately regretting the fact that he had leapt into this hole and was now continuing to dig. "I've elected to give you the benefit of the doubt," he admitted with a straight face.

Ricky raised his eyebrows, lips curling upward again. "Risky," he noted with a click of his tongue.

"Stupid," C.C. confirmed. Neither said anything for a little while after that, each analysing the other for clues as to what mess they might be bringing upon themselves. It turned into some sort of staring contest, one that Tinsley eventually surrendered in order to break the silence. "So do you accept?"

Goldsworth shrugged half heartedly. "What if I don't?" He proposed, blatantly refusing to answer the question already asked of him.

"Then I leave this room right now, you might be acquainted with that noose even sooner."

Ricky fiddled with the edge of the desk, taking his sweet time in saying, "Well then, I guess I have no choice. Yes I accept."

C.C. didn't reply, instead, he pushed open the interrogation room door after collecting the file off the table with one smooth motion. "Come with me," he said, gesturing to the precinct beyond it.

"Ooh, where we going?" Goldsworth questioned, feigning excitement as he picked up the handcuffs still on the table and slipped them into his pocket before standing.

Tinsley already felt inclined to go back on their deal. "My office, come on."

As they made their way through the halls, other detectives and officers watched C.C. and Ricky intently, no doubt curious as to why one of their biggest criminals to be caught(?) was waltzing around as if he owned the place. Goldsworth followed Tinsley with a swagger of one who had worked there for decades rather than an enemy of its inhabitants. A couple of people glared, not at him however, but the detective. Most likely out of jealousy for the man wasn't particularly well known nor well liked, and his coworkers undoubtedly thought themselves better than him.

He ignored them as though it was second nature, winding his way between desks and up stairs till he made it to his own office, signalled by the wooden door that aptly read 'C.C. Tinsley'.

As they entered, Ricky let out a soft exhale. "How do you even know where anything is?" He asked immediately while stepping over piles of paper among other things, making his way to the chair on the outside of the desk.

"Everything has a place," Tinsley responded simply, walking to his desk without even looking at the ground, so accustomed to what most might deem obstacles scattered on the floor.

Goldsworth sat down heavily and his gaze found the ceiling, where more papers were hastily pinned. "Even on the roof?"

C.C. ignored him as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter, placing the rolled paper between his teeth before lighting it at the tip. Upon his first breath, he noticed Ricky's nose scrunched in disgust.

"What? You can commit crimes but can't smoke?"

Goldsworth rolled his eyes at the comment. "It's disgusting. You know what that shit does to your lungs?" He reasoned as he glared at the cigarette with distaste.

Tinsley raised his brows in amusement. "You haven't seen the doctors raving about them?"

Ricky scoffed as though his suggestion was laughable. "Bullshit. You know whatever's in those smokes are fuckin' your lungs up. I'd say in a hundred years doctors will be begging people not to smoke."

C.C. was clearly uninterested in the criminal's claims, though he nodded his head enough to signal that he agreed with him. "Lucky for me, I ain't gonna be here in a hundred years," he countered with a smile before turning to the window behind him and breathing out again.

He watched the city while Ricky took in his room, absorbing the shouts of both anger and laughter in the streets as the world below grew more lively with the sun setting. He must have been in that interrogation room for longer than he first thought, Tinsley realised when he noticed the sun beginning to dip. He considered this entire situation with exasperation, still slightly confused as to how he ended up sitting in his office with his back turned to one of the most famed criminals in the country. More than that, they were now partners of some kind, working toward a common goal.

It then occurred to Tinsley that he was yet to be made aware of what exactly that common goal was. Ricky hadn't exactly been specific when he spoke of what was threatening him to the point that he came to the police.

"Tell me about yourself, Goldsworth," he said without turning around in favour of tracing the city skyline with his gaze.

He listened as the criminal tapped on his desk, a rhythmic pattern that repeated over and over while Ricky thought. "What do you want to know?"

Tinsley wasn't picky. "Anything really," he replied honestly. "You seem to know everything about me."

"I wouldn't say I know everything about you," Ricky said. Tinsley could hear the smirk on his lips, curling his words into teasing remarks as though being cocky was his default expression. "Though I do certainly know quite a few things," he continued, arguably even more smug with every word, if that was even possible. "You could say, I like the game of figuring things out."

C.C. silently hated the fact that he was the disadvantaged in this standoff, Ricky's arrogance only rubbing it in as he bitterly admitted, "and all I know is your case file."

"Oh, how much does that tell you?" Goldsworth inquired with what sounded like genuine curiosity, though once again, Tinsley didn't need to look at his face to feel his cocky grin.

"Jackshit." C.C. took the cig to his lips and blew another breath of smoke out the window, focussing on the sun as it continued to make its decline behind buildings. "No one's been able to get anything on you in the almost ten years you've been causing trouble."

"Aw stop, you'll make me blush," Ricky teased, drumming on the wooden desk some more in a similar pattern to before. "There is one thing I don't know about you, Tinsley." Goldsworth leant back in his chair, swinging on the hind legs with crossed arms.

"What's that?" He asked with an inclined head. He wasn't entirely sure what he expected the man to say.

"What's 'C.C.' stand for?"

Tinsley smiled, first believing him to be joking. Though, upon hearing his prolonged, genuine pause, the detective realised he was serious. C.C. turned around finally to see an actually eager expression. He exhaled a laugh in amusement before shrugging. "You'll never know."

Ricky seemed genuinely offended. He stared at Tinsley with annoyed eyes as his chair fell back to all fours, clattering on the floor. "Seriously? You won't tell me?"

"I thought you liked the game of figuring things out," C.C. teased, turning back to the window to watch the descending sun over the city skyline.

From behind him, he could hear Goldsworth muttering. "Asshole."

🥀🔪🥀

It seemed to take forever for Tinsley to finish his cigarette. He ignored Goldsworth almost entirely. He spared glances or comments here and there, though for the most part opted to stare out at the city beyond his window. It didn't bother Ricky, for he was able to get a full look at the detective and his work ethic.

Something the criminal was immediately able to determine was that Tinsley was a messy son of a bitch. He claimed there was rhyme and/or reason to his disorderly manner, but it definitely wasn't discernable from the looks of it. Like his office, C.C. also had a certain 'unorganised chaos' air about him. His hair was incredibly disheveled and the hint of beard was beginning to show, stubble making his cheeks look rough. There were dark circles under his eyes, something Ricky was beginning to realise didn't really go away. Apparently the man wasn't a fan of sleep, or taking care of himself in general, it seemed. One thing remained consistent however, in the way he dressed. Not necessarily entirely put together, but he always wore a suit with his beige trench coat thrown atop, his tie sometimes undone, sometimes not. It provided a level of professionalism he lacked otherwise.

Eventually, Ricky picked up the case file thrown on Tinsley's desk, curious as to how much they really did have on him. It was thick and heavy, giving a somewhat promising expectation. Though it was apparent immediately that C.C. wasn't joking, there really was nothing to go on. A long list of crimes, sure, but even then many of those weren't even proven to be him. Just theories, desperate detectives pinning their unsolved cases to one name in hopes of the press leaving them alone. Goldsworth smirked when he mentally checked his own list of crimes against the charges and soon on, realised how much they were missing. It truly was laughable.

Tinsley must have noticed him with the file, for when Ricky eventually looked up, the detective was watching him, cigarette extinguished against the stone windowsill.

"This is pathetic," Ricky said shortly, nodding at the paper still in his hands.

C.C. nodded in agreement, moving himself back to his desk to sit down behind the table. "Don't blame me, I wasn't familiar with the actual case until this morning. Like I said, I don't usually do this shit. I like unknown cases. And you," Tinsley pointed to Ricky, "are anything but unknown."

Goldsworth tilted his head to the side in interest. "What is up with you and not liking to be known? Do you know how hard it was for me to find you? Took me a good hour to even know your name."

Tinsley smirked slightly. "You don't know my name, you know my initials," he reminded before his expression shifted, frowning in a way that told stories he undoubtedly wouldn't. "My life ain't important. What's important is you." Ricky opened his mouth to make another teasing remark, but was cut off as the detective continued, entirely ignoring him at this point. "Who is the threat? How did you get to this point? I need details if I'm actually going to start this case."

Goldsworth sighed. He knew this part had to come, after all, it was a key aspect of his plan as it was Tinsley's. The detective was no fool, and Ricky was proud to admit he wasn't one either. Still, he wasn't exactly a fan of talking about himself any more... honest light. It was far easier to talk up his world-renowned crimes than discuss what actually led him to committing them. Still, it had to be done. If above anything else, Ricky Goldsworth knew how to execute a plan. So, he began.

"Sit tight Tinsley, you're in for quite the story."