So I also wrote a little character study of one of my main villains, delving a little bit into his backstory, his steady far-right radicalisation which leads to him alienating a close friend from college, his reasons for moving to Stepford and his abduction of Rachel Martinez, and his role in the Men’s Association – and generally establishing him as being a class-A prick. The study as a whole delves into some very uncomfortable and upsetting places, a lot of which I’m not willing to share here for a number of reasons, but I do have this excerpt of an interaction he has with Dale Coba Jr., who discovers his true identity and threatens to expose him unless he assists a fellow Men’s Association member with the abduction of Cece Thomas.
———
“You lied to me, William,” Dale Coba Jr. says gravely as he turns his computer screen towards you. “Or should I say… Jake LaCosta?”
Fuck.
On the screen is an article from the San Diego Tribune, reporting on your sudden disappearance after that fateful day in Virginia. There’s a photo too, of you with longer hair and a much shorter beard, swinging at a cop with a furious expression while another cop holds you back. Since then you’ve wiped the slate clean, built an entirely new life for yourself on the other side of the country, but somehow you’d never thought to prepare for the day your past would catch up to you, sooner rather than later. Your views have barely changed, except now your anger is quieter, your hatred more subtle and refined, your violence less physical and more emotional, psychological even. And you consider yourself a better person for it.
You inhale deeply through your nose, thinking very carefully about your response. “How did you find this?”
“I didn’t,” Coba replies, clasping his hands together on his desk. “Darren showed this to me. Despite all his shortcomings, he’s an extremely diligent researcher. Which, as you know, is a valuable skill for the Stepford Police Chief to have.”
“Since when do you care what your brother has to say about anything?” you snort derisively. “You and I both know he’s an idiot.”
Coba pinches the bridge of his nose with a weary sigh. “Yes, I’m well aware of that. I only grew up with him for fifty years.”
You clear your throat awkwardly, feeling quite foolish in his presence for the first time in a long time. “I’m willing to look past all of this if you do me a favour,” Coba continues, firmly holding your gaze with his own. “Jim Winterborough’s thinking of settling down, and he specifically requested your guidance in the matter.”
“Jim Winterborough?” you scoff. “That spineless cuck? He has about as much chance of finding and keeping a wife as he does of recovering his hairline!”
Coba suddenly rises to his feet. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, Jake, that Jim is one of the most proficient neuroscientists in the entire state,” he says, eerily calm, taking long, slow steps towards you until he’s practically looming over you where you sit at the opposite side of the desk. “In fact, he’s already got a plan laid out, whereas I seem to recall you driving aimlessly around Connecticut for months until you met your wife at some run-down, backwater punk bar?”
You see red. Your fist clenches instinctively. You stand up to meet Coba face to face.
“You have no right to comment on my marriage,” you snarl, the veins in your temple throbbing hard enough to burst through your skin. “And you have no right to call me by that name.”
For a long moment, neither of you say another word, staring one another down like wild animals trapped in a cage, until Coba simply raises an eyebrow, having heard all he needs to hear. He walks back over to the other side of his desk and takes his seat, composing himself with a deep breath.
“As I was saying,” Coba begins, “Jim already has a plan laid out. A woman has made arrangements to buy a piece of furniture from him, but there is no piece of furniture. You see, Jim’s going to make her his wife. And you might think that because of that he doesn’t need your help, but he trusts my judgment of character, and with that in mind he’s obviously come to the conclusion that he can trust you.” With that, he leans over the desk towards you, commanding your attention. “Now, can I trust you? Or will I have to reveal your little secret at the next meeting?”
Comments
Post a Comment