Bruce
The beige-colored walls had browned over time, now resembling the slightly yellowish tint of the underarm of the officer glaring at me. His clean-shaven face was without emotion, but his brown eyes brimmed with anger as if he could shoot daggers at me.
“He’s Chinese,” I repeated. “You can’t hold him without a warrant,” I said in slow Italian.
He didn’t move, his hands balled into fists, resting on the formerly white table between us. I raised my eyes to his and c****d an eyebrow in his direction. “Off the books,” I said.
The officer leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Off the books. That slant-eyed bastard hurt her. He doesn’t see her as human. She’s his plaything. He will stay.”
I shook my head, eyes shut, feeling the familiar hopelessness bloom in
