It says here in a briefing paper, hastily written by Deputy Josh Lyman, that in the 60’s when the Madison Superintendent of Schools banned Twelfth Night, for reasons passing understanding, a Mrs. Molly Morello had students over to her home on Saturdays to read it…
The sound of his fingertips lightly drumming on his thigh quietly echoed through the room as he stared at a scuff mark on his shoe. The ticking of a large clock on the wall was driving the pace of his fingers. He wondered how much longer he would be sitting here, but he was also grateful for the time to gather himself. He knew as well as any cop that this was a dangerous place to be. The Morello crime family was a rising star in the streets of Boston, causing terror wherever the name arose. This is what he signed up for. This is why he became an officer. ‘…I will see and cause our community’s peace to be kept and preserved and I will prevent, to the best of my power, all offenses against that peace…’ he recited in his head.
“Sergeant Barnes?” the sound of his name snapped him out of his stupor and caused him to look up. “The boss’ll see you now,” the man said, Bostonian accent think. Bucky stood up from his chair and walked towards the man who was holding a door open for him. He nodded his head towards the man in thanks as he passed by, stepping into the office. The door shut lightly behind him.
The figure in front of him was leaning back in a chair, facing the window looking out of the room. He couldn’t even see any of his body, as the chair blocked the entire view, except for an arm with a cigar dangling from the hand. He cleared his throat, anxiety bubbling up from his stomach. “Mr. Morello, my name is Sergeant Barnes from the BPD. I have a few questions on your whereabouts yesterday evening.” The figure in front of him stood up from the chair and turned around.
“Mrs. Morello,” you corrected in your soft voice, toying with the cigar in your hand. “My husband died. Three weeks ago.”
Bucky’s face flushed, palms starting to sweat. ‘Why didn’t we know about that?’ he thought to himself. “My apologies, ma’am.”
He turned on his heel to walk out of your office but you stopped him in his tracks. “Sit,” you commanded firmly. Bucky rubbed the beads of sweat off his forehead and turned around, walking to the chair in front of your desk. You waited until he sat down to walk around the desk and lean along the edge of it. Your black dress creeped up your thighs and you could tell the young police sergeant was nervous. You smiled wickedly at him.
“So, do I have to ask myself the questions too?”
A/N: Hello everyone! This is a preview of my next series, Criminal. If you would like to be added to the taglist, please send me a message.
[on the phone to Donna's former teacher] It's Jed Bartlet, Mrs. Morello. I've got a few questions. When you taught Beowulf, did you make the kids read it in the original Middle English or did you use a translation?
We used a translation, Mr. President.
Okay. We're going to call that the James Bond version.
[whispering] Tell her where you are.
Mrs. Morello, I am standing in the Oval Office and it is because of you.