![]() He muses over the officer’s conduct and manners. Daryl takes in Rick’s words, nodding despite knowing the other can’t see him. I can’t do anything for you, even if I wanted to.” “You want my tip? Save that talk for the interrogation room. “Look, I only do some maintenance work at my brother’s place, okay? I don’t actually touch the stuff,” he explains, thinking he should at least try to make a case for himself. The silence that follows his words speaks volumes. “Can you confirm that you’re an accomplice to Merle Dixon?”ĭaryl leans back against the kitchen island, gritting out that he’s not confirming anything. This might be the first conversation he's had with an officer that hasn’t turned hostile within seconds. ![]() But he’s not exactly trying to intimidate Daryl or put him in his place either as most cops do. Daryl holds back a gulp, this guy is not screwing around. My direct order was to arrest you on the spot, so I’m doin' you a favor by calling first,” explains Rick, dead serious. Unfortunately, his snark gets out first to answer for him. It’s a far cry from the usual bad-cop behavior Daryl’s used to, so he’s unsure of how to proceed from here. If you come quietly, your penalty may be shortened,” the gruff voice informs him, perfectly calm yet light, lacking judgment. This call’s your chance to give yourself in. “I’ve received a tip that you’re involved in your brother’s drug ring. What can I help you with, Officer Grimes?” he asks after some careful thinking, mustering up a polite tone he’s not used with many but his abusive dad and his dad's friends. Still, the Chief Of Police of the APD calling him directly on his cell can’t be a good sign. He drops the narcotics form he’s holding like it burned him and looks out the kitchen window, expecting to find the building surrounded by cops. “Atlanta police department’s Chief Of Police Rick Grimes is who.”ĭaryl’s blood runs cold. Daryl has half a mind to hang up on the stranger, but he decides against it, in case it could come back and bite him in the ass. It’s a number Daryl doesn’t recognize, and when he accepts the call and lifts the cracked screen to his ear, a gruff voice speaks on the other side of the line. It could just be a salesman, but it could also be his brother getting into even more trouble. ![]() Daryl goes stiff as a board, the pencil he’s spinning between his fingers coming to an abrupt stop. While perched atop the kitchen counter - the only place that isn’t packed floor to ceiling with either drugs or Merle’s customers using those drugs - and going through Merle’s new list of orders to make sure he gets everything he’s paid for, his cell phone buzzes in his pocket. He knows that when Merle goes down, he’ll go down with him. And Daryl is no idiot, he knows this won’t last. He’s also his own brother’s delivery boy, covering the shady work of shipping his precious narcotics, driving it all to their own goddamn address. I can’t stay here much longer…ĭaryl Dixon is a failed college student who’s stuck helping his brother’s drug ring and staying in his apartment, unable to afford his own place in central Atlanta with the little money he makes being a delivery boy. Slaving to my brother’s orders, and for what? ‘Cause he’s my blood? That excuse ain’t gonna cut it when the cops are outside our door. What am I doing here? In Merle’s hideout, keeping check of everything until he comes back - cleaning up his shit like I’m his damn cleaning lady.
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