Chapter 2: The Quiet Backroom
The transition from the blinding neon glare of the casino floor to the austere quiet of the security office felt like stepping into another dimension. The hum of cooling fans replaced the orchestral din of slot machines, and the air carried the scent of fresh coffee and old paper. Officer Glaty guided Mateo gently by the shoulder, steering him toward a worn leather armchair in the corner of the room. The boy’s sneakers made a soft scuffing sound against the linoleum floor as he walked, his dark hoodie still pulled up tightly around his small face.
""Sit here, Mateo,"" Glaty said, her voice retaining that same steady, unhurried cadence that had calmed him out on the floor. ""You're safe now. Nobody is going to hurt you in this room.""
Mateo sank into the oversized chair, his legs dangling slightly above the floor. He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his shins in a defensive posture. His big, worried dark eyes tracked Glaty’s every move as she walked over to a small kitchenette area in the back of the office. She poured a paper cup of water from a plastic cooler and handed it to him with both hands, treating him with a careful dignity that instantly put him at ease.
""Drink a little bit,"" she instructed softly, pulling up a rolling office chair and sitting directly across from him at eye level. ""You don't have to explain anything right away. Take your time.""
Mateo took the cup with trembling fingers. The cool water felt soothing against his parched throat. He took a few small sips, his gaze dropping to the floor before flicking back up to the shiny silver police badge pinned proudly to Glaty’s dark green uniform shirt. The nameplate just beneath it read GLATY in clean, embossed black lettering. Seeing it seemed to provide him with a strange sort of anchor.
""They're looking for my dad's notebook,"" Mateo finally whispered, his voice barely audible above the hum of the computer towers. ""Two men. They came to our apartment an hour ago. Dad told me to run out the back fire escape and never look back.""
Glaty listened without interrupting, her face a mask of professional empathy. She did not pry or push for details that might overwhelm him. Instead, she nodded slowly, absorbing the gravity of his words. She knew the downtown district well; she knew the alleys where desperation bred danger, and she recognized the cold, predatory profile of the men she had spotted near the gaming tables. They were not ordinary street thugs; they carried themselves with the practiced, disciplined urgency of men accustomed to hunting down their targets.
""Did your father tell you where to go, Mateo?"" Glaty asked gently, leaning forward just an inch to show she was entirely invested in his safety.
""He said to find someone who wears a badge,"" the boy replied, his lower lip trembling slightly despite his best efforts to stay strong. ""He said badges mean there's still a line people won't cross.""
May you like
Glaty felt a heavy knot form in her chest. The naive faith the boy placed in her uniform was both a profound honor and a terrifying responsibility. She reached out and placed a warm, reassuring hand over his cold knuckles.
""Your father was right,"" she said firmly. ""We hold the line here. But now we need to figure out our next move. Those men are still out there, and the casino security cameras are already archiving footage of every entrance. Let's take a look at the monitors together, and you can tell me if you recognize either of those faces from your neighborhood.""
