KING
I strolled into the police station the next morning like I didn't have a care in the world. Because truthfully, I really didn't. Ordinarily, it was the last place I'd ever walk into voluntarily, but I'd gotten a call from a cop I knew asking me to come down to talk about what had happened last night. I didn't have anything to hide – at least not right then – so I'd agreed. I figured I'd earn a couple of brownie points and show the cops that they were barking up the wrong tree.
The desk sergeant came around into the waiting area where I was standing and looked me up and down, an expression of disgust on his face.
“Good morning to you, too, Sergeant,” I said cheerily. “I'm here to see – ”
“Yeah, he told me one of you dirtbags was coming in this morning,” the sergeant sneered. “I didn't realize it was going to be the head dirtbag, though. If I'd known I would have tidied the place up a bit.”
“Oh, no need to go to all that trouble on my account,” I replied. “I kinda like seeing you boys in your natural environment – all sloppy, dirty, and disorganized.”
The cop – Sergeant Sanderson – looked at me and shook his head. “Yeah, I heard you had a mouth on you.”
“Your wife seems to like it.”
The cop's face flushed red and twisted into a mask of rage. He looked like he was about to beat me right then and there.
“Careful, Sergeant,” I said. “I happen to know a very good lawyer who specializes in civil rights cases. And I'd say that beating me would most definitely be a violation of my civil rights.”
“Open your mouth about my wife again,” Sanderson growled, “and there ain't gonna be enough of you left for your lawyer friend to help out.
“You got anything on you?” Sanderson asked me, his face still red. “Weapons? Drugs?”
I shook my head and gave him an incredulous look. “Even if I did drugs, which I don't, do you honesty think I'd be stupid enough to bring that shit into a police station? Please.”
“Empty your pockets, dirtbag.”
“Got a warrant?” I shot back.
The sergeant looked at me, a skeptical, outright hostile expression on his face. He was trying to push me to do something that would give him reason to rough me up and toss me in a cell. But I was smart enough to know the bullshit games cops played and how to play them, as well. Right then, I needed to play the good, cooperative citizen just to get the show on the road so I could get myself out of there.
I held up my hands. “I'm going to empty out my pockets for you,” I said. “Voluntarily. And I'd also ask that you remember I am here – voluntarily, as well. Last I recall, your boys couldn't hold me for anything last night, so I'm doing you all a favor by coming down here. A little respect wouldn't kill you now, would it?”
The cop laughed. “Respect? For you? You must be drunk or high right now. You're lucky I don't put a bullet in that fuckin' head of yours.”
“Nothin' but coffee in my veins, Sergeant,” I said. “I'll even piss in a cup to prove it if you'd like me to.”
“Just shut up and empty your damn pockets.”
Sanderson's hand tightened around the butt of his gun. Clearly, he thought he could get the drop on me if I tried anything. Which, given the fact that I wasn't carrying right then and there, meant he probably could. But if I had been strapped, it would have been a whole different story. I was quick on the draw. Very quick. Certainly faster than the guy currently eyeballing me. He was one step up from mall cop.
“Just move slowly,” he said. “And keep your hands where I can see them.”
I chuckled at him. “Gonna be hard to do that when I have to reach into my pocket.”
Sanderson sneered at me. “Cut the bullshit or I'll throw your ass in a cell right now.”
“Oh what charge, being a smartass in the first degree? Do they still give the chair for that?”
I moved slowly, though – making an elaborately dramatic show of it – and reached into my pockets. I saw Sanderson's jaw tighten and his eyes narrow as I pulled out the contents of my pockets and dropped them on the ground at my feet. A keyring, a wallet, and a buck or so in change. I pulled the lining of my pockets out so he could see I wasn't hiding anything.
“See?” I said. “Nothing up my sleeve or in my pockets.”
Sanderson grunted. “Pick your shit up and let's go.”
I laughed as I bent over and collected my things. Without a word, Sanderson turned and walked down a hallway to the right of his desk, saying nothing and simply expecting me to follow him. Which I did. Like I said, I had to play the good, cooperative citizen. He opened a door to an interview room and stepped aside. I looked inside the small room and shook my head.
“Wow, you guys really went all out in making this place feel all warm and cozy,” I said.
“Go take a damn seat,” Sanderson sneered. “I got better things to do with my time than sit here listening to you run your damn mouth.”
I walked in and sat down at the old, scarred table as Sanderson slammed the door behind me. The chair creaked beneath my weight and for a moment, I feared that it might break. Eventually, it settled and felt a little more solid beneath me. I sighed, folded my hands on the table in front of me, and waited for Mahoney to roll in.