I was thinking about taking up smoking. Partly because none of the other things I normally do to relieve stress – drinking, screaming, masturbating, eating pizza till I can’t move, or some combination of the above – are entirely workplace-appropriate, not even for my workplace, with its laissez-faire attitudes towards dress and personal conduct.
But the main reason I was thinking about hitching myself to the lung cancer express wasn’t that I wanted an even less socially acceptable pastime. It was because, George, the clever spurk, had begged off on being present for the rest of the awful scene that was unfolding in front of us, on the pretext that he needed a smoke. And since at least one of us had to be there, that left me standing there envying his foresight at developing a habit so toxic that it gave him an excuse to leave the room any time he wanted to.
Maybe, I thought, I can cite female problems. Or explosive diarrhea. Anything’s better than…
Anything was better than watching the poor innocent girl sitting there, about to be devoured by monsters. Crushed by uncaring powers beyond her comprehension. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
The beast stirred, ready to strike a death-blow. It glanced at its notes.
“Let’s go over this again,” said Detective Bradley, as the girl sitting across from him sobbed quietly, overcome with exhaustion, confusion and fear in about equal measure.
Cops. I thought. Spurking cops.
But I didn’t say it. It had been made very clear to George and me that although our presence was mandated by regulations, that this was their show, and any interference – apparently, saying or doing anything qualified as interference – would not be met with a great deal of appreciation.
Bradley, the young one, had the real hard-on for keeping us on the bench and trying to wring a confession out of the suspect. You could tell, just by the way he talked and moved his hands, that he fancied himself a real sharp investigative mind. Like on Law & Order, but not the good one, the annoying spin-off with the smug, douchey detective who always tricks people into confessing and then acts like he’s Sherlock spurking Holmes.
Colby, the older one, must have been the senior officer. But he was hanging back and letting Bradley run the show, slouching in the corner. I couldn’t figure out if he was playing good cop, or just letting his partner run with a hunch.
Either way, it was a huge pain in the ass.
