CHAPTER FOUR... The Interview
'You "do" know why you're here right'? He said it with such spite, that I nearly laughed. This guy couldn't be all but what? Twenty-five, thirty, tops. And yet here he was attempting to intimidate me with some shitty beat-cop accent from a city in a video game he plays in between jerking off every night before bedtime prayers.
"I believe I'm here because you've lost a bet and you needed to bring someone in...and I'm the lucky individual who happened to piss you off by breathing"?
'You're a smartass. I don't like smartasses. You know what I do to smartasses, smartass'?
At that, I couldn't help it. I leaned over in my chair, still cuffed to the table, and looked face to face with the other officer seated there. "Please, tell me the truth. He was the window-washer right"?
The older officer immediately erupted into a belly laugh and the young buck, well, he got pissed! "WHAT'S SO GOSHDAMNED FUNNY"!?!
I'll give him credit for that one, he didn't use the other term, tells me he has some kind of brainpower... or maybe a real fear of death. right now, I don't care to figure that out. "Hey, kid, what's your name anyway"?
He looked at me and literally squinted while pinching his lips with that lemon-look, trying hard to look mean. But all I saw was a rerun of "Welcome Back Kotter" and the Horshake character with a crewcut attempting not to fart after eating four days straight of Taco Bell and chocolate milk trimmed with Exlaxes. Through gritted teeth, which made my mental vision all the more vivid, he said, 'I am not a kid! I am Officer Ducks, OFFICER, Howard "D". Ducks'.
Now, from behind the one-way glass, all hell broke loose with laughter and the poor senior officer was now a some sixty-year-old adolescent laying on the floor holding himself so he didn't piss himself from laughing. 'I'M DYING', he bellowed as real tears streamed his face. 'Oh, God. Help Me! Howard D Duck'!! and his voice squeaked off into some gurgling, snot, slobber ridden form of "wooooow"!
The door opened and in came two more men whipping their eyes and telling young Howard to leave the room, PLEASE. Begrudgingly, he did, but first, he flipped me off.
'Take the cuff's off him, damn-it'.
"Yes, Sir".
"Thanks, and you are"?
'Doesn't matter, I don't exist and neither does he, so this never happened anyway, got it'?
"Been here, done that before".
'Been "where", done "what" before'?
"Oh, you're being serious". The look alone gave the answer.
'All we want to know Randy is this', he paused and looked at me. Then he tossed down a post I'd left on a social media site. 'How in the fuck did, DO you know all this'?
"If I tell you, am I dead, or am I... back"?
'Not up to me, but if what you say pans out, I'm sure shit will roll UPHILL on this one. Your little "rant" hurt like a motherfucker Randy. What on God's green Earth made you post something like this'?
"Telling the Truth comes to mind and attempting to put the RIGHT information out so it might SAVE lives instead of allowing those 'supposedly in power' to keep hiding behind their false promises and hollow words. I mean, I have a shitload of reasons, how much time do we have"?
'Weren't you called on the carpet a few times for being a wildcard back in your day'?
"Yeah. And I was also handpicked to Lead and when shit hit the fan, I lead anyway. I'm not Mr. Murphy or any hero, I'm an asshole, but I have a heart and I have my honor. I do what I Choose to because "someone" has to have the balls AND THE backbone to step up and not just push lip service. That's a politicians job".
'You do realize you're not a soldier anymore, right Randy'? 'You ain't no fucking Rambo either brother'. The other man said.
"I have 'been in' in years. But obviously, I STILL know more about MY JOB than you know about yours, because your dumbass was all over the Goddamn TV for weeks before this shit went off"! I felt a sharp pain in the back of my head.
THIS ASSHOLE'S AWAKE BACK HERE SIR! That voice echoed like I had a hangover from 1983.
'Don't sit up Randy, just answer the damn question this time, HOW'?
"I started to tell you, but your pet couldn't keep his shit together. That's another problem you're having Sir. Just like the streets. Discipline went out the fucking window unless you're in the Teams. The rest are kid-gloved and coded, pampered, and counseled. Then, when shit gets real, which it always does, which is the plan, this crap happens..." I looked up and grinned, "speaking of this shit, I do get my just payback for the chickenshit sucker hit right"?
The old man grinned and shook his head. 'There may be hope for you yet Randy. Spill it'.
THE NARRATIVE
The Country's Light; Ladies and Gentleman, She is dim and blinking once again. It's NOT the first time, unfortunately.
'The Media is pulling your eyes and ears to all the B.S. and trumpets of propaganda they can to keep the minds focused on the surface "shell games" and "circus tents", when the real stories and crimes CONTINUE in plain sight and underground; RIGHT where they've set up CAMP all along'.
I mean, CTFO...(come the fuck on) riots, fires, fights, basically urban-warfare, and -
'Ok, we've read this part, now tell us; fill in the blanks'.
"Seriously? Ok, I'll give it to you, I just hope this reaches whoever, wherever outside these walls... Do you really mean NO ONE noticed, not even a SELECT FEW, certain Street Vendors and Rigs Un-Touched? Media Playback from TV alone provided over 30 vehicles stationary for WEEKS, with dirt-covered bodies, but CLEAN GLASS".
"I tell you, I've met some WELL PREPARED HOMELESS people, but I can't ever recall seeing any with spray bottles, shammies, HAND MADE WING-TIPS, and KEVLAR under TAILORED RAGS doing MY WINDOWS"?!?! And I looked at the Senior man again and said, "Quack-Quack" to which he actually laughed.
"Last, you have Louis there...and don't think for one-second Bitch, we ain't gonna talk soon, he was the 'food Truck' and I emphasize truck. Every time you got out of the ride you did the exact same thing. Not once or twice, like a minor habit, but AH-fucking-HD, Obsessive-Compulsive. Oh, and believe me, you can't dance either. Those girls you kept trying to flirt with, the two UNDERCOVER COPS.." I paused hard because the entire room was a tomb now.
'Cops... under-cover, cops'? said a voice from behind the door. 'Why wasn't their cover blown then'?
"Simple. Get the 10:00 PM EST feed from NNCPT-9, NY. Bring it here, I'll show you".
'You'll tell me, and we'll verify it'.
"During that broadcast, you'll see a man in a blue and yellow jacket stop at the corner and start waving at the camera. Then you'll see another one in a yellow and blue jacket on the opposite corner begin doing the same. Follow the woman in the red sweatsuit right down the fucking middle, right to the female officers. Then, watch the car's leave. Those are Vice. Then you'll see the backup leave because they blink their headlights at each other. Then, all that's left if Joe-Joe-Can't Dance Either here... and his ass is so observant, he doesn't even know the girls are gone until he actually goes around the corner of the damn building to look for them".
'If he's lying, kill him'. He said as he walks off.
'And if he's not, Sir'? The older guy I got along with said loudly.
'Kill the dancer and bring Randy back into the House'.
*side note:
Entertainment / No Permissions / No Copyright / Just Bord / Just Sayin / Maybe Take Up Bird Watching? / How 'Bout Video Editing? / Anything But Writing, I Know...
*The Door Closes...a soft push of air was heard followed by a heavy rushing thump and a rustling of plastic behind me. *
'Randy, Welcome Home'.