Captain Nine to Five

Record of Violence

One of the first thing any human finds out is that life is a field of flowers. Everyone knows that bad exists, but they never know how much it frays the edges of good. Not everything exists as a world of black and white.

We live in a world of grays.

I spent yet another evening in the police station, recounting the events of another run-of-the-mill city crime. I spent the larger part of an hour talking to a friendly detective just waiting for the on-duty detective to get out of interrogation and talk to me. He finally came out of the interrogation room and made his way to the waiting room. I thanked the detective for his time, considering he was spending his off hours in the police station talking to me, and he left. The detective came up to me, and I was immediately struck by how large the man was. At the height of about a head over six feet tall, and about two and a half hundred pounds of pure muscle, I was surprised scaring the victim in interrogation with him took so long to spill.

He gritted his teeth upon seeing me, brown eyes narrowing on me. His stubble was clearly apparent as he frowned at me, jaw clenched. “Yeah? What?”

“Um,” Perfect setup, and I automatically fumbled the ball, “I'm John Smith, I'm here for the attempted robbery of the convenience store on 9th and Legion.”

He blinked a minute, then hooked a thumb at the room he just came from. “Perp caught, confessed. Case closed.” He turned on a heel and walked off, shoes clopping softly on the cheap tile. I straightened my tie and muttered, “Nice guy.”

“Don't let Bacchetti bother you, he's just a sour guy.” The owner of the voice fell in step with me, a beat cop I've worked with before.

“Hey O'Toole. Real conversational guy, isn't he?”

“I'm impressed, he usually only does monosyllables.”

“One out of five isn't exactly impressive.”

He shook his head, “You don't know Bacchetti.”

“Which as much as he talks, how could I not learn so much about him?”

“Could be worse, he could yell a lot.”

I grinned, “Like my boss?”

He chuckled and parted ways with me in the parking lot. We said our goodbyes, and he pulled away in a patrol car, probably off on his beat. I went to the corner and tried to flag down a cab. I got a black car with tinted windows instead, the window rolled down. “Hey sexy,” came an amused female voice from inside, “which way you going?”

“My apartment,” I replied, a grin coloring my words, “although we could go to yours too.”

I popped the door open and sat down, “Hey April. Don't suppose you're up for giving a ride to a co-worker?”

“Sure,” she replied, brushing some red hair out of her eyes, “just makes me ask why aren't you driving?”

“You ever paid for gas in this town? My car gets bad mileage.”

“So?” She asked, gesturing at the inside of her sports car, a two-seater. “Think mine hoards gas?”

“Touche.”

“Why should I be driving?” She persisted, “You're paid more than me.”

“How many roommates do you have?”

“Three?”

“My apartment is penthouse, however small. My rent's probably double yours, and I'm not splitting it with three other people.”

“Touche,” she replied, her tone matching mine.

“Get your own lines. Turn left up here.”

We eventually pulled up to my apartment, and I thanked her for the ride. She smiled, “I expect gas money first thing tomorrow at work.”

“I've evaded money-grubbing interns for years.”

Her eyes shone with mischief, “I know where you live.” She pulled away right after she said that, left me contemplating being murdered by a red-haired girl as I slept. I shrugged off the thought and took the stairs up to my apartment.

In the morning, I took my classic jade-green Bentley to work. I don't drive it much, mostly because I don't trust any other driver on the road when I've spent nearly countless years of my life restoring and treating. On the way to work, I pulled into my usual breakfast provider. On the intersection of 9th and Legion is a mom & pop convenience store, and they make awesome breakfast donuts.

I turned into the store and immediately made a B-line for the donuts. I grabbed a pair of chocolate covered pastries and went to go pay. The clerk rang me up and was half-way to taking my money when the little bell attached to the door rebounded angrily, ringing pointlessly loudly. Clearly, someone had slammed the door open. “On the ground, Smith.” The voice came in with a .44 handgun. Detective Bacchetti came in, gun still trained on me. He thumbed the hammer back.

I turned to him, “What? Why?”

“Seen at the crime scene.”

“And that merits my suspicion?”

“Yes.”

Detective O'Toole filed in behind him. He had more sense than to train his gun on me. I didn't miss that it was unsnapped though.

“Just a suspicion, John.” He said, walking calmly in behind the large detective. “You do have a record of violence.”

The detective seemed to concur, in as much as a silent man could.

I arched an eyebrow, “O'Toole, I'm surprised you're here too. You know I'd never do anything like that.”

“Work before social friends, John.”

Feel the love... “Detective, I was under the impression that the thief confessed.”

O'Toole frowned, Bacchetti spoke, “Lied.”

I blinked, it's not very often that people lie saying that they did commit a crime, “How do you know?”

O'Toole shrugged, “Security footage.”

“It's precise enough to get details?”

He shook his head, “No, it's precise enough to see the thief is white. The guy that confessed is black.”

I pondered, “But if he confessed, that would question who he confessed in order to defend.”

“His neighbor.” O'Toole took out his handcuffs, “You.”

My eye twitched, and I still felt a pang of sadness that one of my friends was about to arrest me. “Well, whatever. I'll be cleared eventually.” I stuck my arms out, and I was handcuffed. I could hear them reading me my rights, but my mind was elsewhere.

Interrogation rooms all look the same. Stainless steel tables, cheap walls, one-way mirror, and a door. I sat at one corner of the table relaxed, taking a deep breath. My phone exploded into a loud outburst of music, show tunes no less, and buzzed angrily in my pocket. I blinked and pressed the talk button, “Hello?”

Tom, “John. Where on earth are you?”

“Police station.”

“You never miss work to point criminals out.”

“I miss work to be a criminal. I'm being interrogated. Call you back.”

“What!? Wh-” I hung up and turned the phone off.

Another large man, just as big as Bacchetti, but less of a rugged cop and more of a patient father. He had smile lines worn into his eyes, and a smile that looked like it could outlast the creation of the Grand Canyon. His eyes were the dull blue of a man having lived many years of comfort and good company. He smiled at me, and I could taste the 'good cop' aura he emanated. “Sorry about the suspicion, Mr. Smith, we've been sitting on this case for a long time.”

“Whatever,” I replied, noncommittally, “just ask me the questions so I can leave. I have a job, you know.”

Irritation never showed, “Sure thing, John. Can I call you John?”

“Whatever, it's your party.”

The smile was warm, “Where were you between the hours 7 AM and 8 AM yesterday?”

“I was at the convenience store from 6:50 until about 7, then rode a cab to work, arriving at approximately 8:10. Good enough?”

He gave me that patient smile, “Alright, do you have anyone who can confirm this?”

“The clerk at the store, the cabdriver, and the front-desk secretary at my office.”

More smiles, always with the smile, “Alright. Just a few more questions, John, and you can go back to your office. We'll call Angela up and see about confirming your whereabouts.”

I blinked at him, something suddenly dawning on me. Well, multiple things. “How do you know my name? And her name, for that matter.”

The smile seemed almost haunting now, “We've been researching you, John. Don't take it too badly, it's our job.”

Researching? Who do you call when your stalker is the police? “Well, glad to know someone is watching me.” I growled, “I mean, with stopping criminals and saving lives, who knows what evil I might be up to.”

“Calm down, John.” He said, sitting down, “we're not here to antagonize you. If you're still sour, I'll buy some cat nip for Louis.”

I blinked, he knew my cat too? This certainly isn't creepy... “Yeah. Okay. Look, can I get some coffee?”

“Sure thing, what do you like in it?”

“You know about me, my secretary, and my cat. How do you not know what I like in my coffee?”

His smile faltered for a minute. I felt proud, like I'd just made the Pope swear, “We can't know everything, John.”

“Cream, sugar. And do you have one of those pink little umbrellas?”

The smile remained but grew a touch brittle, “Look John. I'm trying to help get this over with so you can get back to your work, but if you don't cooperate this can get a lot less friendly.”

I gestured toward the door, “You won't find out anything else from me that you don't already know. You have my alibi already, and it can be confirmed. Go run the lead down so I can get on with my business.”

Finally, the smile broke, he glowered at me as he left, slamming the door. I smiled inwardly and glanced at the time. It was late, Tom was going to kill me.

Or worse, have to eat lunch alone.

Minutes later, Bacchetti came in with coffee. I perked up a little, maybe the coffee would lift my spirits. He sat down, and set the coffee on the table. I reached for it, but he glared at me, “Not for you.”

I glared at him, anger blatant in my voice, “You run the witnesses?”

He grunted.

“And?”

“You check out.”

I got up, and made for the door. He merely said, “Do not leave town.” Outside, I passed my good friend, the 'good cop' from before. His smile was back, “Alright John, let's stay in town, okay?”

“Yeah yeah, I already got that speech. Call me if you have any other questions, detective.”

He started to speak, but I cut him off, “I'm sure you already know my number. Goodbye, detective.”

I had to catch a cab back to the convenience store to get my car. I glared at the time, paid the cab driver, and drove to work. Work went by without any further distractions, but I was still in a sour mood. Thanks to detective Bacchetti and his ever-friendly amigo, I missed both breakfast and lunch. At the end of work, I made my way home. I managed to park the Bentley, no mean feat considering where I live, and started toward my apartment. When I got to the door, I found a tall man leaning on the wall. It was Bacchetti, and he looked exactly like I felt. Without a word, he turned and slugged me. I wasn't ready for anything, so I dropped like a ton of bricks. He turned toward me, planting a foot on my back, pinning me down. “Good friends lie.” He told me, pushing down on me with breath-taking force. “Lie for you, to save you.” I caught his leg by the ankle, and pulled. He didn't fall like I had hoped, but he did stumble a half-step back. It bought me a bare second, and I took it to get up and run. I slammed headlong into the friendly detective. Still big, but no longer smiling. “You can't escape justice, John.” He picked me up by the collar, with one hand, and threw me to the ground.

Bacchetti and the Wonder Cop stood over me, “I've been on my beat for years, John. I've had to spend every day watching people like you, the kind with friends, get out of all sorts of punishment. No matter the size, you committed a crime, John.”

And suddenly I understood. Bacchetti and his oh-so-happy buddy were good cops who despised evil and badness. They spent years of their lives selflessly trying to help victims of crime, and trying to clear crime off the streets. Years of watching the laws they believed in perverted and spun, loopholed by criminals finding an easy escape. Their passion for the law grew into hatred for the law-breakers. Hatred like that builds as it progresses.

Then I realized, as Bacchetti prepared to go vigilante right between my eyes, that it wasn't casual office worker and hero-by-eve John Smith that they hated. It was the bad guy they thought I was that was taking the punishment. I was not John Smith, I was the bad guy.

And I found this revelation to be entirely useless to me if there was a lead slug buried somewhere between my eyebrows. I thrashed against the heavy boot, struggling to free myself. I slowed in my protests, tired from the long day, lack of food, and the strength of two heavy cops leaning on my back. I slumped, tired and beaten. Then two shots rang out...

I opened my eyes, which was a surprise in and of itself. I blinked, surprised, and didn't feel any holes in me. I was still laying on the carpeted hallway, but didn't feel one very tall detective leaning on me. I looked up at the hallway and saw two very large detectives leaning against the wall, handcuffed. They both bled from bullet wounds, neither of which looked lethal. I was rolled over and came face to face with O'Toole, still in blue-and-black uniform. “You okay, John?”

“Yeah” I said, dazed. “What happened?”

“We found the perpetrator on the street. As soon as we cuffed him, he was halfway to confessing. I guess all a crime takes is a set of handcuffs and a little guilt.”

I took O'Toole's hand and got to my feet. “I feel sorry for all the professional dominatrices out there.”

He snorted, and inspected me quickly, “You got slapped around pretty good, but no new air holes.”

“Good thing, too. I like breathing through the ones I already have.”

I sat down on my couch and sighed. The world of grays jaded the the cops who believed in black and white and slowly went from a pristine white to a blackened gray. I frowned, hating the punishment they got for believing in the laws too much, but I couldn't give them any sympathy. To prevent the further perversion of the laws, they perverted the laws themselves.

Even the lesser of two evils is still evil.

I still stood by the police force, not jaded by the rogue actions of two weathered cops. I could sympathize a little with their plight but not with their actions.

I sighed and stroked Louis behind the ears, “Hey Louis, you know something?”

He meowed.

I frowned, “Sir Happy-Cop-the-Valiant never got you that cat nip.”