My assbone hit the ground first. That was a delight. A true delight. I don’t know how much damage assbones were meant to take, but probably not the amount I was working toward. Metal, concrete. Everything but something soft. The cop landed on top of me and he started wriggling around like he’d never tackled anyone before. I almost wanted to help him but he kept grabbing at my arms and moving his torso around and being fucking weird about it.
“Backup! Backup!”
What the fuck does he need backup for? I’m just laying here. I mean, my assbone hurts like hell, so maybe there was some wiggling involved on my part, but my arms were completely limp, he was just laying on them like an idiot.
One of the female cops rushed up to Marine who was honest-to-god crying. Tears and the whole fucking nine. She threw a coat around her and rushed her off and another pair of cops came up and started screaming at my head. These were the real WorldGov kind, so they could get away with kicking me and I just laid there. I mean, I didn’t know what the right way to avoid police brutality was, so I figured my best bet was just pretend to be a piece of lumber. As it turns out, that’s wrong. I was kicked. Mostly in the arms they seemed to want me to give them and occasionally in the stomach. This had the fantastic side-effect of reminding me that my stomach was a gigantic blob of pain waiting to happen. Whatever Doc had given me earlier had worked really well for just about everything I’d done so far. Sitting. Standing. All the classics. Getting kicked with a giant cop boot was apparently beyond the writ of the medicine. I made noises. Shameful, girly noises. The screaming seemed to clue them in that the resistance they were perceiving was probably giving me more credit than I deserved. This revelation making us all, collectively, ashamed of ourselves earned me the privilege of being dragged to a room labeled “Interview 5” where I was handcuffed to a chair.
I sat there for the better part of an hour, I think. Maybe it was fifteen minutes. Somewhere in there. A lady detective came in and sat down across from me. She didn’t say anything for a few minutes, just stared at me and then up at the clock on the wall behind me that I couldn’t see. Maybe she was waiting for me to start.
“Hi.”
Nope. She wasn’t waiting for me to start. In fact, that seemed to annoy her somehow. Seemed like an innocuous start to me. Maybe she was having her fruity time. I still like it. Maybe calling it an “occasional” for more professional settings like this. Keeps the meaning of period but without the visual. It doesn’t have to be a home run on the first try, I think it’s just important—
“You’re a real sick pup, huh?”
That saying makes no sense in context. People tend to want to help baby dogs with diseases, not kick them in and about the midsection. She didn’t seem like the sort of person who wanted to talk about that.
“I mean… I don’t feel like a pup.”
“So you feel sick then?”
“No. I do feel like I got kicked a bunch.” I didn’t have a strong measurement on how many of a thing constituted a bunch, so I may have overstated that, legally speaking.
“Well, my boys say you resisted arrest.”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“How to—”
I think she was starting to understand that I was fucking with her. She curled her lips, showing me an unimpressed face that left me feeling unimpressed with all the cop woman fantasies I’d ever had.
“Listen you demented shit, we’ve got you on sexual assault, attempted rape, and possession of an illegal implant.”
“Okay.”
“O…” She stood up. “Are you hearing this, you little prick? We’re going to send you to jail. Forever.”
“Jeez.” I made a face like “yeesh.” You know? The one where you show your teeth and make comedy eyes like “boy howdy, that sure sounds bad.” I did that face. “I mean… if you have to.”
She slammed a hand down on the table, clearly having had enough of my shit. She looked past me at the mirrored wall where they were watching us have our chat.
“Get him out of my face. I’m done.”
She plopped back down into the chair, looking really stressed out.
“Hey.” She looked up at me, likely against her better judgment. “If it’s any consolation, I think you did a really good job. I was really scared and stuff.”
She jumped, not quite landing on the table, and swiped at my face. She was nowhere close. I frowned at her. The door opened and a pair of uniformed cops uncuffed me from the chair, taking me back out into the halls of the police station. Curiously, we skipped past the processing area. It seemed like there were a lot of people waiting around in the hall outside, all of them dressed in leather vests. Not sure who decided that was a scary piece of clothing to wear, but they were wrong. I guess there’s something about a lack of sleeves that really screams “I don’t even care if my arms get super cold” but that’s about it.
I was taken to a cell. Not general holding. That made me slightly concerned. This seemed more like a short-term county lockup thing, maybe.
“Hey, guys. This, uh… this ain’t general holding.”
“Yeah, it ain’t. You’re a sharp one.” The first cop was fairly rude. There was a long pause and then the second one spoke up.
“Sex offenders don’t go in general holding. Wouldn’t be safe.”
I’m guessing they shared a knowing
