me up.
This is when Agent Douche bag casually kicked the innocent ball from his path, off the course and into the muddy trench running along the perimeter of the course. He was evil, I had my suspicions, but his actions confirmed it. No one of pure heart and soul can disrespect the mini-put. No one of pure heart and soul could possibly wear such repugnant cologne either, if I had to guess I would say it was burnt leather.
“I am terribly sorry about that, but I am afraid I need you to come with me Mr. Smith.” I had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t sorry at all. Should I stay or should I go? More decisions. I would go. This was a valuable intelligence gathering opportunity. I put my putter over my shoulder and looked Agent Goodwin in the eyes. Something that made him noticeably uneasy. I clearly wasn’t intimidated by the amount of styling gel used to prop his hair up and he didn’t like that.
His sickeningly sweet smile broke down into an uncertain sneer. “I would love the opportunity to get to know you better. I feel like we are complete strangers. Now who are you and where are we going?” See I could be polite.
Chapter 10
Every aspect of a police interrogation room was designed to intimidate and undermine the person in the hot seat. Harsh florescent lights partially blinding you, an uncomfortable chair that refuses to allow anyone to sit comfortably, and the mirror. The mirror that you know someone is intently studying you through, like a researcher observing an animal in a cage. Yes, it was all intended to be dehumanizing and unsettling. I wasn’t technically human and promptly ignored all of that and put myself into a light meditative state. To the casual observer it looked like I fell asleep in my chair.
The ride over had been awkward. No one spoke a word, much less read me my rights. However, if they thought I was a terrorist then they didn’t need to read me my then non-existent rights.
When we arrived at the station Goodwin informed me that I wasn’t under arrest but that really didn’t make me feel any better. In contemporary America not being under arrest didn’t mean you wouldn’t spend a lot of time detained. I suppose the more prudent question would have been who the ultra-douche was and who he was working for. I got the impression he knew what I was, or at least had a better idea than most. I hoped something could be gleaned from the mutual interrogation that was about to happen.
Goodwin and an alluring blonde entered and took the seats opposite me. Neither one said anything or seemed interested in my presence. This part of the interrogation-go-round was designed to get me to talk, to ask or demand something of my questioners. It normally works on most criminals. You were kept in a room designed to unsettle you and then you were confronted with the people who put you there ignoring you. I, however, am not most criminals. I would have to be considered an expert criminal. And good criminals know not to reveal anything. No need to give the hangman any rope if he was all out.
And so, we waited. The Blonde seemed content to keep her attention locked on her smart phone and Goodwin alternated between looking over his files and stealing quick glances at me. I was content to stare at the blonde’s generously sized breasts. It clearly made her uncomfortable, which was the point. I could be as weird as the situation requires. It is foolish of anyone to think that they are completely the interrogator, completely the hunter. I was studying them harder than they were studying me and was just as interested in unsettling them. But the blonde was more than uncomfortable with me. I extended a paper-thin string of essence toward them both but found nothing. I renewed my scrutiny of the woman. A skilled Shaman could mask their emotions easily. Her physical state indicated she was feeling something strongly. Goodwin started talking and I pretended to give him my
This is when Agent Douche bag casually kicked the innocent ball from his path, off the course and into the muddy trench running along the perimeter of the course. He was evil, I had my suspicions, but his actions confirmed it. No one of pure heart and soul can disrespect the mini-put. No one of pure heart and soul could possibly wear such repugnant cologne either, if I had to guess I would say it was burnt leather.
“I am terribly sorry about that, but I am afraid I need you to come with me Mr. Smith.” I had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t sorry at all. Should I stay or should I go? More decisions. I would go. This was a valuable intelligence gathering opportunity. I put my putter over my shoulder and looked Agent Goodwin in the eyes. Something that made him noticeably uneasy. I clearly wasn’t intimidated by the amount of styling gel used to prop his hair up and he didn’t like that.
His sickeningly sweet smile broke down into an uncertain sneer. “I would love the opportunity to get to know you better. I feel like we are complete strangers. Now who are you and where are we going?” See I could be polite.
Chapter 10
Every aspect of a police interrogation room was designed to intimidate and undermine the person in the hot seat. Harsh florescent lights partially blinding you, an uncomfortable chair that refuses to allow anyone to sit comfortably, and the mirror. The mirror that you know someone is intently studying you through, like a researcher observing an animal in a cage. Yes, it was all intended to be dehumanizing and unsettling. I wasn’t technically human and promptly ignored all of that and put myself into a light meditative state. To the casual observer it looked like I fell asleep in my chair.
The ride over had been awkward. No one spoke a word, much less read me my rights. However, if they thought I was a terrorist then they didn’t need to read me my then non-existent rights.
When we arrived at the station Goodwin informed me that I wasn’t under arrest but that really didn’t make me feel any better. In contemporary America not being under arrest didn’t mean you wouldn’t spend a lot of time detained. I suppose the more prudent question would have been who the ultra-douche was and who he was working for. I got the impression he knew what I was, or at least had a better idea than most. I hoped something could be gleaned from the mutual interrogation that was about to happen.
Goodwin and an alluring blonde entered and took the seats opposite me. Neither one said anything or seemed interested in my presence. This part of the interrogation-go-round was designed to get me to talk, to ask or demand something of my questioners. It normally works on most criminals. You were kept in a room designed to unsettle you and then you were confronted with the people who put you there ignoring you. I, however, am not most criminals. I would have to be considered an expert criminal. And good criminals know not to reveal anything. No need to give the hangman any rope if he was all out.
And so, we waited. The Blonde seemed content to keep her attention locked on her smart phone and Goodwin alternated between looking over his files and stealing quick glances at me. I was content to stare at the blonde’s generously sized breasts. It clearly made her uncomfortable, which was the point. I could be as weird as the situation requires. It is foolish of anyone to think that they are completely the interrogator, completely the hunter. I was studying them harder than they were studying me and was just as interested in unsettling them. But the blonde was more than uncomfortable with me. I extended a paper-thin string of essence toward them both but found nothing. I renewed my scrutiny of the woman. A skilled Shaman could mask their emotions easily. Her physical state indicated she was feeling something strongly. Goodwin started talking and I pretended to give him my
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