remember pounding on their door at three a.m., and then forcing your way in when Mr. Rockwell answered?” the associate continued.
George shook his head just as a flash of recollection hit him. In his drunken stupor, he had decided he needed a shoulder to cry on. When William had turned him away and Judith threatened to call Police-Corp when he refused to back out of the doorway, he had become enraged with his neighbors’ seeming apathy.
George looked up at the associate with a surprised face. “I picked a fight with William. Oh, God . . . is he okay?”
“He’s fine, but there was substantial damage sustained throughout his apartment. Housing is charging you eight thousand dollars for all of the wall and furnishing repairs, and we’re still waiting to see if anyone is going to press additional charges,” the associate on the right said as he went through his notes.
“Substantial damage?” George asked.
The associate on the left pushed a button on his camera and the hologram shifted to a close up of some of the damage. A b roken chair sat over a shattered mirror, and there were several holes in the wall s .
George stared at the picture in disbelief. “I did that?”
The associate unplugged the camera, and the holographic image instantly disappeared. “As it stands, you’re being charged with disorderly conduct outside your home , damage to corporate property, and resisting arrest . Would you like a defense associate from Law-Corp to defend your case?”
“No,” George said, knowing that with his luck William would be the one who ended up the case’s supervising manager. He looked down, breathing heavily. “I plead guilty to the charge.”
The two police associates looked at one another, and then the one on the right stood. “Sit tight. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” The associate slipped out, leaving his partner alone with George.
George looked up, and he and the remaining associate stared one another down for a moment. George couldn’t fight the impulse to look away, and he pretended to study the computer console on the side of the desk. He glanced back over at the associate, finding the man still staring at him, and he quickly looked down. To avoid looking back up, he traced the faux wood grain lines on the desk with his eyes.
“I don’t know what I’d do if my wife died,” the police associate said, his voice low and sympathetic.
George looked up, surprised. “She was a good woman. She didn’t deserve what happened.”
The associate nodded, his face remaining hard and cold. “My condolences to you.”
George gave an abrupt, grateful nod.
Both men turned as the other associate entered with a small handheld computer. The top screen contained George’s confession in twelve-point Courier. The smaller bottom screen had a plastic pen-shaped attachment, which the associate plucked out and handed to George.
George read the statement to ensure it was correct, and then signed his name in the bottom screen. A pixilated version of his signature came up on the screen as he signed. He looked it over one last time, and then snapped the pen back into its receptacle and returned it to the associate.
“It shouldn’t be too long until we know whether or not we can release you,” the associate said as he saved George’s signature into a database and turned off the computer. “You’re going to have to return to the holding cell in the meantime.”
The other associate stood as his partner handcuffed George, and the three moved together back toward the holding cells. The long hallway was obscenely bright, bringing George’s headache to a new level of pain. He leaned over and began to heave.
The police associates dragged him on, unfazed. They entered an electronically secure corridor that contained five large holding cells. The associates put George back into the drunk tank, the only cell not crowded with deviants and violent
George shook his head just as a flash of recollection hit him. In his drunken stupor, he had decided he needed a shoulder to cry on. When William had turned him away and Judith threatened to call Police-Corp when he refused to back out of the doorway, he had become enraged with his neighbors’ seeming apathy.
George looked up at the associate with a surprised face. “I picked a fight with William. Oh, God . . . is he okay?”
“He’s fine, but there was substantial damage sustained throughout his apartment. Housing is charging you eight thousand dollars for all of the wall and furnishing repairs, and we’re still waiting to see if anyone is going to press additional charges,” the associate on the right said as he went through his notes.
“Substantial damage?” George asked.
The associate on the left pushed a button on his camera and the hologram shifted to a close up of some of the damage. A b roken chair sat over a shattered mirror, and there were several holes in the wall s .
George stared at the picture in disbelief. “I did that?”
The associate unplugged the camera, and the holographic image instantly disappeared. “As it stands, you’re being charged with disorderly conduct outside your home , damage to corporate property, and resisting arrest . Would you like a defense associate from Law-Corp to defend your case?”
“No,” George said, knowing that with his luck William would be the one who ended up the case’s supervising manager. He looked down, breathing heavily. “I plead guilty to the charge.”
The two police associates looked at one another, and then the one on the right stood. “Sit tight. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” The associate slipped out, leaving his partner alone with George.
George looked up, and he and the remaining associate stared one another down for a moment. George couldn’t fight the impulse to look away, and he pretended to study the computer console on the side of the desk. He glanced back over at the associate, finding the man still staring at him, and he quickly looked down. To avoid looking back up, he traced the faux wood grain lines on the desk with his eyes.
“I don’t know what I’d do if my wife died,” the police associate said, his voice low and sympathetic.
George looked up, surprised. “She was a good woman. She didn’t deserve what happened.”
The associate nodded, his face remaining hard and cold. “My condolences to you.”
George gave an abrupt, grateful nod.
Both men turned as the other associate entered with a small handheld computer. The top screen contained George’s confession in twelve-point Courier. The smaller bottom screen had a plastic pen-shaped attachment, which the associate plucked out and handed to George.
George read the statement to ensure it was correct, and then signed his name in the bottom screen. A pixilated version of his signature came up on the screen as he signed. He looked it over one last time, and then snapped the pen back into its receptacle and returned it to the associate.
“It shouldn’t be too long until we know whether or not we can release you,” the associate said as he saved George’s signature into a database and turned off the computer. “You’re going to have to return to the holding cell in the meantime.”
The other associate stood as his partner handcuffed George, and the three moved together back toward the holding cells. The long hallway was obscenely bright, bringing George’s headache to a new level of pain. He leaned over and began to heave.
The police associates dragged him on, unfazed. They entered an electronically secure corridor that contained five large holding cells. The associates put George back into the drunk tank, the only cell not crowded with deviants and violent
Similar Books
