Harshini Weds Sujat

Naveen lay on the couch in front of the television, his eyes half-closed. The irritating sound of a phone ringing emanated from somewhere.

He yawned and stretched his legs across the length of the couch, trying to ignore the sound. But the ringing continued. He lifted his head to find that his cell phone was the source of the annoyance. Just to stop the sound, he picked it up. “Hello.”

“Let’s leave.” It was his childhood friend, Prakash. Today was the day that Sumeet’s wedding events were set to begin. First, the sangeet tonight, the song-and-dance event, then the cocktail party tomorrow and finally, the wedding and reception on the third day. The normal Indian wedding extravaganza.

“Let’s leave, dude.” Prakash repeated, getting no response for a few seconds.

“Leave? For where?”

“For the sangeet, where else? Are you high? You know that today's the sangeet, right?”

“Yea, yea, I know.” Naveen checked the time. “But it’s only 4:30. The event starts at 7. That too, the official invite says 7, which means it’ll start at 8, at the earliest.”

“Dude, we’ve been late too many times. You know it’ll take hours in Mumbai traffic. Let’s just leave.”

“You’re crazy. I’m taking a nap. Will call later...” Naveen began to move the phone away.

“Dude.” Prakash yelled. “Don’t do it.”

Naveen brought the phone back. “I’m sleepy man.”

“If you sleep now, you won’t wake up in time. I know you. Sumeet also messaged me saying he wants us to get there early.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know, there’s probably some work to do. It’s your best friend’s wedding, and you want to take a nap? What’s wrong with you, man?”

“Don’t get all senti on me again…“

“C’mon dude, don’t take a nap. Just get dressed quickly, and get over here. He really wants us to get there early. It’s his big day and all, we got to help.”

Naveen stayed silent for a moment. “Fine,” he grunted.

“Cool, I have the car and driver, so just get here quick.”

“Fine.”

Naveen took a quick shower, and changed into his wedding kurta, which had been freshly ironed that morning. Maroon colored, with subtle gold embroidery at the edges, and an elegant pattern in the front, that kurta had seen plenty of weddings in its time. Naveen examined his appearance in the mirror. The kurta suited his six foot tall, lanky frame quite well.

He reached Prakash’s place, where he walked in to see his friend lying back, dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, his hair disheveled.

Prakash grinned. “Wassup, you made it...”

Naveen glared at him. “What the hell are you doing? You’re nowhere close to ready…”

“Yea.”

“I thought we had to reach early. I thought Sumeet messaged you about some work.”

“Yea, I lied about that.”

“What the fuc…”

“Dude, I was just bored.”

“You were bored.” Naveen repeated.

“In my defense, I never thought you would actually come so soon…”

Naveen started to roll up one sleeve of his kurta, slowly, with menace. “I was exhausted, about to take a nap. You give me fictional stories and emotional pressure. I gave up my nap, took a shower, got dressed…and you’re sitting here like a….” He had rolled up both his sleeves now.

He advanced towards Prakash. 

Prakash raised both his palms in the air. “Chill dude, chill.” He went over to a cabinet at the corner of the room, took out two stout, round glasses. He put several cubes of ice in each of them, brought out a bottle, and poured it into both the glasses. He offered one of them to Naveen.

Naveen looked at it. “You think whiskey is going to stop me from kicking your ass?”

“It’s scotch man, single malt.”

Naveen stared at the glass for a moment.

“Stop whining and drink up.” Prakash said.

Naveen took the glass. “Fine. But this is not over. I’ll get you back for this.”

“Yea, I’m sure you will…”

A few drinks, and a long car ride in Mumbai’s bumper-to-bumper traffic later, they reached Hotel Sea Princess, where the event was to be held.

            

            It was a sprawling five-star hotel, built along the coast in the suburb of Juhu, a few kilometers away from the airport. There were lush, outdoor lawns right by the sea, true to its name. Apart from guest suites, a variety of restaurants and bars, the hotel also had several party rooms and banquet halls.

            

            There were more than a couple of events being held at Hotel Sea Princess that night. Naveen and Prakash navigated their way to the hall on the third floor, where Sumeet’s sangeet event was supposed to be.

            

            It was about 6:45pm when they arrived. Prakash had gotten dressed quickly, and had actually insisted on getting there early in the end. Naveen agreed, since he had already been ready to go. Moreover, they were out of scotch.

            “There’s no one here.” Naveen spread out his arms.

            The event hall was in fact nearly empty, apart from a few of the hotel staff sweeping the floors, and arranging some tables and chairs.

            “What an astute observation, my boy.” Prakash said.

            “Dude, why are we here so early? I’ve never reached so early in my life for a wedding, or any event for that matter. No one from the host group is even here. What are we doing here??” Naveen demanded.

            “Chill out, man. We’re already here now.”

            “Yea, but we could have relaxed at home. I could have taken my nap…”

            “Oh, you and your nap...”

            “This feels stupid. They’re still cleaning the place. Should we also start sweeping now?”

            “As a wise man once said, Stop whining and drink up.” Prakash grinned. “Let’s find a bar.”

            “Alcohol is not the answer to everything.”

            “No, single malt scotch is the right answer. Let’s go.”

            A couple of rounds of scotch at the hotel bar, and they were both starting to feel it a little. They decided to get some fresh air and take a walk around the hotel.

            They strolled outside the lawns. The entrance of the main hotel lawn was decorated with dazzling lights and an ornamental, semi-circular arc of flowers. A large sign read ‘Harshini Weds Sujat’.

            Wedding guests drifted in and out of the lawn, dressed mostly in kurtas, saris and other formal Indian attire. Naveen peered inside. He saw waiters moving around with trays of bite-sized appetizers. Samosas, pakoras, chicken kebabs, schezwan paneer, and so much more.

            “I’m kinda hungry.” Naveen mumbled.

            “Yea, me too.” Prakash nodded, following Naveen’s gaze at the waiters with the trays. “That food looks fantastic.”

            “It does, doesn’t it?”

            “I got to get me some of that.” Prakash declared. He stumbled forward towards the entrance.

            Naveen grabbed his shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going?”

            “You know, to offer my good wishes to…” Prakash glanced up. “…the beautiful bride Harshini and the lucky groom Sujat.”

            “…and eat...” He grinned.

            “Dude, we can’t just enter any random wedding.”

            “Why not? Look at us.” Prakash pointed at his kurta. “We’re definitely dressed for it.”

            “...and don’t you remember Sujat, man? He was there in our tuition classes back in first year engineering right? Mechanics classes or something?”

            “Are you high?”

            “I’m probably not low.” Prakash replied. “But what I surely am is hungry.”

            “Look at the place, man.” He pointed inside. “There must be hundreds of people in there. Who’s going to notice?”

            Naveen looked inside. His eyes drifted again to the waiters with the trays.

“We’re doing this, dude. “ Prakash grabbed Naveen’s shoulder and dragged him forward. They stepped inside the entrance and into the main lawn. They moved a bit away from the crowd, and surveyed the scene.

            Over to the left, was the main wedding buffet, with an expansive spread of dishes arranged by different courses from starters to desserts.

On the right, there was a raised platform or mandap, where the to-be-married couple was seated, along with immediate family. A pandit was reciting mantras next to a ceremonial fire in the middle of the mandap, and performing the rituals of a Hindu wedding.

            Wedding guests were spread out across the vast lawn, some seated on chairs, some walking around and socializing.

            Prakash homed in on one of the waiters serving appetizers. He grabbed a napkin, and dug into scrumptious chicken tikka kebabs, cut into neat bite-sized pieces, served with a tooth-pick. Naveen followed suit.

            “Good stuff.” Prakash said. “Doesn’t food taste better after scotch?”

            “Yea, it’s amazing.” Naveen admitted.

            “I told you single malt scotch is the answer to everything.”

            Naveen glanced around at the wedding guests. “What if someone comes and starts talking to us? Who will we say we are? Are we from the bride’s side or the groom’s? Are we friends or relatives? What’s our story?”

            “We don’t need a story, dude. We’ll just do some ‘namaste-uncle’ and it’s all good. Follow my lead.”

            Prakash ventured forward in the direction of an elderly couple few feet away from them.

            Naveen’s eyes widened. “Wait….”

            But Prakash was on his way. He approached the couple and gave them a smile. He greeted them with the traditional Indian greeting. “Namaste, Uncle. Namaste, Aunty.”

            “Hello, beta.” The old uncle smiled. “How are you?”

            “I’m fine, uncle. How are you?”

            “Very good, very good. How’s the food, beta? I hope you’re eating properly.” Uncle gestured towards the waiters. Then, a small group of people nearby, called out to him. “Manoj Uncle, come and meet my nephew and niece. They’ve come from New York.”

            The uncle’s attention shifted. He nodded towards Prakash. “Enjoy yourself, beta”

            “I will.” Prakash said, turning to Naveen, who stood behind him, frozen like a statue. “See dude, that’s how it’s done. Half the people here don’t know half the other people.”

           Prakash slapped his friend on the back. “Let’s hit the buffet.”

            They moved towards the buffet side of the lawn. However, they found that no one else was around there. In fact, large sections of buffet hadn’t opened up yet. They figured it would be in full flow during the reception later.

            So, they focused on the appetizers. Prakash was zeroing in on those waiters like a moth to a flame. Naveen went in a different direction, in a divide-and-conquer strategy to maximize their loot. Between the two of them, they managed to score all the appetizers from the samosas to kebabs to paneer rolls to sev puri.

            Naveen put a hand to his stomach. “This is amazing stuff.”

            “Dude, you said it. Great food. God bless Harshini and Sujat. They’ll have a happy married life.”

            Naveen laughed. “Yea.”

            “Seriously, the quality of a wedding is directly proportional to the quality of the food served. Especially, the appetizers.”

            “Okay, now you’re definitely high.”

            Naveen punched his friend in the arm. “But, I’m glad you made me do this. This was fun.”

            Prakash grinned. “This was probably the coolest thing you’ve done…”

            “Dude, everyone’s leaving.” Naveen interrupted. He noticed that the mandap rituals seemed to have been completed, and the main wedding party was making its way to the exit. The rest of the guests were also following them towards the hotel building.

            “Yea, time to get out of here.” Prakash said. He led them towards the entrance from where they had come in, away from the rest of the wedding party.

            “This was fantastic.” Naveen mumbled as they walked. “Namaste Uncle.” he called out to random wedding guests passing by.

            Prakash pulled him forward. “Forget it, man. It’s over.”

            Naveen laughed. “I liked the ‘namaste-uncle’ tactic.”

            Prakash joined in the laughter. “It was obvious. But if you really want to listen to my genius, then I’m telling you that single malt scotch is the answer to…”

            “Yea, yea, I know…”

            They were at the entrance of the hotel, when someone called to them from behind. “Naveen. Prakash. You are guys are here early.”

            They turned to see Esha, Sumeet’s fiancé, dressed like the bride that she was that night. Behind her, scores of friends, relatives and others poured into the hotel, as their event was getting started.

            “Hi, Esha.” Prakash smiled. “Yea, umm, we just got here.” He nudged Naveen next to him. “We have a wedding event to attend.”

            Naveen looked at him, perplexed. “Again?”

            “Dude, we’ve come here for Sumeet and Esha’s sangeet…”

            “Oh yea…”

            Esha shifted her gaze from Naveen to Prakash, and then back to Naveen. “Are you guys high?”

            Naveen and Prakash looked at each other. They got the distinct sense that this was not the first time that night that either of them was being asked that question.

            “No.” They both replied in unison.

            “Uh-huh.” Esha said. Somebody called out to her, and she continued into the hotel. “I’ll see you’ll inside.”

            Naveen and Prakash stood at the front entrance for a moment longer.

            “No more scotch tonight.” Prakash proclaimed.

            “Really??” Naveen looked at him in amazement. “Dude, I thought you said…”

            “Yea, yea, I know…"

Shoe Polish

            A smile grew on Aryan’s face, without his realizing it. He looked outside his bedroom window. The yellow sun lit up a clear, blue sky. A gentle breeze drifted in through the window, rustling few leaves on its way there. What a beautiful day.

Yesterday had been the last day of his engineering semester exams. After months of preparation and stress, it was a huge load off his shoulders. And boy had they gone well. Every subject from Math to Electronics to Algorithms had been to his satisfaction.

            The last day of exams always felt like the sweet taste of freedom. No more cramming through books and notes all day long. It was his time to do whatever he pleased. He had hung out at a friend’s place last night, watching the soccer game. Real Madrid had won their champions league semi-final with a convincing 3-0 score. Another reason for Aryan to celebrate.

If that wasn’t enough, India beat Pakistan in last night’s one-day match. It was a beautiful day indeed.

            His phone buzzed, snapping him out of his reverie. The plan was to go to the mall with Kunal and William. He put on his shoes and stepped out of the house.

            Kunal, who lived in the opposite building, was already waiting outside. “William is meeting us down the lane. We’ll take a cab from there.”

            Aryan nodded, the remnants of the unconscious smile still on his face.

            “What are you grinning about?”

            “The exams are over. Over. Finished. Done.”

            Kunal laughed, “You take these exams too seriously anyways. These results won’t matter later on in life.”

            Aryan nodded. He had heard this line before, but if he was giving an exam, he wanted to do well. He couldn’t help but take them seriously.  He often debated with Kunal about the importance of exams, but not today. Today, Aryan didn’t care.

            They sauntered down the sloping lane, leading out from their cozy residential society, one of several located in the posh Breach Candy locality, home to Mumbai’s affluent middle class.

They chatted about various plans for the holiday month ahead. They were in no particular hurry. They were free men today.

            At the bottom of the slope, they stopped to wait for William.

            It was a busy section of the street, which was narrow to begin with. A bus stop on one side of the slope further slowed down the flow of vehicles. Some cars made a U-turn at the bottom of their lane, frequently requiring multiple attempts, blocking traffic in the process, and invoking ire and loud honks from the nearby cars.

            On the other side of the slope, there were a slew of street vendors, selling sev-puri, vada pavs, dosas and various savory snacks. There was also a street barber and a shoe-polish boy, offering cheap grooming services, mainly frequented by the drivers, peons, and others who worked for the rich folks living in these societies.

            Aryan’s eyes went to the shoe-polish boy. He had known Raju since they were both little kids playing cricket behind his building. They had been thick friends then. Over time, they drifted into separate worlds, with Aryan hanging out more with his classmates and then going to college.

            “Aryan bhaiya.” Raju waved at him. He looked the same over the years. His body was short and frail, his skin dark with over-exposure to the sun. A deep scar ran across his left check.

            “How are you, Raju?” Aryan waved back.

            “Great, bhaiya. And you?”

            “Good, good. Last day of exams was yesterday for me.”

            “Nice.”

Aryan became intensely aware of the differences in the lives of Raju and him. Raju had always been a bright kid, good with numbers, evidenced by how quickly he could calculate run-rates when they used to watch cricket matches together.

            Here, Aryan was on his way to becoming an engineer. Raju, on the other hand, never got to attend school or college. He worked many different jobs over the years, from being a domestic servant to a fruit delivery boy to a street sweeper. He and his brother now ran their own street-side fruits-and-vegetables business on the weekends. Raju did other odd jobs during the week, including a courier service, and the shoe-polish stand.

            Aryan couldn’t help but wonder what if Raju had gotten the opportunities that Aryan had. And what about vice-versa? What if he had been in Raju’s shoes?

Aryan looked at his old buddy’s feet. Raju rarely had a decent pair of shoes at all. He wore half-torn slippers. Aryan looked down at his own Nike sneakers.

“Where the hell is William?” Kunal began pacing about. “I’m calling him.”

Aryan nodded absently. A tall, broad-shouldered man put his leather boot on Raju’s wooden footrest and grunted a demand for shoe-polish. He was dressed in a white short-sleeves shirt, white pants, and wore large dark glasses with a gold frame.

Raju squatted down on the ground. He started by dusting the shoes with a damp rag, and then took out the brush and polish.

“William says he’s on his way over here.” Kunal informed Aryan.

Aryan turned to Kunal and shrugged. Meanwhile, Raju was polishing away.

A sudden sound like the cracking of a whip startled Aryan. He turned around to see Raju clutching his cheek in shock and pain. Mr. White Pants stood over him with his palm raised.

“What the hell are you doing?” White Pants shouted. “You got polish on my socks.”

“Sorry sir.” Raju said in a small voice. His left cheek had turned a rosy red.

“What sorry? What a dumb-ass you are.”

“It-it was a mistake.”

White Pants raised his sun glasses a little and glared at Raju. “Finish the job quickly now, you rascal boy. Don’t waste my time.”

Raju picked up his polishing brush. His hands were shaky.

Aryan felt his blood start to boil a little. He took a step forward. Kunal saw this, and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Forget it, dude.” Kunal said. “Don’t get involved with these people.”

“But Raju is my friend.”

“Who Raju? You mean the shoe-polish boy?”

“Yea.”

Kunal shook his head. “Trust me, you don’t want to get in the middle of it. You’ll get beaten yourself.”

Raju dipped his brush in the black polish, and moved it across the boot. He touched his cheek gingerly, and looked up. White Pants had his glasses off now, and two angry eyes looked down.

Raju’s hands quivered slightly. The brush slipped out of his hands.

White Pants pressed the sole of his boot down on Raju’s fingers.

“Aaaaarghh.” Raju screamed. He yanked his fingers away.

“Do you job properly, stupid rascal boy.” White Pants barked. Raju shifted backwards, his eyes welling up.

Aryan found himself moving towards them. A hand grabbed his shoulder.

Kunal appeared in front of him, “Dude, I’m telling you, don’t be stupid.”

Aryan looked at him. “So, I’m supposed to just stand by and watch this?”

“We’re anyways running late…William will be here soon.”

“He’s about our age you know.” Aryan paused. “I can’t let this go on.”

White Pants tilted his head towards Raju. “Don’t pretend to be hurt, rascal. Get back to work.”

With a few quick strides, Aryan stood next to White Pants. He clenched his jaw. He looked down to see Raju leaning back, his eyes as red as his bruised cheek. He looked into the eyes of the shoe-polish boy, whom he had known since childhood.

All of a sudden, Aryan’s anger dissipated. His breathing became steady. A wave of calm came over him.

            He bent down, put his arm around Raju, and gently propped him against the back wall. “It’s okay, Raju.”

            Raju met his gaze, but didn’t say anything.

“Don’t help the little rascal.” White Pants admonished.

Aryan took the brush from Raju’s hand. He lowered himself down, removed his sneakers, and sat cross-legged on the ground.

Kunal appeared next to him. “Aryan, have you lost it? Get up, dude.”

Raju sat up straight, and extended his hand towards Aryan. “Bhaiya, let me…”

Aryan waved him off. He looked up at White Pants. “Put your foot here.” He pointed at the footrest.

“What?”

“You want your shoes polished, right?”

White Pants looked dazed, unsure of how to react. Slowly, he put his right boot forward.

Aryan dipped the brush in the polish. He focused his eyes on the boot before him. Although he had watched shoes being polished, he had never actually done it himself. There were always servants at home to do this for him when he needed it.

Still, at that moment, he felt like he knew what he was doing. His hands moved at a steady pace, rubbing with the brush in small circular swirls. He applied the polish evenly, making sure to get into all the creases. He continued until every spot on the boot was covered.

From a jug of water kept on the side, he sprinkled a few drops of water on the boot. He picked up the brush again, and applied another layer of polish all over.

He leaned back to examine his handiwork. He put some extra touches of shine on the toe and heel portions.

Satisfied, he glanced up at White Pants and gestured for him to put forward the other foot. Aryan then repeated the same procedure on the second boot.

All the while, Kunal watched with his mouth hung open. White Pants looked too befuddled by what was going on to say anything intelligible. The neighboring food vendors had paused their activities and watched the proceedings in amazement. Even some passers-by had stopped to observe.

Raju’s expression gradually changed from bewilderment to amusement. His face started to brighten a little. There was even a trace of a smile.

Finished with both boots, Aryan put the brush away and wiped off his hands. White Pants stepped down, and mumbled some acknowledgement. He started to walk away.

“Hello, where do you think you’re going?” Aryan called out.

White Pants spun around. “Ha?”

“You owe us…” Aryan glanced at Raju, who gestured with his fingers, “Ten rupees.”

White Pants looked sheepish. It was his face now that was starting to turn a bit scarlet. He took out his wallet and forked over a ten-rupee note to Aryan.  Then, he scampered away.

Aryan had a big grin. He handed the money to Raju, and winked at him. They both started laughing.

Raju doubled over. “That was great, bhaiya. Did you see the look on his face? Hahahaha”

Aryan laughed along. “Poor fellow still can’t understand what happened.”

Raju put an arm on Aryan’s shoulder. “Thanks bhaiya.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Actually, you should keep this money…”

“Don’t be silly, Raju.”

“Bhaiya…”

Aryan poked Raju’s midriff, and tickled him. “Chalo, let’s have some sev puri.” Raju giggled with the tickling and didn’t object.

Aryan ordered a sev-puri from the nearby stall. The two old friends sat on the stony pavement, and shared their favorite snack, the one that they used to eat as kids, after a long game of cricket in the hot sun.

Just like old times…

The Detetctive

(Interrogation room setting: A small, stuffy room, with a table, and two steel chairs on either side; dim lighting; a one-sided window on the wall with observers looking in; Detective is a short, stout man dressed in a spotless suit, his face devoid of expression; Suspect is a lanky, wiry fellow dressed in a sweatshirt and khaki pants)

Detective:      (walks in, sits down in the chair opposite suspect, places a closed file and a bottle of water on the table; he stares at the suspect without blinking)

Suspect:         (looks at the detective, his eyes shifting around)

(Few minutes pass in silence)

Suspect:         Well?

Detective:      (continues to stare, still hasn’t blinked once)

Suspect:         (fidgeting with his sleeves) Are you going to say something?

Detective:      Am I making you uncomfortable?

Suspect:         Umm…yea, a little.

Detective:      Good.

Suspect:         (blinks a few times)

Detective:      I’m sure you’ll find death row much more uncomfortable when you get sentenced for murder.

Suspect:         I didn’t…

Detective:      (raises his hand) Save it. You’re going down. This is an open-and-shut case. The D.A. says the death penalty is a lock.

Suspect:         But...

Detective:      (opening the file on the table) Let’s start with where you were on Sunday night between 7 and 9?

Suspect:         At home, watching the game.

Detective:      Anyone who can verify that?

Suspect:         (shrugs) I live alone.

Detective:      Of course you do. (flips a page in the file) You have quite an impressive record here. Robbery, vandalism, and forty seven outstanding parking tickets.

Suspect:         (slight grin) Who can afford to pay for parking in this city.

Detective:      You think this is funny?

Suspect:         (looks down at the floor)

Detective:      Two people were murdered, and you see the humorous side. I’ll make a note of that for the judge who will have to decide on your sentence.

Suspect:         (stays silent)

Detective:      I think the inmates at death row might appreciate your little comedy act. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.

Suspect:         I didn’t kill anybody.

Detective:      Looks like you started your career early. Your first robbery was at the age of twelve.

Suspect:         It’s a hard life on the streets you know. You do what you have to, you know, to survive.

Detective:      Like killing a married couple and stealing all their money?

Suspect:         No, sir. More like flipping wallets from dudes on the train.

Detective:      What did you find in their safe?

Suspect:         I don’t know anything about any safe.

Detective:      Uh-huh. (takes out a picture of a man from the file, and places it in front of suspect) Do you know this man?

Suspect:         (glances at the picture quickly, and shakes his head)

Detective:      Take another look. They call him Johnny Matzel.

Suspect:         I don’t know him.

Detective:      Sure about that?

Suspect:         Yea. (nodding his head). Yea, I’m sure.

Detective:      (slight shake of the head) For a career thief, you’re a pretty bad liar.

Suspect:         (looks at the table, saying nothing)

Detective:      (takes another picture from the file, and places it in front of suspect) This is you and Mr. Johnny standing at a street corner, clearly in animated conversation.

Suspect:         (glances at the picture, and looks away)

Detective:      Still don’t know him?

Suspect:         Alright, alright. Johnny is my…

Detective:      Drug-dealer?

Suspect:         …cousin.

Detective:      (folds his arms, and stares across)

Suspect:         Alright, I might have been using drugs a while back. Used to get them from my cousin.

Detective:      Uh-huh. Fun thanksgiving dinners you’ll must be having in your family.

Suspect:         We’re not that close.

Detective:      Since Johnny boy is your cousin, then you would know that apart from selling drugs, he has other skills.

Suspect:         We’re not really in touch. This picture must be from a while ago, right?

Detective:      Cousin Johnny is apparently a pretty good safe-cracker. A skill that would have surely come in handy for collecting the loot after killing that poor couple.

Suspect:         (raises both his hands) Look, I know nothing about that. I don’t speak to Johnny that often.

Detective:      Really?

Suspect:         I didn’t kill anybody, you have to believe me.

Detective:      No I don’t, kid.

(Someone knocks at the door, detective gets up and exchanges a brief word with him, before returning to his seat)

Detective:      Do you want the good news first or the great news?

Suspect:         (gives a blank look)

Detective:      Alright, the good news then. You can have a family reunion in the lockup tonight.

Suspect:         (stares, with wide eyes)

Detective:      That’s right, we have dear cousin Johnny in custody here.

Suspect:         Johnny?

Detective:      Right, good ol’ Johnny. He’s in the next room, and my colleague is questioning him as we speak. In my years of experience, I have found that street-level drug dealers are notoriously weak at interrogations.

Suspect:         (looks away)

Detective:      Tell me, how long do you think before Cousin Johnny folds and spills the beans?

Suspect:         (turns back to the detective, with a glazed look)

Detective:      You and Cousin Johnny can have a nice time together on death row then. Hell, maybe you can even be cell-mates. Relive the old times and all that.

Suspect:         (runs a hand through his hair)

Detective:      (smiles) And now for the even better news. We just searched your apartment, and guess what we found?

Suspect:         (stays silent)

Detective:      Your gun. A Smith & Wesson .40 caliber little toy.

Suspect:         I have a license for that…

Detective:      Oh, do you? How sweet. Do you also have a license for murder?

Suspect:         (blinks rapidly)

Detective:      Did you know that was same caliber of bullet that was used for the murder? A ballistics report should be available soon, that should confirm that it came from your gun.

Suspect:         (fidgets with his sweatshirt)

Detective:      Look kid, let me break it down for you. We have witnesses that place you close to the scene on the night of the murder, you have no real alibi, we have your cousin in custody, and we also have your gun. It’s looking really, really bad for you. Now’s here’s what I can do for you. If you come clean now, tell us everything, we can help you cut some sort of deal.

Suspect:         (still fidgeting, his breathing rapid)

Detective:      We can give you a life sentence or even fifty years, and put notes in about your sincere cooperation. With good behavior inside, you can quite possibly get out on parole in forty years or so.

Suspect:         I didn’t do it.

Detective:      (jerks up suddenly, plants both palms on the table, and leans forward) You’re lying. I’ve already caught you lying today. You killed those people and stole their safe. And you’re busted now. We have everything we need to put you away for good.

Suspect:         You have the wrong guy.

Detective:      (shouting) Tell us what happened and cut a deal.

Suspect:         (panting, eyes blinking)

Detective:      (stands up and starts to walk around the table) Tell me, what game you were watching that day on T.V.? What was the score?

Suspect:         (looks up) Huh?

Detective:      You said you were at home on Sunday night, watching a game. What was the score?

Suspect:         (blinks) I don’t know…

Detective:      (slams his fist on the table) Answer me.

Suspect:         (stammering) The…the…Giants won 20-10.

Detective:      (leans back, smiling) The Giants didn’t even play that day. Their game was moved to Monday night. You’re lying again. What’s worse, you’re lying about your alibi.

Suspect:         (his eyes turning red, taking short, rapid breaths) I…I…

(Someone knocks on the door, says a few words to the detective and hands him a sheet of paper)

Detective:      (struts towards the suspect) Alright kid, I have here the ballistic reports confirming that the bullet came from your gun.

Suspect:         (hyperventilating, doubling over)

Detective:      (flings the sheet of paper across the table) Come clean, kid. This is your last chance…

Suspect:         (hands clutching his hair, his face contorted, shouting) Alright, alright, alright. Alright, we did it…but it was mostly Johnny’s idea, I swear to you. I’ll tell you what happened, but I just went along you know…you have to believe me, sir.

Detective:      (calmly sits down, takes a sip of water from his bottle) Start talking.

(Suspect goes on to confess; at the corner of the table lies the sheet of paper flung by the

detective, a printed memo informing all police officers of some mundane policy updates.)