I can't stand it, I know you planned it
I'mma set it straight, this Watergate
I can't stand rockin' when I'm in here
'Cause your crystal ball ain't so crystal clear

So while you sit back and wonder why
I got this fuckin' thorn in my side
Oh my god, it's a mirage
I'm tellin' y'all, it's sabotage!

Sabotage ~ Beastie Boys 

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The day after the memorial service for Tommy Edgars, I woke up in a relatively good mood, all things considered. It was another pretty pleasant sunny summer Sunday, with the temperature in the mid 70's edging towards the low 80s. I admit I even thought about maybe going back and hitting the high school pool again? Especially, now that the local plunge pool was officially a psycho free zone.

Who knew, maybe even be there comfort that Cherrí chick in her tragic time of need? Of course, I stupidly thought this was another win/win scenario in my world. But as karma has a way of coming back, I was just about to be taught a little local lesson in just how stupid I really was.

So instead of hitting the pool, I decided to do some much-needed yard work around Rowena's house. Starting with cutting back the blackberry bramble hedge that seemed to be trying to take over the narrow driveway down the side of her house. So I spent an hour before breakfast, rummaging through the small one-car garage looking for the requisite hedge hacking tools. Before eventually come upon a pair of old rusted heavy gardening sheers, that look like they might up to the job.

After inhaling a semi a decent breakfast burrito, for the requisite calories to make it through the morning. I strolled casually down the driveway towards the street, to start hacking away on the overgrown hedge back. I easily spotted the police car about halfway down the small street. As it was just sitting down the way under the shade of an old oak tree. Probably in just case any fun broke out, so that the cops could stomp that shit out of existence. Which according to that Cherrí chick at the pool, was apparently what the local swines main mission in life was all about. So unless the cops consider yard work a ton of fun, I figured it was probably safe to just ignore them and get to work.

Not even fifteen minutes later, when I was starting to make some small progress into the blackberry bramble. A big black unmarked SUV pulled up right to the edge of the driveway. Two undercover cops jump out and start stomping across the lawn at me like they own the place. At a glance, the younger of the two cops was sporting a pair of long sideburns and unshaven stubble. So he is clearly trying for some kind of wannabe Wolverine tough-guy look and failing miserably at it. The older detective looked like a paunchy grandpa looking guy, with thinning reedy hair and sorta sad world-weary watery eyes.

"Hey kid, we need to talk to you real fast. So why don't you stop what you're doing and put those sheers down for a minute." Wolverine starts snapping at me, as his hand dropped right to his sidearm.

"Okay? So what do you want to talk to me about?" I replied slowly leaning the long sheers away from me into the hedge. Eyeing the obviously aggressive Wolverine wannabe as he starts to circle around behind me, trying to be even more intimidating. As if an obviously overly aggressive asshole with a gun in his hand wasn't already intimidating enough to get my undivided attention.

"You're the one that the other kids call you Hi-C, right?" The older grandpa guy is all super friendly smiles, as if suddenly we are just about to become best buddies.

"It's Christian, only my close friends call me by my initials," I reply evenly, waiting to see where this is going. Because I am already not liking where this is heading at all. Especially seeing the only person in Vineville that knows my stupid nickname is a dead boys' grieving girlfriend.

"Well Christian, we need to have a little talk with you down at the police station about Tommy Edgars." The older cop informs me, staring down at me oddly. "We just have a couple of questions, that we need to go over with you. About a fight you got into last week ...with Tommy Edgars."

The way the older cat keeps emphasizing the dead kid's name and staring strangely at me, makes me think this is not going to be fun. Just in case I thought the idea of going to the police station sounded like a lot of fun to begin with?

"Okay, so why don't just ask your questions here then, and save yourself the trip?" I eye him back suspiciously.

"Because that's not how this works, little miss twenty-questions." Wolverine wannabe immediately is up in my face. "When Detective Sergeant Jefferson here, says you need to come with us down to the station? That means you're come down to the station with us ...as in right now."

"So let's go, before I lose my cool with you." He grabs my arm in a vice grip and starts frog-marching me down the driveway. Where he practically shoves me sideways right into the open back of the police SUV. "Don't forget to buckle up, cupcake."

"Hey! What's going on out here? What do you think you're doing with my nephew?" Rowena is instantly out on her front porch, watching me get muscled into the back of the big black SUV by the police.

"This is police business ma'am." The older detective raises his badge up so she can see it. "So you need to stay where you are, and just let us do our jobs."

"Where are you taking him? Is he under arrest for something?" Rowena is clearly growing agitated. Which is a huge problem, seeing that she is not exactly the most emotionally stable person to begin with.

"No, he's not under arrest." The older detective reassures her. "We just need to have a little talk down at the station with your nephew here, about a couple of things. It shouldn't take more than about an hour or two?"

"About what now? You can't just grab kids off the street like this without a reason?" Rowena is seriously starting to go into full panic mode. Which for a lady who already has some of her own anxiety issues is not a particularly good look on her.

"Like I said ma'am, its police business." The older cop merely shrugs her off and eases into the shotgun seat in front of me. "Someone will call you and let you know if and when you can pick him up."

The ride to the police station was short, sweet and silent. Wannabe Wolverine apparently likes to drive fast and furious, ignoring things like stop signs, crosswalks, and speed limits. When we pull up to the Vineville police station, both detectives are out of the SUV in an instant. Yanking me out of the back seat and pulling me along into the police station. Right through the empty lobby, past a heavy steel door being held open by a uniformed officer. Where we then march right through the maze of office desks and straight into a small cinder brick box room.

"Have a seat there, we'll be back with you shortly." The older detective politely shows me to the stainless steel table, then slams the heavy metal door behind me.

I glance around the small cinder brick coffin of a room, and I already have a bad feeling about this place. The only furniture in here is a stainless steel torture table, with a heavy hoop set right in the middle of the table, and some uncomfortable looking metal chairs. The cinder brick walls are all painted some ugly shade pea-green, with some rather suspicious-looking streaks and stains. Which I am hoping are just the result of some wear and tear, and not the blood, sweat, and tears of the criminal class.

Apparently "we'll be with you shortly" in the local police vernacular, means at least over an hour. So I sit on top of the table and stare at my reflection in the long metal mirror embedded into the cinder brick wall. Trying to figure out why the hell I am here, and what this is exactly all about? Seeing as far as I know, I haven't done a damn thing wrong in this town to date. Well, unless you count the fight I got into with a dead kid? Okay, so that might be an issue for the cops to ask about?

When the dynamic duo finally returns, it's with more sanctimonious smiles. They politely insist that I take a seat as the guest honor at the steel torture table of truth. The Wolverine wannabe makes a show out of dropping a big black binder on the table with a heavy thud. The three inch thick boO k of death that has "T. Edgars ~ Murder" clearly spelled out down the binding. While grandfatherly cop the casually slides his small tape recorder out on the table. Which he seems to take a great deal of pride in displaying for me as he hits the record button.

"Today is the second of July, at approximately ten-forty-five in the morning. I'm Detective Sergeant Jefferson, and present with me in this interview is Detective Mattew Dodge. To interview Christian Kildare, also known as Hi-C." The old detective starts out officiously setting the mood.

"But before we can start talking to you about why you are here, Christian. We have to make sure you understand your rights in order to help us with this case." The grandpa cop reassures me that all is not well in my world. "So Detective Dodge here is going to read you your rights."

Aftdr which he nods nonchalantly over at the Wolverine wannabe to get the ball rolling. Who I now assume is Detective Dodge Aka Mutt, of the Mutt and Jeff shitshow.

"So here we go, so pay attention stupid. You have the right to remain silent ...not." He snorts sarcastically under his breath. "Anything you say can and will always be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning."

"If you don't already have an attorney? Then we will have to keep you here, until we can find you a really crappy one." Mutt snorts again, thinking he being pretty funny. "Do you understand these rights as I have explained them?"

"Ah-huh?" I nod.

"I'll take that 'ah-huh' along with your nod, as that you understand your rights as read to you by Detective Dodge." Detective Jefferson slickly slides me over a single sheet of paper and pen. "So if you could please place your initials next to all those rights, and sign there at the bottom of the form."

"This isn't any kind of admission or anything like that." He explains almost nonchalantly. "This is just the standard interview form, so that we have a record that we've done our jobs correctly. Basically informing you of all your rights, before we get into talking about why you are here."

I try to take my time looking over the single-page form, that has all these rights listed out on it. I also note that so-called "standard interview form" conveniently has my name already typed out on it. Which probably should have tipped me right there and then, that this wasn't some mistaken identity type situation. But I still stupidly went ahead and initial and signed the bottom, where it said that I understood my rights as read to me.

"So do you know why we wanted to talk to you today, son?" Jeff starts smiling sadly over at me as soon he sees that I signed my name.

"Nope." I scowl back at him.

"Okay, let's see if I can make this all easier for you then." He flips open his big black notebook of secrets. "Do you know where were you on the night of June 29th? That would have been the night before the big thunderstorm came through the valley? Say from about 6 o'clock, on until dawn?"

Based on the fact, I am sitting in some sort of insane interrogation room with the Mutt and Jeff show? I am pretty sure that was the night Tommy was killed out in Riverine park? So I'm thinking that these two unrelated things are not exactly an unfortunate coincidence. Suddenly, I am really not liking where this show is going at all.

"Yeah, I know exactly where I was." I nod slowly along trying to figure out where the hell he is going with these questions.

"Okay, and where and when was that, exactly?" Jeff insists on knowing.

"Home at my aunt's house, all night," I reply evenly.

"And can anyone can corroborate that?" He pushes back.

"Sure my Aunt and Jessica Jones," I shrug him off.

"Who's Jessica Jones, your Aunt's girlfriend?" Mutt sneers snidely.

Yeah, she only wishes! I mentally retort back at the obvious idiot in the room.

"No, Jessica Jones is a superhero show on Netflix." I roll my eyes over at Mutt. "Google it up, cause I think you'd really like it. It's all about a superhero chick that kicks ass and hates dirty cops. We binged watched half of the second season in one night ...like six hours straight?"

"I see." Jeff makes a notation on his notepad. "So your aunt is Rowena Kelly? So you're staying at your aunt's house over on Old Oak Street?"

"Yeah, for the summer," I tell my first lie so far. 

Because the truth is I got dropped off on Rowena by a less-than-caring father figure, supposedly just for the summer. But based on the bullshit story he sold Rowena about his next job-opp, I honestly have no idea how long my stay there will last?

"So if you are staying at your aunt's house, where exactly are your parents at right now?" Jeff pushes for more personal information.

"Dead and gone," I reply evenly. "My mother's dead and my father's gone."

"How did she die, your mother?" Jeff seems suddenly interested in this tragedy.

"A brain aneurysm, about four years ago. One minute she was singing along with the radio while doing the dishes. Then the next minute she was not." I shrug him off. "They say its a pretty painless way to go."

"I'm very sorry to hear about that." Jeff sighs sadly, almost as if he cares about my mother's untimely passing. "And you said your fathers gone? Gone where exactly?"

"Costa Rica, Curaçao, Caracas take your pick?" I shrug off the question as irrelevant.

"So what, your fathers in the military service or something?" Now it's Mutt's turn to be suddenly curious.

"Yeah, he was in the Army Airborne for two tours over in Sandistan. Now he does private contracting for some South American security outfit." I clarify what little I actually know about my father's shady side business. "According to him, he does private security services for hire now. So he goes wherever the wind blows and the price is right."

"So did your dad teach you a bunch of his fancy Green Beret war death Kung Fu moves?" Wannabe Wolverine looks really excited about the prospect of this piece of stupidity.

"Nope, but he did teach me to take a punch when he was pissed off enough." I counter evenly. "And FYI, Army Airborne wear the blood-red berets, not the green ones? So no fancy war death Kung Fu moves to teach. As far as I know, all he ever did was just jumped out of planes and shoot at a lot of things on the way down to the ground."

Mutt seems sadly super disappointed that I don't have any "fancy War-Death Kung Fu moves" to show off.

"So back to Tommy Edgars, we noticed that you didn't go to the memorial service yesterday?" Jeff turns the conversation away from my father and back to what he wants to talk about. "You mind telling me why that was?"

"Why should I? I didn't know him?" I shrug the next stupid question off.

"Don't you dare start lying to me boy." Mutt cuts in glaring at me hard.

"I'm not lying, and I didn't know him." I eye back him evenly.

"Well now, that's not really the whole truth, now is it?" Jeff is back to doing his blearily staring thing, with his sad watery eyes searching for something. "Because we know that you knew him well enough to get in a fight with him. Just last week over at the high school pool, as a matter of fact?"

"Oh okay, that guy." I play dumb, but mostly for Mutt's benefit. "Yeah well, I didn't know him before that day at the pool. And after that day, I didn't want to know him. And I definitely did not know him well enough to go to his funeral."

"Half the town showed up for his memorial service, that didn't know him that well?" Jeff counters coldly.

"Not me or my aunt." I counter right back. "So by your math, I guess that puts us in the other half?"

"So you admit that you got in a fight with Tommy Edgars less than a week ago?" Jeff ignores the obvious logic of my answer and continues to push his agenda forward.

"Didn't deny it," I shrug him off.

No point in denying the fight, seeing that it was in front of about a two hundred and fifty plus townies and two lifeguards. Not to mention that Cherrí chick, who got me in the mix with Tommy in the first place. The girl who at least knew my first name, and maybe what street I stayed on? Which now I am thinking that it's no thanks to her, that I ended up where I am at the moment.

"Didn't deny it." Mutt scoffs over at Jeff.

"Didn't deny it? Didn't deny it?" Mutt keeps muttering his new mantra like this means something. "Don't you just love the attitude on this kid, Sarg?"

"Yeah, I love it so much I think I want to keep down here at the station for the next couple of ...FOR  FUCKING FOREVER!!!" Wolverine suddenly screams his rage right in my face.

"Look around ass clown, is this your motherfucking house!?! Oh no, it is not! This is my house mutherfucker! And in my muther-fucking house, you do what you are told to do! When the fuck you are told to do it! So just you keep this bullshit little tough guy attitude up in my house!?! And I will smack that shit-eating smirk right out of you. Do you understand me, you little fucking shithead!!!"

Mutt is seething and screaming his red rage right into my face. As if somehow this scare tactic is going to terrify me and make me want to wet my pants. But what this idiot doesn't know about me and my life, is that I've lived with a screaming rage monster for years. So I was pretty much immune to that screaming shit before I was ten, and those were the good years. After my mother died and everything went downhill, I got used to a lot more than screaming. Screaming is for little girls, the beats are for big boys.

"Go for it ...I fucking dare you." We lock eyes, and I slowly smile slices right back into his rage face.

"What the fuck did you just say to me! Are you trying to eye-fuck me, boy!?!" He grabs the back of my neck and slams my head hard down into the table face first. Putting all his weight behind his arm as he mashes my face into the cold steel surface.

"Are you fucking kidding me with this shit! Go ahead, say I dare you again and see what happens!" His red rage-filled face is mere inches from mine, as he eyes me hard looking for weakness. His foul mouth breath so hot, I can practically smell the bacon he had for breakfast.

"I double dare ..." I start to challenge.

"That's enough of that, you two." Jeff quickly cuts in before I can finish my double dare. "Both of you need to take it down a notch."

"Try eye-fucking me one more time shithead kid!?! And I swear to God, you are fucking done!" He shoves my head a little harder into the metal table before letting up off me.

"Detective Dodge, why don't you take a break, and go grab some fresh air?" Jeff nods bad cop back towards the steel door.

"Fine, then you talk some sense into this shithead, Sarg." He cracks his knuckles soundly. "Before I have to come back to administer my little lie detector test."

The clear message being implied is that this psycho is gonna beat his truth out of me one way or another. And seriously, the whole "good cop/bad cop" routine thing? I thought they only pulled that kind of crap on TV and in the movies? So I say the one thing that I learned from watching cop shows too.

"Then I want my lawyer," I utter at Mutt's back. Who freezes for a second at the door, before slamming it shut behind him.

I guess what they say about doors is true, after all? Because when one door closes, another one always opens. Stupidly in my case, the door that was about to open up under me was the Hellmouth of my own making.   

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