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When Sargent Grey had named off the TO/rookie pairings, the only thing Tim had seen in his rookie’s face was unadulterated fear. He couldn't believe that was the hot shot who’d collared a car thief on her way in to work. What kind of self-respecting criminal got pinched by a 5’4” girl? Not that the rookie to her right looked any older. They both looked like they’d just graduated middle school. The rookie to her left was older than Tim, and Tim had definite opinions on that.
Tim decided to check out the collar she'd made. He pulled the paperwork for the file, but it was nearly devoid of details. Basically, all it said was suspect confessed: carjacking, attempted assault, and rape. It was accompanied by what Tim had to assume was a handwritten confession, but it was barely legible and unlabeled.
When Tim looked at the name on the report, the reason for the lack of effort became obvious; Smitty had handled the interrogation. After a split second of thought, Tim assumed the rape part was a mistake, this was Smitty after all. While a sexual assault would have explained the cringy, obsequious behavior of his boot yesterday, Sargent Grey never would have let Chen out of the station if that had happened. Tim pulled up the recording of the interview and watched Smitty question the suspect.
The suspect was significantly shorter than Smitty, who could look Tim in the eye at 6’1”. It was hard to tell with the suspect sitting, but Tim guessed that he probably wasn’t much taller than Tim’s new boot, maybe 5’6” or 5’7”. Hair gelled into a poufy monstrosity to make him look taller. Hispanic, or Latino, or whatever they were calling themselves these days, with a green hoodie to match. Not army green. No. Miami-party-scene green. Complete with palm trees, exotic flowers, and … was that purple writing? And he sported one of those manicured mustache/beard things that Tim assumed was supposed to make him look hip or something.
Smitty dropped a folder with some paperwork onto the metal desk and sat down on the corner of the table. “I hear you tried to steal a car so broken that the owner was pushing it down the street,” Smitty said.
“Naw, man. I didn’t do that.” The suspect leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. The gestures themselves were usually subconscious indicators of intimidation: leaning back to put more space between them and crossing his arms to protect his vital organs. But this punk was too relaxed for that. Afterall, who could be afraid of Smitty? Smitty was the most second-rate cop at the station. Just one look made clear how lazy he was. And that was before he opened his mouth.
Smitty resettled himself on the table. “Okay. Sure. But what I want to know is what you planned to do with it. I mean, you obviously couldn’t drive it.”
“I didn’t steal no car,” the suspect maintained.
Smitty chuckled. “That’s because a little girl stopped you. Now, if you were after her, that I could understand,” Smitty continued. He leaned in conspiratorially. “She’s a hot piece of ass.”
The suspect shifted his weight, leaning on the arm of the chair closest to Smitty. His eyes darted around the room, then he confided, “She so fine. Nice round ass, good for squeezing.” The suspect cupped his hands around empty air suggestively.
“Good thing you didn’t shoot her. When you get out of here, you might get a second chance.”
“Couldn’t’ve shot her anyway,” the suspect said, shaking his head. “The gun was empty.”
“It was?” Smitty asked in genuine confusion. He opened the folder and flipped through the pages. “So it was. What was your plan if she resisted? Pistol-whip her?”
The suspect shrugged. “They never resist. They all too afraid of the gun.”
“That works?” Smitty sounded like he was looking for advice on how to get laid. Tim wasn’t sure if it was an act or not. Five minutes ago, he wouldn’t have attributed that much guile to the other man.
“Yeah, man. Done it a bunch of times.”
Smitty pulled a pad of paper and pen from the file. “Maybe you could give me some names and numbers.” He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “I’m going through a bit of a dry spell.”
The suspect nodded knowingly. “Don’t know all their names, but I got some.”
Smitty pointed at the paper. “Some advice on how to subdue them with the gun, along with examples of what’s worked for you in the past, would be helpful too.”
The suspected nodded absent mindedly as he continued to write.
Tim was about to turn off the recording when the suspect spoke again. “I don’t recommend going after the bitch that attacked me this morning. She be crazy. When I said I’d take her for a ride, she smiled.” He shook his head and started writing again. “Smiled. That shit just ain’t right.”
“It sure isn’t,” Smitty agreed as he moved around the table to sit in the chair opposite and wait for the suspect to finish his written confession.