Chapter Text
Floyd’s breathing stuttered like a broken car engine as he paced up and down the holding cell at the police station, anxiety infuriating the beat of his heart. Hours had passed since they had thrown him in there, accusing him of illegally harbouring a dangerous creature, and yet he hadn’t heard so much as a whistle of information about what was to happen next.
Instead, he was trapped alone with his thoughts.
Over and over, they forced him to relive that dreaded moment: the furious terror in Animal’s roars as they bound him, the fear in his fading eyes as he was drugged and dragged away to god knows where by those psychoscientists from the hotel. What did they want with him? Animal wasn’t some freaky science experiment; he was a musician for peak sake, a drummer, his bandmate, his, well, they had no business taking him away like that anyway, and the moment the feds released him from this unwarranted custody and he was back with his band, nothing was going to stop Floyd from getting Animal back.
Determination for justice was all the bassist needed for a moment later; the clatter of keys and austere footsteps finally severed through the stubborn silence.
“Okay, Mr. Pepper, we’re ready for you now; it’s time for some questioning.” Detective Caesar announced as she opened the door, locking her stern brown eyes onto Floyd while her colleague placed his hands behind his back and locked the cuffs around his wrists.
“Please miss detective, ma’am, is Animal okay? Where’d those science dudes take him too? Can I see him? Do the band know where he-“ Floyd winced as the officer behind him tugged at the restraints, digging them harshly into his purple skin.
“She meant it’s time for you to be questioned, dummy; now shut up and keep moving.” He growled, shoving the musician roughly forward, his patience teetering on the edge.
“Worth a shot.” Floyd shrugged before wincing again. “Woah, watch it, man, that hurts!”
“I said move!”
“I’m moving, I’m moving! Jeez, who shit in your coffee cup this morning?”
The last of the officer’s patience wained, and he roared through his teeth, threatening to crack them as he readied to shove the bassist to the floor; however, before he could,
“That is quite enough out of you, Officer Banks; you ought to know better,” Caesar ordered coldly, instantly evaporating the younger officer’s bravado.
“My apologies, detective; it won’t happen again.”
“Damn right, it won’t.” Floyd quipped under his breath with a smirk, which just as quickly vanished when the detective returned her glare to him.
“And you, Mr. Pepper, I suggest you rein in that attitude of yours before questioning if you would like to be released before the day’s end, or have you forgotten the seriousness of your predicament?”
Floyd’s head briefly fell as the image of Animal’s frightened eyes flashed through his mind once again, and he inwardly scolded himself for falling off track. “Get it together, man. Stop acting like a damn fool. Animal needs you!” Then, just like the army had trained him to, he stood to attention and addressed his commanding officer.
"No, ma'am, I have not forgotten, ma'am. I will not misspeak again.”
“Good,” Caesar said shortly before they continued their brief walk in an unsettling silence.
It bothered the musician somewhat—how quickly he had fallen back into the role of the obedient soldier, how easily it had overtaken him despite the decades that had passed. It was like all of those painful years he’d spent growing his hair out, loosening his posture, and retraining his mind to think for itself rather than following orders had all been for nothing. Sure, the limp in his legs had annihilated the speed of his once militant stride, but it was clear that no amount of hair, music, or therapy could ever fully separate him from who he’d once been forced to be. That being said, his slip into the past only made him all the more certain of the man he had become—Sergeant Floyd Pepper of The Electric Mayhem, the man he had chosen to be—the hippest and the grooviest, the loyalist of the loyal, the bonified bass player who was going to stop at nothing to bring his little drummer buddy back home.
*****
“Right, let’s get things started, shall we?” Caesar said suddenly as they reached the interrogation room, unlocking the door and stepping aside to allow her colleague to complete his task. Officer Banks attempted no decorum as he ushered Floyd to his seat, shoving him down so roughly that his long legs collided with the table, the shock of which immediately aggravated his already ailing knees. Then, smiling smugly at his discontent, Banks removed the metal handcuffs from his wrists, but not before once more sinking them further into his skin, to ensure that his dislike had been fully expressed. Floyd grunted in discomfort, rubbing his wrists to ease their throbbing, but chose not to engage further. The kid’s ego had a ravenous appetite—why else would he so willingly kick a man whilst he was down—that he was not about to pander to; he’d already spent way too much of his life doing that, and he had bigger things to worry about now.
Detective Caesar swiftly recaptured the small room’s attention by switching on the light that hung above the rectangular brown desk, the scorching brightness irritating the musician’s sensitive eyes and cueing the cocky young officer to take leave. He slammed the door behind him, hungry ego again, hoping to entice a reaction from Floyd, but unfortunately and, fortunately, he supposed, this wasn’t the bassist’s first rodeo.
Floyd was far from nervous for himself, more impatient that this whole ordeal was taking so long, for it was Animal he was concerned for. He was certain that the band were already on the case of posting for his bail and finding out where the drummer was located, but he hated that he wasn’t with them to help them out. Nobody understood Animal quite like Floyd did, and he worried about how the poor critter was coping under the stressful circumstances he’d been forced into. He didn’t do well with change, especially by himself, and this was the longest they’d been apart in years, so the sooner Floyd could get out of this joint and help get the two of them back together with their band, the better.
“Detective Lynn Caesar, commencing interview Monday, May 13th, at 5:43 pm with defendant Floyd Pepper. Mr. Pepper, please state your name and age for the record.”
Floyd would have rolled his eyes at the detective’s dramatics if he could have.
“Darn cops, always with the same soap-operatic melodrama, I ain’t got no time for this shit!” He thought to himself, the words practically burning through his tongue in an attempt to be heard, but he knew better than to lock horns with the likes of Caesar. She was no-nonsense, seasoned, and would not take kindly to his quick wit. So again, he relied on his military training and complied with a neutral gaze.
“Sergeant Floyd Nelson Pepper. Forty-five years of age—give or take. July 10th, 19 something or other New Orleans.”
“Forty-Five? But your file states that you have been touring with The Electric Mayhem and The Muppets for just over fifty.” The detective quizzed, a flicker of confusion rippling through her poker face.
“That is true!”
“You’re aware that makes no logical sense?”
“Very much so, Miss Detective, ma'am. We stopped trying to make sense of it years ago; ain’t no point having all this extra time wondering when instead we could be doin’, so that’s what we did! And we sure as hell wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Caesar would have been lying if she said she wasn’t baffled, a hard feat to achieve given the things she had seen over her long career, but to dwell was to lose face, which was not about to happen.
“This isn’t your first offence, is it, Mr. Pepper?” She asked coolly, swiftly regaining her composure.
“That is also true, although I’m not sure why that matters or what the so-called offence is supposed to be this time around.” Floyd replied, his patience waning thin now as the minutes of the day ticked viciously away in his head. “Look, I mean no disrespect here, ma’am. I am willing to comply and be honest and all that jazz you want me to be, but can we please just cut to the chase? I need to find Animal and get him away from those freaky dudes; make sure he’s okay; bring him home.” He sighed, brushing a stressed hand through his thick orange hair as his chest ached, yearning to be reunited with his feral pal.
As suspected though, Caesar held firm, the musican’s plea falling completely upon deaf ears as she continued her questions without missing a beat. She was good.
“Tell me, how did you first become acquainted with ‘Mr.’ Animal?”
Floyd was taken aback slightly by the question. Did she want to go back that far? However, he couldn’t help but smile when his mind subconsciously abided and travelled back to that moment. It was one of the very few memories of that time in his life that he was thankful to remember every detail of—the moment his world found colour again.
“Heh, well, I wouldn’t say we got acquainted as such; more so, we found one another when we were both utterlifficly lost.”
*****
To Be Continued...