Cover Your Tracks [HS][2014 VERSION]

4. Female Robbery

"I think I found hell, I think I found something . . ."

The boy with the bandana is sitting in the police station's interrogation room, with my father sitting across from him. His hands are chained to the table by handcuffs, restricting his movement and preventing him from doing anything drastic should he feel the need to.

He looks annoyed as he sits there in silence, awaiting the questions that are about to be thrown at him. He will have to answer every single one, and it won't be fun for anyone involved. I can tell he's going to make this harder than it has to be.

I'm standing outside the room, watching them through the one-way mirror. It's designed to allow people to look in from the outside, while keeping the people on the inside completely oblivious. This method was originally devised so that detectives could watch a suspect during an interrogation, pick out their flaws and use it against them without them even knowing it.

But me, I'm just curious.

My father clears his throat before reaching over, pressing 'play' on the recorder sitting next to him. His eyes lock on the boy.

"What's your name, son?"

The boy blinks in response, but doesn't answer. He just stares at my father with cold eyes, face void of all emotion. His posture is relaxed as he slouches in the hard plastic chair, leaning against the back of it. His long legs are outstretched beneath the table, resting comfortably. I can't fathom how he can be so calm in a situation like this.

After what seems like an eternity of silence, my father breaks it.

"Oh, that's how it's going to be." He nods his head and crosses his arms over his chest. "Very well, I can be patient. Do you want anything while we wait? A drink? Cigarette?" he asks, his tone practically dripping with sarcasm.

"That sounds nice, but I don't think you have what I'm looking for," the boy replies, surprising me. The corner of his mouth tugs into a sly smirk, a sure sign of cockiness. I roll my eyes.

"Is that so?" my father asks, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Yeah, I prefer the heavy stuff."

His words bring me back to the party where I had watched him smoke a cigarette. I vividly remember the way he brought it up to his mouth, wrapping his lips around it before closing his eyes and inhaling the fumes. The image of him tilting his head back, releasing the smoke into the night air replays in my mind like a broken record.

"I'm assuming that's why you're here tonight," my father inquires. I know what he's doing; he's starting slow and building his way up, a surefire way to get the suspect to talk without realizing they're doing so.

The boy must have caught on, because he shuts his mouth shortly after. He repositions himself in the chair, gripping the armrests with his hands as he pushes his body to sit up straight. He's tense now, much less relaxed compared to how he was earlier.

"Look, you're facing Assault and Battery charges, as well as Public Intoxication and Illegal Consumption of Drugs. Do you want me to add Failure to Cooperate to the list?" I can tell my father is losing his patience, he's never gone this route while giving an interrogation.

"What ever happened to having the right to remain silent?" the boy fires back.

"It was taken away the moment you stepped into this facility," my father says calmly, shrugging.

They're testing each other, and I'm curious to see how long their little game will last. My father's not one to be known for playing games, but he seems to be making an exception.