Interview with a Pedophobe

The soft taps of my shoes against the cold tiles below echoed into a cacophony of reverberating coos. The solitude of this polished tube allowed my readings to be heard through my thoughts. The clipboard I had been given was standard protocol. A name, a face, and a varying set of details. I grumbled along as I walked.

"Grigoriy Vasiliev," I noticed his picture showed a bright smile. Though his sunken jawline and deep eye-bags could leave a bit to be desired.

I tapped my cane along my path as my thumb rolled along the silver medallion atop. "Fifty-two years old. Six foot three. Two-hundred thirty-five pounds." I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth. "A veritable fortnight this~ one."

Under the clearance level section was an interesting tagline. "Clearanc~ce level: Brawler."

The hissing of my tone slunk ahead and rasped against the metal door. I took a step forward with one final look at my clipboard. A small note sat at the bottom of the tidal wave of information: A bit batty upon first entry. I thought to myself, 'Batty?'

I pushed against the frosted glass door. Inside was a simple small room. There was a phone on one wall with some corkboards and news bulletins plastered up for viewing. On the opposite side showed a separate scene. A glass partition separated me from a small table and a pair of chairs.

Within the sectioned-off room was a larger man. His dirty blonde hair was cut short with a slick cowlick forming along his hairline. He sat with his arms on the table tapping away to a random tune. His blue shirt and deeper blue jeans gave him this bland look. Truly uninspired in his attire much like his report showed.

I closed the door behind me. Startling a random worker ahead. He sat in a single chair before the glass with his thumb in his mouth and playing some game on his phone. He used his tail as a brace while he leaned back with a lazy glare. Though upon my arrival the massive marsupial fell backward, tumbling to the floor and jumping up just as quickly. He saluted me with a silent stare as if I were his commanding officer.

I motioned for him to return to his seat. "No. Don't let me s~stop you. You seemed rather bus~sy." I strode past him with my cane pointed toward the window. "What with his~s idle drumming."

He nervously cringed away from my poisonous statement. His massive ears drooped a bit as the kangaroo's tail pushed him up.

"Nevertheles~s, I suggest you return to your s~seat." I stood still while he grabbed his chair once more. Through the window, I could catch the faint glow of my reflection. I inspected the deep black strokes of hair streaking across the sides of the deep white expanse of my head. My perfectly trimmed beard shamed the poor man inside's. I began to saunter past the worker once more. As I reached for the door I pointed toward the few bells and whistles with my cane's end. "Begin recording, please."

I stepped back into the silent hallway just as the worker gave a confirmatory tap on the table. I hadn't noticed how cold it was before. A tug at my emerald green overcoat would have to suffice. I took a few short steps ahead until I was in front of another door. This time I had to unlock the door with a key card. The small star-shaped emblem smiled back at me.

When I stepped inside I saw his eyes perk up. He shot a warm smile my way as I entered. "Hello, mine friend." His Slavic accent lapped at his heels as he stood.

I slowly approached. I took notice of how wide he was. His shoulders could hold an infant on each side. And his biceps were thick as his head. The crow's feet peppering his eyes added to the rustic old charm. It was honestly the only sign that he had lived half a century.

"Salutations~ Mr. Vasiliev."

He raised a hand up, "Please just call me, Grom."

I paused for a moment, not a millisecond more, then took my seat across the table. The steel was colder than the air and I recoiled away once more. Grom noticed this and chuckled. "My apologies. Is colder in home country, dah?"