Charade

Benji

I was thirteen the first time I was arrested.

Thirteen was my rebel year. I mean, every year between thirteen and fifteen were rebel years, but thirteen was the year I gave up on being the perfect child, thanks to Ashley. Unfortunately, after years of pretending to be someone I wasn't, I didn't know who I really was. So I rebelled. Badly. In every single way.

But my first arrest was always very special to me. Underage drinking, drug use, and indecent exposure, if I remember correctly. Disturbing the peace was probably included somewhere in there too. There was a house party I sneaked out for, even though I wasn't invited. Crashing parties is always an awesome night out, if you ask me. And so I got super drunk, smoked something illegal, and ran naked down the street, screaming, on a dare from some guy I'd never met before. Of course, I was caught, but I was the coolest kid in school for at least two months.

I thought about that night every time I found myself in one of these interrogation rooms. Bland and white and boring, just how what the system wants you to be. But this was different. I'd never covered for someone before. I wasn't even there when the whole thing went down and I had a feeling I'd be making shit up as I went along. Good thing Vic taught me well.

A man entered not long after I'd arrived. He wore a suit, as expected, and sat in the chair on the opposite side of the table.

"Benjamin Forrester?" He asked.

"Benji," I corrected.

"Well, Benji, my name is Officer Blakely."

"Nice to meet you," I said. "I'd shake your hand, but they're cuffed to the table."

"That was some move you made on Officer Kingsley," he said, jumping straight into it. "Quite a kick. Lucky it didn't seriously injure him or you'd be in some serious trouble."

"I thought I was in serious trouble," I said, covering up the fact I had no idea what he was talking about.

"You are," he said, "but first I'd like to know where you got those ATM skimmers."

"EBay."

"I am not in the mood for games, Mr Forrester."

"No seriously. Look it up. There's heaps."

I met the cop's green eyes without hesitating. After all, this was just another con. Convince him that you did it, that you know what happened, that you're the one to blame.

"I have a supplier." I said. "He sells me them. A couple hundred each. I reuse the cameras."

"And your supplier? What's his name?"

"Don't know. Never asked. We're not friends. He just gives me what I want, I pay, I leave. End of story."

"And how did you meet this supplier?" He asked, writing down my answers.

"A friend of a friend," I said vaguely.

His eyes flicked up at me.

"What?" I asked. "You think I'm gonna rat out my mates?"

"I think you are in some serious trouble, Mr Forrester. And I think if you don't start talking, I'm going to make life very hard for you."

The door burst open and a man barged in.

"I think you will do no such thing, Officer Blakely."

I looked up at the man and recognised him immediately. The dark hair, the clean-shaven face, the crows-feet eyes, the strict and ruling voice... Absolute horror washed over me as I realized who he was.

There, standing in the doorway, was my father.

© A.G. Travers 2015