The Suspect

Detective Brown walked into the interrogation room. The suspect watched him as he sat down and opened a file folder. “So,” Brown said, “looks like you’re in a heap of trouble, boy.”

The suspect just glared at him.

“Oh, the strong, silent type, huh?” Brown laughed. “You don’t impress me, boy. I was in Viet-freakin’-nam. Saw more than a few guys like you reduced to little babies before you could blink.”

Still nothing.

“I find it really interesting that no one, local, federal, even Interpol, no one has a damned thing on you. Why is that?”

The suspect looked around the room, appearing bored.

Brown slammed a hand down on the desk. “Look at me when I talk to you, boy!” The suspect turned back to him. “That’s better. Now, you’d better start talking, trying to explain yourself, or you’re up for the chair. 30 bodies, and you standing in the middle of them.” Did he just smile? Brown thought.

“Fine. Suit yourself.” Brown stood up and opened the door. “Get him out of here!

“Give Mr. Cthulhu, here, his call.”

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