Episode 01: Balance Them Anxieties

I was a little bit surprised when I sat down in “Interrogation Room A.” I was expecting it to be like the movies, y’know? Tiny room, hot light, uncomfortable chair… All things designed to get you to “crack.” (If they even say “crack.” Maybe that’s a movie cliché too.)

Even though I’d barely wiped the sleep from my eyes, I have to say that I found the room to be more than comfortable. The fluorescent lights humming away like a third story cubicle. The temperature, clearly climate controlled, and significantly more comfortable than the freezing rain I’d endured on the brief walk from my apartment to the Crown Victoria that brought me down (evidently that one’s not a cliché). A comfortable chair, a table, hell, there was even a coffee dispenser in the room. And the two-way mirror of course. Everybody knows you can’t have an interrogation room without a two-way mirror.

For the ride from Lyndale South I was accompanied by two young officers who said little and gave away even less. They didn’t even hint at my Miranda Rights. Evidently this was to be a “voluntary” trip down to see the boys at MPD.

Once we arrived I was quickly escorted by the two young men into the aforementioned “Interrogation Room A,” given a cup of coffee, and left alone for the better part of an hour. I suspect I won’t be seeing those two again.

Eventually I was joined in the room by two new officers, no, detectives. They wore the stereotypical “detective” uniform. Dockers, white shirts, brown ties, shoulder holsters… Like they were straight outta Law & Order.

There was a younger one. Detective Long. He was taller, 6’2” maybe? Well built, but not comically so. Fit. He was boyishly handsome, with wavy brown hair and glasses hiding bluish eyes that betrayed some Scandinavian roots in his bloodline. Clearly a local boy. Behind those blue eyes you could see the resolve that comes with a lifetime of comfortable boots and practical gloves. Believe me, we can recognize our own.

But this other detective, Detective Craig, he was clearly out of his element. Sporting a mid-90’s goatee and a buzz cut featuring some curls that implied a Jewish background, he was all East Coast. He wasn’t so much fit as disproportionate, his arms and neck bulging on top of a beer belly and a pair of skinny legs. He seemed to have a high center of gravity. The type of guy who wears a wife beater under his shirt rather than just a white t-shirt. I could see a tattoo creeping up from his collar to just behind his ear, but I couldn’t make out what it was.

Detective Craig took the lead.

"Don’t look so keen. You can’t be too surprised that we finally brought you in.”

He leaned in on the table, his voice firm, but not condescending.

“Really? Why?”

“You’re certainly welcome to play dumb now, if you’d like, but believe me, we’ve got enough to keep you here until you smarten up.”

OK, now he was being condescending.

“Listen, I’m happy to talk to you guys, but I know my rights. I don’t have to say anything without a lawyer here. So, please, either find the public defender and send him my way or let me take off. I have to get to work.”

“Work? You mean dealing out of that record store? Yeah, I’d hate to keep those dope heads waiting.”

Did he just say “dope heads?” This guy really is straight off Law & Order.

“Well, if I’m going to be here for a minute do you mind if I smoke?”

“Go ahead.”

Who would have thought the only place you could still smoke indoors without breaking the law would be the police station? I pulled out my pack and kicked one up. That first burn of the day. That slow burn.

“So, why am I here exactly?”

Detective Long stepped forward, setting a manila folder down in front of me.

“We have reason to believe you were involved in a little bit of trouble last night,” Detective Craig continued. “Why don’t you tell us where you were last night.”

I took a long pull off my cigarette.

“Last night, eh? Last night’s a bit blurred. New Year’s parties and all.”

“Does any part of that blur take place at the CC Club?”

“Hah! I have a lot of blurred nights from that dive. Why? Did something happen there last night?”

“Maybe. That general area.”

“Yeah, I was there last night. But a lot of people were there. Lord knows I can’t keep track of who came and who went.”

With that, Detective Craig opened the file folder. A couple of Polaroids sat on top of some paperwork. Looking out at me were the dead eyes of Bigs and Apple, each in their own photo. I took another long pull off my cigarette, trying to belie a sense of calm.

“Wow. Looks like they had a rough night.”

Detective Long stepped in. All 6’2” of him looming over the table, matching my eyes through the smoke.

“Do you know either of these people?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to us.”

“I’m not lying. I’ve never seen either of those people. What happened to them?”

Detective Long stepped back, his eyes never leaving mine. I stubbed my cigarette out in my coffee cup. Detective Craig, now facing the two-way mirror, but keeping his eyes on mind, took a more authoritarian tone.

“Listen, we have a file on you as thick as Gatsby. Drug busts, D & D‘s, petty theft, assault, from all over the country. Minneapolis, New York City, St. Paul, Nashville, and damn near every suburb in the Twin Cities area. If you want to claim naiveté we can spend the rest of the morning going over what we know you’ve done.”

I didn’t blink. All of those "incidents" were in the past. I’d done a little bit of time, done some community service shit, moved on.

“I’m being honest with you, I don’t know either of those people.”

“They turned up outside a complex on 25th and Dupont this morning. One of the residents called it in about 5:30 A.M.”

“5:30? You can be damn sure I wasn’t up and about at that hour.”

“I’ll bet. I’m sure this is the first time you’ve since 8:00 since your last coke binge.”

Ouch! I mean, he was probably right. Still…

“Technically, I saw 8:00 last night.”

“Funny.”

I thought so.

“Now, we know what goes on at that complex and we know you’re no stranger there. Were you there last night?”

I kicked up another cigarette.

“No. I went home after bar close. The CC Club then straight home. I told you, I had to be up for work today. You know how it is at the record store, Noon to Midnight, 365 days a year.”

“Oh yeah. The kids are lining up for CD’s these days.”

There was a knock at the door. A red haired woman, 20 something maybe, long skirt, boots… poked her head in.

“Detectives? They’re ready for you over in ‘B.’”

“Thanks. We’ll be over in a minute.”

I saw my opportunity.

“Listen, guys, I know I’m not under arrest and clearly, you’re very busy men. If there’s nothing else, I really should get going.”

Neither blinked. Two pairs of eyes solidly tracing mine. I stubbed out my half-smoked cigarette and made my way toward the door. Neither tried to stop me. I stood up and put my jacket on. I’m sure that rain hasn’t stopped yet.

“Stevens,” Craig started in as I turned the knob. “Don’t stray too far from those suburbs. We still have some things to discuss.”

“Duly noted. Happy New Year, guys.”