2.06 You know, don't you?

In the bedroom, a cop searching through my chest of drawers found something that made me swallow hard: a simple black wallet Jean had given me only a week earlier. The cop ran his gloved fingers through each pocket, and not finding anything returned it to the drawer. Satisfied, he moved onto the next drawer and started fishing around my socks and boxer shorts.

"C'mon, you know why we're here, don't you?" Ozawa prodded once more.

The guy was like a broken record. Every time I was asked, I replied that I didn't. This time, I looked directly at the narcotics agent and without batting an eyelash said, "I honestly haven't got a clue."

I couldn't help but wonder how another man might perform in similar circumstances. Would he collapse like an aluminum can under the slightest pressure? Did he babble away, confessing every class of sin, venial and mortal? Did his tell-tale heart drive him mad with guilt until he owned up to his culpability?

I couldn’t afford so forthcoming that morning, not when I couldn't be sure why they had raided my apartment in the first place. Heaven help me if I confessed to the wrong crime.

© Aonghas Crowe, 2010. All rights reserved. No unauthorized duplication of any kind.

注意：この作品はフィクションです。登場人物、団体等、実在のモノとは一切関係ありません。

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

No. 6 is now available on Kindle.