Short Story: The Interrogator

“You have family over there then?”

“Yes but I hardly ever talk to them. I mean I never talk to -”

(interrupting) “I didn’t ask if you talked to them. You have a big family?”

“This is crazy. I’ve not done anything. Does my wife understand what’s going on?”  

“I don’t get told those sort of things, I couldn’t say”

“Have some decency. I shouldn’t be here. I’m not a terrorist”

“I’d say I’m being very decent with you. I’m sat here happy to listen to anything you want to tell me. That’s more than you’ll get off most people. I need you to think hard, tell me anything, the smallest of interactions that you think might have landed you here”

“I can’t think of anything. This is just crazy. You’re probably a fucking racist, I bet that’s why I’m in here, you’ve already decided I’m in the wrong. Shouldn’t I have a lawyer here for this sort of thing?”

Rikes reclined into his seat and looked at the man in front of him. He missed the days when you could light up a cigarette in the interrogation room. Not because Rikes liked to smoke - although he did - but because it gave you an air of authority: the smoke endlessly trailing off into the atmosphere, the serpentine hiss of a cig being sucked on.

The man in front of him looked rough. He hadn’t been roughed up, hadn’t shown up with a black eye and bloody face - they never turned up like that anymore - but he looked drained. Sweat was dripping from his hair ends and his eyes looked like they might bulge out of the sockets. He was an easy man to pity. But Rikes had learned to push away those thoughts. The best actors weren’t people who performed on stage and it was possible he was watching a performance right now.

“This isn’t a police station and I’m not a cop, so no lawyer. If you want out you need to prove to me that any links you have to terrorist organisations are false. If they’re not, then you’re going to have to tell me everything” Rikes sat back; he couldn’t tell which of the two of them was older. “I’m going out for a cigarette. I can’t contact your family, but is there anything you want? A drink? Snack?”

The man shrugged. I’ll bring him back a juice Rikes thought as he stood up and left.

Outside the room Abbott stood waiting. He waited until Rikes shut the door then addressed him in the flat monotone that Rikes was used to: “Did you get anything out of him?”

“Weren’t you watching?”

“Yes, but there’s always the chance you noticed something I didn’t”

“I got nothing, The guy’s confused and scared. Well, that’s how he looks. How confident are the Higher Ups that this is their guy?”  

“Not confident at all. But they need word from you quick. They say it’s a matter of national security. By tomorrow morning they need to know if he’s going to require a more thorough interrogation”

“I’m gonna go for a walk now, clear my head”  

“Don’t be too long”  

“I won’t. Might calm the guy down having some time alone”

Rikes started down the corridor. Every corridor in the building looked the same, all darkly lit and too clean, all irritatingly procedural. He was glad to get outside and glad it was cold out. The building was wedged in the middle of a factory district a long way from city centre, its exterior offering nothing remarkable, drawing no attention to itself. Rikes lit a cigarette, picked a random direction and began to walk.

The night sky always made Rikes feel less lonely, like a protective blanket had been hoisted over the Earth. He headed down past the factories and onto the road, closer to the bright lights and tall buildings. It was a beautiful city, worth protecting. At one point he’d felt like he was protecting it. A One Man Army standing for Queen and Country. Now it all felt different. He walked along the bridge - I can take my time, he thought, I’ve got til morning. The bridge had stood here since before he’d been born, tall and proud. He took a moment half way across to stare down into the waters below. Was he protecting anything? This bridge will stand tall and proud no matter what you do the water seemed to say back.

He continued to walk, getting faster due to the cold.

He let the city swallow him up. Things were getting busy, swarms of noise, rushing people. His mind wandered further and further from the man locked inside a perfectly square room. But he felt like a man looking at the city from the outside, a forcefield protecting everything from him. He’d felt like this every day since she left.

Chatter came from the bars and restaurants, engines rumbled while they waited for lights to turn green, the scattered sounds of life. He’d once been a part of this. He’d talked his way through the messiest parties and the fanciest dinners. Talking, that’s what you’ve always been good at. Getting people to like you, to open up. His talking had got him a job, and then another, until he found himself in the job he was in now. They’d put him in a room with someone who knew something important and he’d have to find out what it was. Like a game. A game he rarely lost. So how couldn’t you talk her into staying? He couldn’t decide on any building in sight, all too busy, and kept walking.

Rikes could see his breath now. What gave him power over that man’s life? He could say the word and the man would walk free. He’d be briefed then chucked back into his life. But he could say another word and somewhere in a far off, high-up office a tick would be put next to the man’s name and he would never be seen again. Rikes could do what he wanted to them. And when he was finished men in smart suits with no defining characteristics beyond their job titles would turn up and take the man away. Who knows what happened to them all after that. It’d taken him years but eventually he’d managed to completely resign himself to not knowing. And what gave him this power? She’d asked him that and he’d had to admit he didn’t have an answer. Had never thought much about the question.

The streets became sparse. Rikes headed downtown. He mapped out a plan in his head: he’d have a drink, only one, not enough to cloud his mind, head back and if by morning he couldn’t talk anything out of the guy that was 100% concrete he’d let the guy go. Surely that’s something she would have been proud of? Not that she ever liked the job at all.

Rikes had never been to this part of downtown. He picked a bar because of the array of colours shining out and headed inside.

He sat on a stool along the bar and ordered a whisky. Growing up, television had made it seem like a big part of adult life involved sitting at under-populated bars alone drinking strong drinks with a broody face and waiting for a stunning women to come sit next to you and ask if you’d buy her a drink. Rikes had begun to frequent bars alone like this more and more, but they never managed the same romantic zeal as they did on TV.

But what pretty women would come up to him? She’d been a surprise find, a chance encounter followed by a series of lucky events. No wonder she’d ran once she got to know him. Rikes drank the whisky, gulping it down.

“Another of these please” He motioned to the bartender.

After his second he ordered a third but decided to drink this one slower, the whisky was already smudging his mind, he could tell. There was a mirror behind the drinks at the bar and Rikes stared at his reflection. What did give him power over that man’s life? And all those other lives. To let them be beaten and tortured? Killed? How many people held such a power?

He surveyed the bar. On the left two women stood by the TV watching, on the right two men by the snooker table playing.

I’ll leave it up to chance, he thought. If that woman comes home with me, hell if she only gives me a kiss, I’ll tell them the guy is innocent. If not, fuck ‘im.

He approached the two girls. He knew which one he wanted to go for. He’d always had a thing for redheads; she’d been a redhead. They spotted him nearing and looked like they were preparing for the encounter.

“Hey girls” Rikes said. “Mind if I buy one of you a drink?”

They looked at him but he couldn’t tell what their eyes were saying.

“And which one of us would that be?” said the non-redhead. Did she expect it to be her?

Rikes gulped. “Well your friend looks like she’s more in need of a drink. So how about it?”

“Maybe” she said.

“Any drink you want, no catch”

“There’s always a catch” she laughed.  

“Sometimes there’s nothing wrong with a catch”

The two girls looked at each other and giggled quietly to themselves like he wouldn’t be able to hear.

“Come on” said Rikes, more aggressively than he had intended, his original burst of confidence quickly receding. “You’re a good looking girl, I’m a nice guy. What did you want coming out to a place like this?”

The non-redhead answered: “That’s not the only reason women come to bars you know”  

Rikes ignored this and lurched forward so he was standing next to the redhead. I know she wants it. His hand crept round (not very stealthily) and groped her arse.

“Just don’t”. Her casual tone was gone; replaced by panic and a hand that quickly moved his away.

“I’m an important man you know. Not even one kiss for me?” Rikes propped his head forward with the intention of a kiss.

The girl thrust him back. “Just fuck off okay”

The two men by the pool table had stopped their game and were on their way over. “Is everything alright?” one said.

Rikes sized the men up: both younger than him, bigger, bulkier. He felt intimidated but decided to ignore this. “Everything’s fine mate, she’s my girlfriend”.

“No he’s not, you creep”  

“I think it’s time for you to leave” said the second man.

“I’m really not that drunk” Rikes said.

The first man grabbed Rikes by the jacket and began to drag him. Rikes didn’t put up much defense, letting himself be carried outside. Once there, one man punched him in the chest, causing Rikes to stumble back coughing uncontrollably, and then the other man punched him in the face then gave him a sharp kick to his side as he settled down into the ground.

Rikes couldn’t decide which was worse, the pain or the embarrassment. Both men stood over him yelling sentences about how to treat women right before heading back into the bar. I bet they fuck those girls tonight. You fucking loser.

It took him a few minutes to stand up. He felt like bursting into tears but he held them in, deciding that would be the final killing blow to his manhood.

He started walking, heading for the interrogation room, his heart beating fast and his fist clenched.