Transmat World: Chapter 37
Atlanta, 9:39 P.M., Wednesday, January 12, 2146 A.D.
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Detective Morris grabbed Roy Betelman by the hair above the nape of the neck and pulled hard, eliciting an involuntary grunt. Detective Fulbright stood nearby glancing both ways down the alley.
“Roy, I want you to tell me where you hid those little Transmats,” said Morris.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Roy.
“Look, we know you murdered Terence and Lori. We’ve got the documents matching you up with the Transmats that killed them. You’re going up for that. We just want to make sure the ones you didn’t use are accounted for, got it?”
“I’m not telling you anything,” said Roy. “It’s all circumstantial. I’m going to walk.”
Morris looked at Fulbright, who made a thin non-smile and shook his head back and forth as if that is a very wrong thing for Roy to say. Morris took a small round object the size of a marble out of his pocket, holding it between thumb and forefinger so that Roy could see its smooth, black shining surface. In simultaneous split-second motions, he jerked on Roy’s hair and shoved the small object down his throat when Roy’s mouth opened in protest. Morris switched to a rear headlock position, holding Roy’s mouth closed with one arm and massaging his throat with the other until he swallowed.
“I’m calling you the next time I pill my dog,” said Fulbright.
Morris pulled a remote out of his pocket and put his face into Roy’s.
“Remember what it felt like, Roy … to push the button; to have someone’s existence dependent on your whim? Felt good, didn’t it? I’m betting it feels real good. Just like I’m going to feel when I push this button, you scumbag. The Transmat I shoved down your throat is a hundred times bigger than the ones hidden in the brownies. The subscription is to carbon dioxide at one thousand kilograms per square meter, and I’m going to push this button if you don’t tell me where the other Transmats are.”
“They’re in my transport under the right passenger seat carpet,” said Roy in a shakey voice.
“Okay,” said Morris in a crisp, bright tone as he straightened up.
“Very well done. What was that thing you stuck down his throat?” asked Fulbright.
“A marble.”
“What about that officious looking remote?”
“My son’s toy drone remote.”
“Don’t you even feel bad for threatening the man with his life?” asked Fulbright.
“A thousand kilograms per square meter is less than a pound and a half per square inch. Carbon dioxide is the fizz in soda water. I was threatening the man with the equivalent of drinking a half bottle of seltzer water. Oooh — he might have belched. Gimme a break. I deserve laudables and a merit badge. Besides, the captain said it was important to get those Transmats back, and that came from the head of Transmat himself. Something about the safety of the Solar System being at stake. You know how the captain exaggerates. I said ‘Boss, if I’ve told you once I’ve told you a billion times — don’t exaggerate.’”
“Ha ha, that’s a good one. What’d he say?”
“Nothing. He didn’t even smile.”
They urged a grim-faced, cursing Roy down the alley in hand cuffs.
“That was pretty intense when you were in his face telling him about the Transmat, and spittle was flying out of your mouth, and your eyes were bulging,” said Fulbright. “You had me scared.”
“Thanks for the post-game commentary, Mister Water Boy,” said Morris as he retrieved the tiny Transmats from under the floor mat of Roy’s transport.
“Tell me this. Was your kid wearing your jacket while playing marbles and flying his drone?” asked Fulbright.
“No, Fulbright. It was a pre-meditated, fake murder threat. Are you happy?”
“Ecstatic! Some of the best interrogation work I’ve ever seen. We need to celebrate.” He allowed Roy’s head to bump the lip of the transport’s roof as he shoved him into the back seat, folded into the front driver’s seat, and punched the illegibly faded speed-entry keys for Shipley’s Donuts on the destination keypad.
THE END
