disclaimer:
This is fiction. The views expressed in this publication do not reflect the views of the author. The stories themselves are based on imagined events. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is fictitious and should not be taken as representative.
LINK: the story behind this story (Megan Fisher - BBC News).⚡
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“And how certain were you, that he matched the description?”
Officer Stokes fidgeted in his chair. How, now, to recapture that moment? It seemed ridiculous. Explaining to a man in a two-piece suit the reality of fighting street crime was like trying to explain to a microwave the reality of coleslaw. They were two different worlds, and their meeting left a funny taste in the mouth. "I's as certain as I c'udda been, I s'ppose," Stokes replied. "Hard to tell, when you've got a gun that could be pointed right at yew, and it's dark out." The investigator fiddled through his notes, and fished out a thin sheet of paper. He laid it in front of the officer. It was a photograph of the thirteen-year-old's handgun. "It was a toy," he said. Though he tried to hide it, Officer Stokes felt something flare up behind his eyes. How dare this man, with his dwindly, flaccid, life-insured legs, point out to him the most obvious point of the case? We know now, he thought to himself, but try making that out against the shadows of a New York back-alley. He wanted to say it out loud. He wanted to expose this fraud. See if you don't shoot. He only nodded. The man in the chair left the photograph there for several moments, and then withdrew it. He seemed to have made the impression he wanted. He was conceited. Stokes began to hate this man. "You are being placed on immediate leave. Most of this will be dealt with now by the District Attorney. We just need to make sure you acted on reasonable grounds, I hope you can understand." Stokes nodded. "How certain were you, that he matched the description?" Stokes didn't want to say anything. "I told yous already." "You were... as sure as you could be, is that correct?" "Mm-hm." "You gave chase only after the boy began to run?" "Mm-hm." "And you fired one shot, at close range, into the suspect's chest only after identifying the toy gun?" The toy gun. Surely this man was doing it on purpose. No matter what the barrel's made of, staring down and into a black, metal ring will make a man do desperate things. "At what point did it occur to you that the boy was thirteen?" Morals. Stokes thought about the drinks he had at home in his cabinet. He would rather spend a lifetime facing them, than facing this insidious line of questioning. He felt the flare in his eyes again. "We can take a break, if you would like, Mr. Stokes." He wondered what the man would say next. "We know this is not a pleasant situation to be in. I'm trying to be as quick as I can." So he was not only an investigator. He was also manipulative. Stokes shot his hand down to his pocket, running his thumb quickly over the empty holster that now hung at his waist. It was surprising, actually, how few bullets he had fired, over the course of his career. Now, without his gun, he felt that he had not truly appreciated each hit. "Officer?" "I'on'know, mister! I guess I'd'a ree-lised sooner if I'd had the time to speak with the... boy." "Did you attempt to speak to the suspect?" "Yessir, but 'e just star'ted up runnin', quick as an alley cat on the fence-post." "I see." There was a short pause. "Is there any reason, in your recollection of events, that he may have decided to run away?" Finally - got him. "No sir. We just stepp'd out o'ur ve-hi-cule and approached 'em. Nice an' easy. Plain an' simple." This did not seem to have the effect Stokes wanted. The man simply went: "Mm." Finnicky bastard. "Was the suspect aware that he was being approached on account of the Utica crimes?" What was he getting at? "I... no, I guess naught, he jus' star'ted up runnin'." This was the first phrase that had an effect. For a moment, the investigator looked totally and completely exhausted. Stokes felt a little twinge of pride. Good. Take that one home with you. The investigator let out a sigh. "I'll wrap this up now, officer; I don't want to keep you any longer." There was a pause. "You were... as sure as you could be?" "I's told you al're'ddy." "Alright." The man closed his notes and put his palms to his forehead. "Alright," he said, rubbing his temples. "We done here?" Stokes asked, as courteously as this flying storm of liberal democratic bullshit would allow. The investigator looked stunned, but quickly regained composure. Stokes' legs were ready to move out of that room. "Yes, Officer Stokes," the man said, with a new chill in his voice. For a moment, it actually chilled Stokes himself. What was that? "Thank you for your time today," he went on. "You're free to go."
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disclaimer:
This is fiction. The views expressed in this publication do not reflect the views of the author. The stories themselves are based on imagined events. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is fictitious and should not be taken as representative.
Read the full disclaimer.
In 2020, firearms became the No. 1 killer of children and teens in America, surpassing motor vehicle accidents, which had long been the leading cause of death among America’s youth. More than 1,600 children and teens were killed by a gun in 2023.