by Chad Norton
The door to the interrogation room opens and in walks this handcuffed little old lady. She’s wearing a cream-colored blouse, pearl earrings, matching necklace, and pressed navy skirt under an opened wool overcoat. Tweed. Her hair is white and pulled back in a bun. She’s got these wire-rimmed specs balanced on her nose and she smells like flowers, roses maybe. Officer Hicks escorts her to the table in the center of the room, where I pull out a chair for her to take a seat.
“Thank you dear,” she says.
Now, as a female officer in the 78th, I deal with real whack jobs every day. I get the ‘heads, the whores, junkies, drunks, car-jackers, gang-bangers, murderers, con artists and dealers of anything somebody’d be stupid enough to try and get off on – you’d be amazed. I’ve processed animal-torturing freaks, grave robbers and all kinds of loony tunes the state has deemed fit enough to grace our city streets. Thank you Washington.
But I’m telling you, right now, whoever collared this 80-something, Brooklyn Mary Poppins is gonna catch some heat. For Chrissake. Rookies.
Officer Hicks unlocks the cuffs and hands me the paperwork.
“Mary Novak,” says Hicks. “She’s booked on two counts of harassment, one count criminal contempt.”
“Mary,” I think. “Figures.” I look from the file to the suspect.
“But she’s completely innocent. Of all charges.”
The defending voice comes from a woman who entered with Hicks and Ms. Novak. She looks to be in her late thirties. Could work in publishing, she’s a little mussed around the edges. Dark hair, touch of grey. Good skin. Knitted, pink scarf. Tan leather coat. Nice rack. My day’s looking up.
“This is my daughter,” the older woman says. “My biggest supporter.”
The daughter goes around to stand behind her mother and puts her hands on the shoulders of the tweed coat. The suspect Novak smiles.
“Why if it wasn’t for her and my dear, ol’ cat Henry, I’d just don’t know what I’d do. I really don’t.”
I half smile and nod like I understand. But the daughter gasps and puts her hand to her head, giving me a better shot of her chest.
“Henry!” she says. “I left the window open.”
I swear some of the color drains from the old lady’s face. Her smile is gone.
“If he gets out after those pigeons again with his cataract and bad hip... well, it’s five flights!” She looks to her daughter. “How could you?!”
“I’m sorry momma. I’m sorry.” The daughter is at her mother’s knee.
“Well stop your whinin’ and go get him! Go!”
The daughter straightens up quick. Then the old lady gives Hicks and me this big-eyed look. She clears some kinda tickle in her throat while the color comes back to her face and she pats at the bun on the back of her head.
“And don’t worry about me dear,” she smiles to her daughter’s back. “I’m sure these nice officers will take good care of me. You just run along home. I’ll be here when you get back.”
The door closes. Hicks looks to me and raises a plucked eyebrow. She’s got a husband, two kids, a dog, the whole nine. Not bad, but not available.
“Think you can handle this?” She raises a hand above her head. “Paperwork to here.”
“Yeah. No problem,” I say.
“Any problems?” I ask the suspect.
The old lady smiles like she just baked me a batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies and can’t wait to pour the milk. “Certainly not from me dear,” she says.
Then she smiles at Hicks.
“Alright then,” Hicks says. “You need me, I’ll be at my desk.”
Hicks leaves the room and I pull a few forms from the folder that still need to be filled out along with a zip-lock bag to hold the suspect’s possessions.
“Ms. Novak,” I say, “We’re gonna need to have you fill out some information, here...” I turn the page. “Here.” I turn another page. “And here.”
I slide the old woman the papers and a felt tip pen.
“The last page’ll need your signature at the bottom.”
She’s looking at me, studying me. But not saying anything.
“Then we’ll have to put your personal items like jewelry and money into this bag here to keep safe until you’re released.”
Her eyes narrow a bit.
“You understand?” I say. “You got all that?”
“Oh, I understand dear,” she says.
Then her eyes get bigger and her lips go tight.
“I understand exactly what’s going on here,” she says.
“A big, fuckin’ bull dyke cop with nothing better to do than harass old ladies is all up in my face ‘cause her twat’s so dried up and crusty won’t nobody go near it.”
She leans toward me over the table.
“And that makes me sick. Bitch!” she says and brings up a wad of ancient snot and spits it in my face.
I’m up in a flash. I pull the old woman onto her feet, her arms behind her back.
“That’s right granny,” I say with lots of control. “And this big, bull dyke cop is gonna love strip searching your sorry, wrinkled ass.”
I move with the suspect to the phone and buzz for assistance. Then I wait for the door to open.