Robert Tanenbaum - Outrage

Felix sat at a bare table in a stark room of white washed walls and linoleum wondering when the police were going to let him go home. He was by himself and there were no sounds other than the nervous tapping of his foot.

Having lost his glasses when he fell, he could only squint at the large mirror set against one of the walls. He’d watched enough television cop shows to know that it was probably oneway glass and that he was being watched by police detectives on the other side.

Felix had already been at the precinct house for two hours. They’d taken photographs of his face, and his fingerprints. But mostly he’d been left to sit in the room. He wished they’d just tell him what they wanted him to say so that he could say it and leave.

The door clicked and then opened. A large man walked in and stood for a moment studying him. He walked over and sat in the chair across from Felix, who could then see well enough to note that he was an older man with a big, wrinkled face and icy blue eyes.

“I’m Detective Brock,” the man said. “I understand that you’ve waived your right to have an attorney present?”

Felix hesitated for a moment. The police officer who arrested him had also asked him if he wanted an attorney. He remembered that the police on the television shows asked that a lot, too, so he figured it must be important. But he didn’t know why. He did know, however, that attorneys cost money, and if his dad found out he was spending money on one, he’d get hit. He shook his head. “I don’t want an attorney.”

“And you’re willing to talk to me?” Brock asked. “No one is forcing you to answer my questions.”

Felix’s natural inclination to please kicked in. “Sure. I’ll answer your questions.”

“Good. Thank you, that helps,” the detective said. “Felix, can you tell me where you were earlier this morning, before the police officers arrested you?”

“Yes,” Felix answered, glad to start with an easy one, “I was home.”

“Was anybody else there?”

Felix cringed slightly at the memory of his father asleep on the couch. He didn’t want the police to bother Eduardo. “No.”

“What were you doing out so early on a Sunday morning?”

“I was going to Mullayly Park.”

“Why?”

“To meet my friends.”

“Felix, what would you say if I told you that you look like a man who attacked a young woman this morning near Mullayly Park?”

Felix furrowed his brow. “I didn’t do it,” he answered.

“Then why did you try to run away when the police officer stopped you?”

“I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what? That you’d be arrested for attacking that young woman?”

“No,” Felix answered.

“Then what were you afraid of, Felix?”

Felix thought back to the moment he decided to run and pictured his angry father coming at him with a raised fist. “That the policeman would find the stolen ring and tell my dad.”

“The stolen ring,” Brock replied, “the ring we found in your wallet? The ring you told Officer Givens was in your wallet?”

“Yes.” Felix nodded eagerly.

“Where’d you get the ring? Did you steal it?”

Felix shook his head. “No. I bought it from Al at the park.”

“You bought it from Al at the park,” Brock repeated.

“Yes, from Al. He gave me a good price because we’re friends.”

“Then how do you know it was stolen?” the detective asked.

“My friend Alejandro told me it was.”

“Alejandro told you the ring you bought from Al at the park was stolen?”

“Yes.”

“I see, and that’s why you ran from the police officer?”

“Yes.”

Brock quickly changed the subject. “Where’d you get that shiner?”

“Shiner?”

“The black eye,” Brock said, pointing to Felix’s face. “Looks like someone belted you pretty good. Did the young woman this morning hit you with her elbow?”

Felix didn’t know what to say. If he told the detective that his dad hit him and it got Eduardo in trouble, there’d be a beating later. “I ran into a door,” he said.

“A door?” the detective scoffed. He stared at Felix until the young man began to squirm in his seat. “You know what? I think someone hit you. I think maybe it was that young woman. In fact, maybe that’s what made you mad. Maybe that’s why you tried to pull her into the park. Maybe you were going to cut her with your knife. Is that it, Felix, she pissed you off so you were going to rape her and cut her with a knife?”

Felix started to panic. Brock’s tone had changed. Now the detective was saying that he had tried to cut a woman and rape her. But the detective was asking so many questions along with the accusations; Felix thought he better answer the questions that seemed the most important. “No. The young woman didn’t hit me. I wasn’t mad at her.”

“She didn’t hit you, so you weren’t mad at her,” Brock said. “Maybe you just wanted to rob her?”

This wasn’t going well. The detective couldn’t seem to understand him. “I didn’t want to rob her.”

“Rape her then? Did you want to rape her?”

“No, I didn’t want to rape her.”

“Then who hit you, Felix? That doesn’t look like you ran into a door.”

Felix’s shoulders sagged. “My dad.”

“Your dad hit you in the face?”

Felix nodded. “Yes. He thought I drank his beer.”

“I see,” the detective said in such a way that Felix knew he didn’t believe him.

Brock appeared to be getting ready to ask him another question when there was a knock at the door. The detective walked over to the door, which opened to reveal a uniformed police officer. The two had a quick conversation and then the detective turned back to Felix.

“I’m going to ask you to go with Officer Krysnowski here,” he said.

“Where am I going?” Felix replied, frightened. He’d hoped that the interruption meant he could now go home, but apparently they weren’t through with him.

“We’re just taking you to another room where there’ll be some other men,” Brock said. “You’re going to stand in line and then do what Officer Krysnowski asks you to do. It’s really very easy. You okay with that?”

Felix didn’t think that sounded too bad, especially if it got him away from Brock. “Sure, okay,” he said, standing. “Can I go home after that?”

The detective exchanged glances with the officer. “We’ll see. I may have some more questions.”

Felix sighed. “Okay, but if I don’t get home soon, I’m going to be in trouble.”

Officer Krysnowski led Felix from the room and put him in a line with four other men. They were then led into another room by the officer and told to stand along a wall and face another large mirror.

On the other side of the one-way glass, Marianne Tate stood with Detective Brock, as well as another detective, Scott McCullough, and Jon Marks, the sergeant of the detective squad.

“Do you recognize any of these men as the one who attacked you this morning?” Brock asked.

Tate studied the men one by one. “I didn’t get a real good look,” she said. “He was across the street when I first saw him and after that it was mostly out of the corner of my eye.”

“So none of these men look like your guy?” the sergeant asked.

Catching an irritated tone, Tate looked again. “Well, the guy on the end, number five, and number three look kind of like I remember. But I’m just not sure. Could you ask them to speak?”

The detective nodded. “Sure. Anything in particular?”

Tate’s eyes grew angry. “Yes. I want them to say, ‘Don’t scream, sooka, or I’ll cut your fucking head off.’ And then, ‘Now you and I are going to get busy.’”