James Hunt - Broken Ties

Ben took a seat behind the two-way glass as Mitch brought in the suspect. His face was bearded, and he looked nothing like the picture in his file.

The violence on this guy’s record was incredible. Ben was surprised they didn’t bring him in with a straight jacket on.

Once the prisoner was secure with his hands and feet shackled, Ben walked in and sat down across from him. He slapped the file on the clean steel table between them, folded his hands together, and leaned forward.

“That file doesn’t paint a very flattering picture,” Ben said.

The prisoner said nothing.

“We’re going to be spending quite a lot of time together, and I can tell you that it will make both our lives a lot easier if you cooperate,” Ben said.

The prisoner wouldn’t look at Ben. He kept his face down, staring at his hands. That’s when Ben noticed the rigidness of the man’s fingers. They were swollen and crooked.

“If you give me something now I might be able to do something about your hands. Maybe a little extra pain reliever? Hmm? How does that sound?” Ben asked.

“Pain?”

“Pain reliever. For your hands. It loos like pretty bad arthritis.”

The prisoner looked up, his eyes shielded from the ragged strands of hair. He leaned forward.

“There is nothing on this planet that can numb me after the things I’ve done,” the prisoner said.

Ben leaned back into his chair. He pulled the Snickers bar from his pocket and took a bite.

“Well,” Ben said, trying to talk and chew at the same time. “It could be a long night for the both of us, Mike.”

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