Interrogation 3

The two cops led me into Interview Room 1. The fat cop slammed a cup of coffee in front of me so I couldn’t say I’d been deprived of drink. The thin cop gave me a pad of paper and a pen.

“So he came in to the club,” the fat cop said.

“Yeah,” I said. “I recognized him by his muttonchops.”

“And you offered to give him a lap dance?”

“Um, yeah. Part of the job.”

“So how did he end up on the floor, almost dead?”

“Well, I’m not very good at those lap dances yet. I can barely work my way around the pole.”

“I know. I saw you dancing at that club two weeks ago.” The thin cop shook his head. “Pitiful.”

I felt a surge of hope. “So you know it was an accident?”

The thin cop shook his head again. “I didn’t see the kind of antics that you tried to pull with Evil Editor tonight.”

“I—I got a little overly excited, I guess. I couldn’t believe it was really him.”

“Tell me,” the fat cop said, leaning over the table. “How does a woman go from being an editor to being a stripper, anyway?”

“It’s just temporary,” I said. “The economy really sucks, you know.”

There was a knock on the door, and it opened. Evil Editor hobbled in, “Let her go,” he said hoarsely. “If she says it was an accident, it was an accident.”

The cops looked at each other. “You mean, you’re not pressing charges?”

“No. In fact, I’m ready to drive her home.”

“Listen, EE,” I said as we were driving back to my place. “I’m really sorry about all of this.”

”That’s okay. I want another lap dance. But this time, keep the shoes off, okay?”

--Freddie