Oddball

Ch. 1

  "Did you mean to, Blake?" Good Cop asked, "it's alright if it was an accident, Blake. We can help you. Just tell us what happened, son." 

    Blake had listened and heard definitively the rising and falling notes in his voice and the futile efforts of name repetition; familiarity. Blake was almost insulted that these stupid f***s thought that they could put this s**t over on him; he was insulted that they thought they knew him, that they could get to know him. Blake Summers was no fool and refused to take the bait. 

   Of course, that's when Bad Cop stepped in. Your turn, Baddie. Blake thought, amused. Bad Cop; Blake did not bother to listen to their names. It didn't matter what their names were- he would outsmart them, easily. So, he had decided to simply refer to them by the names they foolishly believed they were secretly (more like stupidly, Blake thought) playing to him. 

   "If we find out you did this, you're looking at the needle, punk ass." growled Bad Cop. Blake turned those angelic blue eyes on the officer. "I'm sorry, sir? My name is Blake Summers, I came down here voluntarily. I was very" (a hint of sharpness in his voice, there only for a moment then it was gone) "compliant with all that you have asked, or rather demanded of me." He stared at the two officers, taking them in, sizing them up. They stared back with poker faces. Or so they thought. That's right, Goodie, Blake thought and gave it just a little more gas. 

    " I knew Megan, " he told them, keeping their attention, slowly leading them along. "We had a few anatomy labs together. A few times during midterms, we got coffee with a few other troops and studied," he continued. Good Cop was as good as had it seemed, but asshat Bad Cop would need a little more convincing. No problem, Blake thought and cleared his throat gently as if he may be struggling with his emotions. "She was a nice girl. We were never anything more than -- well, not even friends. More like comrades, or whatever," he finished, though not quite done with his part in this scene. 

    If the cops were smart, they would ask questions. Questions to make Blake think that perhaps he had slipped up. Blake would be able to tell exactly what he was dealing with by the types of questions they asked. He waited patiently, letting them know he had nothing more to say. 

 "I noticed you chose militaristic terms, Blake. 'Troops' and 'comrades,' I believe were your choices. Why these words, Mr. Summers? Why not classmates? Or perhaps acquaintances?" Good Cop asked. Ah, Blake thought so, Good ol boy is the brains here.Good question, pig. I had hoped you'd ask a good one. "Ever heard the someone say 'we were in the trenches together, Officer?" Blake replied innocently, blue eyes shining in the harsh, fluorescent overhead lighting.  

    "-Grissom," Good Cop replied, curtly- perhaps more so than he meant to be. "I'm sorry?" Blake replied politely, maintaining eye contact the entire time, effortlessly. "Detective Grissom," he answered, softer this time. "That's my name. I guess I didn't introduce myself when I came in." He finished, still speaking in a softer, less assertive tone.

     That's right Grissom- you son of a b***h. Don't get out of character now, Blake thought mockingly. Grissom. Or as Blake still deemed him, "Good Cop" had indeed introduced himself when he came into the small, grey interrogation room with the bars on the windows. Blake knew he had and so did Good Cop Grissom. Two for two on my tiger traps, he thought as he remembered, albeit randomly, something about a tiger trap in his 9th grade English class. What had that damn story been? It was pretty damn cool... The Very... The Most Dangerous.. The Most Dangerous Something... 

     "Oh no, sir," Blake answered, deliberately startled. The whole jumble of thoughts had passed through his head in mere seconds, Blake had but only blinked on the surface, he had not missed a beat. "I'm quite sure you did, I just can't remember, I was too busy looking around this place. I've never been in an interrogation room before. I guess I was just-"

     "Scared?" Bad Cop spat, accusingly, cutting Blake off. 

    "I was just going to say I was surprised at how much the T.V. shows snazz it up. Even on the shows interrogation rooms look like s**t. But, guys?" He laughed boyishly, waved a hand around in a small, graceful circle. "Damn. You deserve better than this, really."

     Game. Blake thought, rather smugly. He remembered now. The story from 9th grade. The Most Dangerous Game. He smiled, reassuringly, to the detectives. Indeed. 

He was not caught-this time. Good Cop came in, murmured something about wasting his time, however his tone was unapologetic. This did not surprise Blake. Blake knew that they had their suspicions. Let them. What mattered was being able to prove their suspicions. That-he could, (and would) prevent.