Fuck you, I\'m the Chief of Police

FUCK YOU, I’M THE CHIEF OF POLICE.


“Come.”

The heavy office door opened, its thick wood moving slowly through the air, and a tall man walked through. He was still young, but with a stubbly beard and a shock of fluffy brown hair atop his head.

“Ah, greetings. You would be… Mark… Stoffels, is it?” The man behind the desk gestured to the rich leather chair in front of him. “Have a seat, young man. My name is Gant. Police Chief Damon Gant.” Gant was large and intimidating in appearance, and he knew it, with his pure white hair, always deliberately messy, and his rose tinted glasses framing piercing eyes. He dressed unusually, a bright orange suit and black shirt, so as to be as conspicuous as possible. To those who didn’t know him, it was a charming effect. To those who knew him a little better, it was the colouring of a beast warning others away.

Both men sat down, Mark in one of the dark crimson leather chairs, the Chief of Police in his luxurious black leather chair, which looked more like a throne than anything one might expect to see in an office.

“Now. It has been brought to my attention that you claim to have witnessed an incident on Thursday evening. Could you tell me more about that?” Gant asked, a seemingly open and pleasant smile stretching across his face.

“Certainly,” Mark answered, nodding. “I was leaving the tea store on Moon Street, and heading home to watch some Peter Cundall DVDs I’d purchased when I turned the corner onto Ellipsis St and nearly walked into two men fighting.”

“I see, I see. Carry on. I’ll save any questions for the end,” Gant said, his smile narrowing slightly.

Mark looked down and continued. “Well, the shorter of the two men, the man who was facing away from me, fell back. I’m not sure if he was pushed or fell by accident. But as he stood up, he pulled something out of his pocket and twisted it. I then saw that it was a short knife. He leapt towards his opponent, the taller man, and stabbed him in the side of the neck with the knife. I was shocked, I gasped. The man turned around and saw me, stared at me for a moment, and then turned and ran. I called the police and ambulance while running over to see if the injured man was ok, but he had stopped moving.” Mark looked up again, and waited for Gant to think about his story.

Gant, smile now completely absent from his face, watched Mark for a moment, and then leaned forwards. “Would you be able to describe this man for me?”

“Some, yes. He was fairly short, and thin. He was wearing a red jacket, and had brown hair. Most of it was covering his face, but I could see a mark on the right side of his face. The thing I remember most, and that I probably won’t ever forget, is the look of hate in his eyes when he turned and saw me…” Mark looked down again, the memories making him uncomfortable.

Gant steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. “Interesting. That’s quite a detailed description. I imagine you’d be able to pick someone out quite easily, having seen them so well. Am I correct?”

“Yes, I would. In fact, the prosecutor’s office and the police have asked me to go to their offices tomorrow and look through pictures they have of suspects. It was requested by Prosecutor Edgeworth,” Mark answered.

“Oh? Was it now? Isn’t that something?” The grin returned to Gant’s face, but it was darker and a lot less friendly this time around. “Just what are you up to, Edgey my boy?”

Mark opened his mouth to ask a question, but he was interrupted before he could utter the first syllable, by Gant standing up quickly and looking at him over the pale pink glasses. “In any case, you will not be required to attend the police offices tomorrow. I will pass on any information on your behalf, so you may go about your business as per your normal schedule.”

“Are you sure, Mr Gant? It was made very clear to me by Mr Edgeworth that I was to be at the office at nine am, without fail.” Mark looked uncomfortable again. He didn’t like the idea of defying the man in front of him, who suddenly seemed much larger, but the look in the prosecutor’s eyes when he had given him the order had been equally serious.

Gant looked at him a moment longer, before sitting back down and leaning forward to place his hands on his desk. “I am sure. You may not attend the offices of the police or the prosecutor tomorrow. You are not permitted to interfere with this investigation again. Am I understood, Mr Stoffels?”

Mark held the Chief’s stare but was losing the mental war, and knew it. He nodded, and sat back. “I don’t want to have any trouble with the police or the prosecutors. May I have that in writing, Chief Gant?” Mark asked.

Gant again stared at Mark, tilting his head slightly. “No. You may not. You will turn around, leave my office, and go home. Then you will go about your normal day, and live as though you didn’t witness any crimes. Now leave.”

Mark’s eyes widened, as he realised the significance of what the Chief was telling him. “Mr Gant, I’m not sure I like what you’re telling me. Do you even have the power to do this?”

Gant grinned once again, a grin of purest malice and contempt. “You’d be surprised what power I have.”

He stood up, and walked over to a cabinet, where he pulled out a form and made a few marks on it with a pen from his pocket. He placed the form on his desk and signed the bottom, before gesturing at it with the pen. “Nevertheless, if this is your choice, I have no interest in forcing you to do something against your will. This is a Witness Statement form. Your statement can be recorded and signed by you, making it official. Sign here, and then you can leave, and if you so choose, you can go to the offices tomorrow and meet with Mr Edgeworth and the officers investigating this incident.”

Mark bowed his head slightly, and stood up to walk over to where the Chief had signed the form. He took Gant’s pen from him and bent over to sign on the line at the bottom. Mark took a closer look at the form, and read the words “Bankruptcy and Foreclosure” on the top, and he frowned. “Mr Gant, I don’t think this is a statement form. Did you pick up the wrong piece of pa–” before he was interrupted by Police Chief Gant’s heavy right boot slamming into the back of his left knee, driving Mark forward and into the hard mahogany of the desk.

A series of sharp snaps followed by a dull pop echoed through the quiet and expansive office as the tall man’s knee was crushed by the impact. Mark’s chest hit the edge of the desk, winding him and rendering him largely voiceless. A few high-pitched whines escaped him as he pushed himself against the desk in an attempt to get some distance, any distance, from the source of his pain. Reaching forward, Gant ran his fingers through Mark’s hair, and gripping a large chunk of it, he pulled Mark’s head back roughly, ignoring the tears spilling down Mark’s face, and whispered into his ear, “You’d be surprised what power I have…”

Gant watched as Mark’s eyes widened, beyond what any human should have been able to do. The younger man’s terror was palpable as he began to comprehend what was happening to him. The fear only got worse when a deep and rich laugh began rumbling, and echoing sadistically through the office.

The crying grew louder and louder as Mark managed to catch his breath, and a few weak calls for help drew a wide smile out of Gant. He stood, savouring the feeling of control, savouring the tears, savouring his own power, and smiling at it all. He then pulled his leg back again, and drove it squarely into the back of Mark’s other knee, again slamming the man into the desk again, but this time eliciting a wretched scream from his terrified victim. Gant quivered with glee.

As the sobbing and screaming slowly quieted, Gant stretched his back out, and whispered, mostly to himself but loud enough for the injured witness to hear, “Well then, shall we begin?”

Through his own near–blinding and –deafening pain, Mark heard the faint but familiar sounds of a belt being unlatched. His current state left him without much in the way of reasoning abilities, but then when he heard the soft rustle of silk falling away from skin, he realised what Gant was doing behind him. As though to deliberately confirm Mark’s suspicions, Gant then threw his discarded trousers and boxer shorts onto the desk in front of Mark.

Gant slipped his hand around Mark’s waist almost gently, in disconcerting contrast to the powerful violence he had used so far. Ignoring the jerking sobs and pained twitches, he undid Mark’s belt and button, and started tenderly sliding them partway down his thighs, towards his shattered and disfigured knees. As the metal belt latch swung and hit the inside of one knee, another hoarse scream cut the air, again causing a shiver to run down Gant’s spine. Gant then repeated the process with Mark’s underwear, sliding them down to bundle up with his trousers. Gant’s white-gloved hand then reached between and under Mark’s legs, to firmly grip his scrotum and squeeze and tug on it, enjoying the whimpering it caused. He leaned in again, to whisper softly into Mark’s ear, “You are not going to enjoy this.”