Robert Pierce moved like a man who spent his whole life on the streets. Walking, escorted toward the interrogation room, his hips pushing his body forward and almost deliberately exaggerated. His face rarely broke from unsettling stares. Each commissioned officer that stood in place wanted so badly to empty their police issued revolver into that man.
His cocaine enterprise opened the doors for fast money and challenges that youth could never achieve even with a Yale P.H.D.
He was the total package and that pleased Detective Laura Kimber immensely, for the simple reason that Pierce looked like a gangster, murderer, and a piece of low-life, dirty shit. He would really make the inside of a casket look good. In fact so many people living in The City of Bridgeport would love to make a casket his permanent residence.
In the past six years Robert Pierce became the king of destruction of human life. He wouldn't just shoot you in the back of the head. He would shoot you in the face so you could see death coming. He would then shoot out your eyeballs for being nosy.
He enjoyed killing alcoholics, dopers and loved raping welfare mothers and female mental cases. He was simply a sick motherfucker who deserved nothing but death. Even God wanted to piss on his grave.
Robert Pierce was the most threatening person that the devil could have created.
In other words, he was a fucking monster. He was a man for which large caliber guns were made for. An empty gun chamber spinning as fast as it could with the smell of sulfur in the air should be the last thing anyone sees and smells while Robert Pierce's body kicks in death convulsions as his life ends and his soul pours slowly down a manhole heading toward the devil's waiting rooms.
Those happy thoughts all of which seems to go to waste when reality sets in and Robert Pierce enters the interrogation room. He sits across Detective Nathan Chambers and Laura Kimber.
“Good day,” he says in a deep monotone voice,
“Drop dead,” Kimber replied.
“Lady's first,” he added with a sheepish grin.
“Your here because of the death of Labria James,” Chambers started.
Robert Pierce moved his head over the table to show a complete willingness to discuss the violent death of Labria James. He mentioned everything in detail and how he killed her right in front of her quivering husband who only begged not to be killed. Pierce felt that small satisfaction to murdering someone in front of their loved ones and they do nothing about it. It was like someone tossing a gold coin into his hat.
“So you're confessing?” Chambers added.
“I'm telling you how I butchered that piece of shit.”
Kimber wanted to react as she sat across from Pierce only grinding her teeth.
Captain Frank Roque entered and sat next to Chambers with a sour expression on his face.
“We have to let him go,” he said with no hiding his disgust.
“LaBria's husband made every effort to alibi Pierce's story on the night of the murder. Said, if Pierce hadn't arrived he'd be dead too.”
“So, I'm a hero,” said the monster as he stood up slowly, with a hint of drama.
“Sit down!” Kimber shouted.
“No Laura,” said the captain. “He's a free man.”
“Fuck!” she shouted.
Pierce smiled and turned to the door. He walked slowly almost with the motion of a locomotive. There was almost an imaginary train coming to a complete stop with whistles blowing entering the detectives' head as Robert Pierce walked out and closed the door behind him.
© 2018 Frank Atanacio