A Frosty for my Troubles

Follow the link if you missed the last post in my biography.

I wasn't immediately transported to the police station. I sat in the rear of the cruiser until some brass showed up. They were called in to wring the truth out of me. I wondered if their questions would be asked through barely withheld grins like the cops I had dealt with so far. Despite being handcuffed and irritably shifting from one ass cheek to the other (the backseat of a cop car for tall people is the first form of interrogation), I understood why the police found my situation funny. They were silently praying for my story to make the paper. I can still hear the journalists licking their lips.

There I remained until the detectives and my other captors had suitably sucked each other off. I was then removed from my captor's car, unhandcuffed, and placed in an unmarked sedan that was significantly more hospitable than my prior confines -- they were buttering me up. Once in gear, the driver began to speak, first asking my name and where I was from. Would this be the good or bad cop?

I was informed that they knew I was a burglar. I was on probation and bond for burglary. Captain Obvious had been doing his homework. I should have asked if that's what the shit sample told them.

After we exchanged congenialities I was asked to direct them towards other homes I had broken in to. I wasn't going to be seeing daylight for a while. The purse and its contents found in my trunk were more than enough to link me to several burglaries, so I agreed to point out as many of the homes I could. My inexperience with the area was a serious hindrance and many of the sites had been rural to a degree.

The best option available to me had been to cooperate with the investigation in hopes the court would look favorably upon me. Believe it or not, I've always been a terrible liar. Boulder's District Attorney was probably a moron, but I wasn't prepared to test him.

In all, I lead them back to 17 separate locations. (17 out of 30 probably) I made their work easy and the surprise on their faces was astonishing. They couldn't believe how quickly I had worked. I couldn't believe I got caught because of a bowel movement.

The two dicks tediously jotted down information at each of the locations and we then headed to the station. I'm not sure if they had been hungry or not, but in the most random of my police experiences they pulled into a close-by Wendy's. I don't recall whether they ordered anything or not, but they did ask me if I'd like something. I replied without hesitation, "Bacon Cheeseburger, no tomatoes or onions, Biggie fry, and a Frosty." I had already confessed, what the hell was that about? I wondered if he was going to be able to ring that up as a business expense.

Lips glistening with grease, we arrived at the Boulder County Jail. I was removed from the car for the last time and patted down. My Frosty was melting, but it was quickly returned to my hands as they ushered me into an interview room where I was left to enjoy my last free meal of the nineties.

An hour or so passed before one of the detectives returned with a piece of paper with a detailed summary of what I had told them along with a list of the locations I had taken them to. I signed promptly and was placed in the waiting room to be booked into custody. Anti-climatic, I know, but my journey through the system was an event in and of itself. Prison might have saved my life. (Click here to subscribe to my feed!)