— Sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect. Sorry. Your dad drew awesome pictures of ottomans. Not little pictures. Big ones! Manly ones.
— Where is this going?
— So you become a cop why? To follow in Mom’s footsteps? You know, I’m thinking things were complicated in your house. Maybe Dad’s feeling emasculated given Mom makes more money. Did he work at home?
—
— He did! In a way, he was a homemaker, wasn’t he?
—
— Sorry. I shouldn’t take cheap shots. So you become a cop why? Because you want to do good?
—
— You don’t really have a cop look. That’s why I took you. You seemed more harmless than the other options. You ever have a mustache, goatee, that kind of thing?
—
— No answer? Is that classified information? Cop facial hair choices are classified? Did you just smile? I made you laugh. That is awesome. Now we’re best friends. Okay, let’s back up. Now that we’re besties I need to know everything. I’m assuming public school?
—
— Don’t go shy now. I’m worked up. You don’t want me getting that taser. I’m more likely to use it when I’m excited. So: public school? Don’t nod. I need answers. It’s dark and nodding doesn’t work when it’s dark. As you can imagine, I can’t turn lights on or maybe those ships you think you were signaling might actually see us.
— Yes. Public school.
— Okay. College?
— Two years.
— Where?
— Chico State.
— Chico State. Chico State. Okay. I can see that. Then what? You drop out?
— I ran out of money.
— Were you planning to become a cop at that point?
— I don’t know.
— You were studying what?
— Theater.
— Theater! Theater! Oh shit. That is fantastic. Your dad’s a furniture designer, and you’re studying theater. And Mom was what kind of cop, by the way? Like a clerk or actually driving around in a cruiser?
— Driving around. Patrol. Then she was a sergeant.
— Wow. Okay. So Frank wants to be what, an actor? You were wanting to be an actor?
— I don’t know. I did everything — set design, props, directing.
— Frank, I really like you now. You look like the Family Ties dad and you studied theater at Chico State. I like you. So I’m hoping I don’t have to dislike you later. So then you drop out of college, and then what?
— I worked.
— Doing?
— Telemarketing.
— Oh shit. That’s terrible. Were you good at it?
— No.
— Selling what?
— Home security systems.
— Okay. For how long?
— A year.
— And then what? Then the police academy?
— No, then Europe.
— You went to Europe? Like backpacking, Eurail pass, all that?
— Yes.
— Frank, I can’t tell you how much I love that. You are awesome. I have to say, I’m so encouraged that there are cops who studied theater at Chico State and then went backpacking through Europe. You should get the word out about that! You know the perception is that you cops are a bunch of gorillas who never left the state, don’t you? They should put guys like you out there more, do some community events, that kind of thing. All you guys stay in your cars and never talk to anyone. You know what a problem that is for your PR? They should have a Meet Frank the Cop Night, where you talk to people about your crazy adventures in Greece and shit. Isn’t that a great idea?
— I don’t know.
— It is! And I’m assuming you went to Greece?
— I did.
— Rented a scooter, rode it drunk, picked up English girls?
— More or less.
— You know, in another life we would have almost been friends. You seem okay. I’m glad I took you. You married?
—
— C’mon, I’m not going to harm your wife. And if I wanted to, I could anyway. I could find out in a second whether or not you’re married. I know your name.
— Go ahead, call the station and ask.
— Look at you! You’re clever. You want me to call the station. Then you yell out or something, they trace the call, they get the coordinates from the cell phone company, and we’re found. That’s clever. Well, it’s almost clever. It’s not really all that clever. You couldn’t be all that clever and be working for the Marview police. And where I picked you up, what was that? You’re guarding some private residence or something?
— I was providing security at an event.
— You ever shoot anyone?
— At a private party?
— No. Funny, though. Have you?
— No.
— Did you ever shoot your gun?
— On duty?
— Yes on duty.
— I’ve fired my sidearm three times on duty.
— Three times. Who were the three targets?
— One was a man who had robbed a dry cleaner’s.
— Was he armed?
— Yes, I believe he was.
—“Yes I believe he was.” You know, you just set yourself back a hundred years. That is precisely the kind of bullshit answer people expect from cops, and here you’re giving it to me. So did he get away?
— He was armed, and he did get away. He ran across a four-lane highway and got into a car.
— You fired at him and missed.
— I have to assume I missed.
— Okay, who else?
— Once at an animal.
— What kind of animal?
— A dog.
— A dog.
— Yes.
— So you’re saying that one of the three times you shot your gun was at a dog?
— Yes.
— That is fascinating. That really means you’re telling me the truth. Because if you were hiding anything from me you wouldn’t mention that. And you’re also trying to humanize yourself. You’ve read the handbook. Humanize yourself, talk about your allergies, weaknesses, family, frailties, and maybe the kidnapper will spare you. That about right?
—
— So did you hit the dog?
— No I did not.
— You’re a bad shot or what?
— I’m a decent shot.
— But you missed the dry cleaning man and the dog.
— Both encounters were in the evening and both targets were moving quickly.
— Are you nearsighted or anything?
— No.
— So who was the third target of your gun?
— He was just a man. Disturbed man.
— How old?
— Thirty or so, I think.
— Wait. What? He was thirty? What was his name?
— I don’t know. It was a bunch of consonants.
— What do you mean? Where was this?
— Here. Marview.
— What? Why were you here?
— I used to work here. I was transferred after.
— What was his name?
— It was a foreign name.
— Foreign like from where?
— I think it was Vietnam.
— What?
— Vietnamese. I think it was.
— What was his name?
— I don’t know. It started with B.
— The last name started with B?
— Yes. I know that.
— And his first name?
— It was American.
— Was it Don?
— It could be.
— Was it Don Banh?
— I don’t know. Did you know him?
— Now you’re lying. Now you think I’ll kill you because you killed my friend. Did you kill Don Banh?
— No.
— You said you shot him.
— We shouldn’t talk about this now.
— We have to talk about this now. Did you shoot Don Banh?
—
— You better talk.
— I didn’t kill him. My shot didn’t kill him.