"O.K, empty your pockets and remove your belt and shoes." The woman behind the counter spoke with no intonation in her voice. She'd gone through the routine time and time again. He removed his belt and put it in front of her.

"One leather belt with buckle," she made a note on the form and dropped the belt into a box. He reached into his pockets and began to empty their contents onto the counter.

"One wallet; containing: one driver's license, one ATM card, three ATM receipts, two video membership cards, and sixteen--no, seventeen dollars." She put the wallet and its contents into a large manilla envelope with his name and the number 915503 on it. He started to untie his shoes.

"One keychain with four keys; sixty-five cents; one pair of shoes. That's all?" He nodded in response. She finished writing down what he'd had, put it all in the envelope, put the envelope in the box with the belt, and put the box on a shelf. When she returned, she held the form out in front of him.

"Review the list, if everything's there, sign at the bottom." He signed.

"After you change, you'll bring your clothes back here." She handed him a pair of sandals and a bright orange jumpsuit with the number 915503 printed over the left side of the chest.

* * * *

"For the record, please state your name."

"Robert Joseph Hill."

"Bobby Joe?" The cop laughed.

"No. Robert."

The room they were in looked just like something from a movie. The walls were painted a disgusting pale green and the floors were covered in those ugly tiles like you'd find in a grocery store or a high school. The ceiling was covered in acoustical tiles behind rows of fluorescent lights that made the room look that much greener.

"O.K. Robert, here's what we're going to do. Detective Manning and I are going to ask you some questions we'd like you to answer. You've already waived your rights, but you may stop answering questions at anytime to request that a lawyer be present. O.K?"

"I don't need a fucking lawyer, Serpico."

"The name is Detective Matthew McLaughlin, not Serpico."

"Sure." Robert didn't care much anyway.

There was a tape recorder sitting in the center of the table to record everything that was said... or, nearly everything. McLaughlin turned off the recorder.

"Listen, mother-fucker, we're gonna fry your ass for this, so don't give me a hard time. If I hear another smart-ass remark like that, I'll kick your ass to the middle of next week." He pressed the play and record buttons and continued to ask questions as if nothing had happened.

* * * *

The guard escorting him unlocked a large gate and led him into a small room. The guard watched while he changed. After depositing his clothes, he was led through another gate, and down a corridor to a solid metal door that looked quite heavy. The guard spoke into his radio. There was a loud BUZZZZ and he opened the solid door. It opened into a small empty room where he was instructed to wait.

* * * *

"Do you know Ellen Cavanaugh?"

"Not personally."

"Do you know who she is?"

"Sure. You guys found her face down in a dumpster behind the Mini-Mart on Adams Street, right?"

"That's her," Manning spoke for the first time.

"Do you have any information or knowledge as to how she got there?" asked McLaughlin.

"How who got where?"

"Do you have any information as to how Ellen Cavanaugh came to be dead in the dumpster behind the Mini-Mart on Adams Street?" Mclaughlin's large forehead turned pink.

"I sure do." Robert played with them, giving up as little information as possible in each answer. It was fun for him.

"Well, why don't you tell us what you know."

"O.K. I put her there."

"Why?"

"She was dead. I wasn't going to pay for a funeral. You guys know what a funeral costs these days?"

Manning pushed stop on the tape player. McLaughlin picked Robert up and belted him in the stomach. Robert doubled over and laughed quietly to himself. The play and record buttons were pushed down.

"Now then, do you know how Ellen Cavanaugh died?"

"Yes, I do."

"Please go on."

"I believe she died of suffocation. She was strangled."

"By whom?"

"By me."

"Thank you Mister Hill." McLaughlin was glad this would be over soon.

"It was my pleasure."

"What?"

"Killing that girl... it was my pleasure."

A moment of absolute silence overtook the room. Manning looked deep into Robert's eyes. Robert had a silly grin on his face, like a toddler's smile of guilt when he craps in his pants. McLaughlin just scratched his jaw. This would last longer than he'd hoped.

* * * *

BUZZZZ. The door opened and a guard entered the room. He wasn't the same guard that had brought him to the room. He was brought down a corridor to another solid door.

BUZZZZ. The room they entered had a camera in the center of the room facing a wall with lines and height markers painted on it. There were counters lining two of the other walls in the room and a desk right behind the camera.

At one of the counters was a man getting his fingerprints recorded for posterity. In front of the camera, beside the wall that indicated he was five-feet-nine-inches tall, was a man holding a card that had "Michael Moore - 915502" handwritten on it in magic marker. Click. He turned sideways. Click. He moved on to the fingerprinting counter.

"Robert Hill, 915503."

"That's me." The photographer took a fresh card, wrote the name and number on it, and handed it to Robert.

"Stand in front of the camera, face forward, and hold the card under your chin." Click. "Turn to a profile." Click. "Move on to the counter." He had the same voice as the woman at the depository.

Robert walked over to the counter where he'd seen the others get fingerprinted.

BUZZZZ. 915504 entered the room with his escort.

At the fingerprinting counter, a guard took his fingers, one at a time, pressed them into the ink, and pushed them onto a card. Pinkie, ring, middle, fore, thumb, thumb, fore, middle, ring, pinkie. The guard handed Robert a paper towel which only smudged the ink.

* * * *

"Why don't you tell me everything you can recall from the night you killed Ellen Cavanaugh."

"Do you know what it's like to take another life, to snuff it out at your very whim? I don't mean in self defense in the line of duty. I'm talking about control. Total and absolute control. You should try it sometime, maybe with a little mouse or something." Manning squirmed a little. Robert continued.

"Just take the little fucker and slice its head off. But do it in the sink, the blood will stain the counters. Or you could hang it with kite string. Either way, the effect is the same.

* * * *

BUZZZZ. Robert was escorted to a ten-by-ten-foot holding cell where he was told to wait. This time, the cell contained a few others, also waiting. During the three hour wait, Robert got to know them pretty well.

915501 and 915504 were arrested on outstanding warrants for various traffic violations. 915499 was brought in on murder charges. 915502 was here because he embezzled money from the accounting firm where he worked. 915500 wouldn't talk.

* * * *

"The first time, you get this little shock of adrenaline that shoots to the tips of your fingers. The second time, maybe you'll get a hard-on. It's a fucking rush.

"Pretty soon, you wonder what it would be like to have that control over another human. You feel like God, the fate of a human being could be in your hands. In your own two hands! Everyone else's mortality builds up your own immortality. Like I said, it's a fucking rush.

"I had never met her. I wasn't looking for anybody in particular. I never did. Male or female, it didn't matter. Black, white, chinese, it still didn't matter. As long as I could find someone I could overpower, which at my size is pretty easy to do. She was just another one of the masses, another number.

* * * *

BUZZZZ. Three guards came in to escort the men to their next destination. They walked down a corridor to a door. BUZZZZ. The group walked through the door and it shut. They were between the door and another one. BUZZZZ. The second door opened and they all went through it. They were in the holding pod. This would be their homes until they could make bail or were released. Either way, they would all be there for a few nights until their arraignments.

A guard stood before them and began taking them in groups of two to a cell where they were to stand in front of the door. Another guard came by and handed each of them two sheets and two blankets, no pillows.

"This is One-A. This is your new home. We have rules here that everyone will follow. First, all meals will be eaten in your cell. You will be let out at meal time to walk down this hall, in a single file line, get your food, and return to your cell. A guard will pick up meal trays after meal time.

"Second, this is a 24-hour lockdown facility. This means that you are supposed to be in your cells at all times. However, we will let you out to watch t.v. in the common room for a half hour after dinner and another hour later in the evening, at about eight-thirty. This is a privilege that the guards can take away at any time. Lights out are at ten p.m. sharp.

"Third, this ain't prison, it's county lock-up and it's a NO SMOKING facility. Any questions? Good. Everyone in their cells." They went into their new rooms and the doors were shut and locked.

* * * *

"On that particular night, she was the third person I'd considered."

"Why did you pass up the first two?" Manning asked, truly interested.

"The first guy got into his car and drove off before I was close enough to catch up to him."

"And the other one?"

"Just didn't feel right."

"Oh." The room was quiet for a moment. McLaughlin broke the silence.

"Go on, Robert."

"Yeah, so I saw her in the Mini-Mart. She wasn't that pretty, but she wasn't ugly either, just plain, you know? So when she left I followed her out and she went behind the Mini-Mart toward those apartments on Bellevue."

"She lived there."

"Oh. Well, that's where I did it, behind the store. I just came up behind her and grabbed her throat and squeezed. She was very weak, stopped moving much faster than I thought she would. I hadn't even noticed that she had dropped her juice bottle until I stepped forward and crushed a piece of broken glass. It broke my concentration. I tossed her into the dumpster and took off. The end. I trust you'll write me a nice confession to sign, perhaps on a nice heavy bond with a pretty floral letterhead."

"Sure thing, Robert. Manning, get the guard to escort Mister Hill back to his cell in One-A." He smiled at Robert and stopped the tape player a last time. "You'll fry for this, mother-fucker," he said, much more calmly than he had the first time.

* * * *

That night, while driving home from a long day at the station, Detective Matthew McLaughlin stopped at the pet store to get some food for his parrot. Standing in line with his bag of food and the honey stick, he couldn't help but think about Robert Hill. He arrived at the head of the line and set his purchase down on the counter.

"Will this be all for you, sir?" He looked at her plain face, but didn't answer.

"Sir, will this be all?" she repeated.

He paused for a moment, then responded. "No. I'd also like a mouse, please."

THE END