Chase sat across from the detective doing the questioning. The steel table between them had a large ring, where Chase's handcuffs were linked.
Detective Wallace was a middle-aged man with fierce brown eyes and a very serious countenance. What little hair he had left was close cropped, and his demeanor indicated that he was all business. Chase could quickly tell that the man had done this sort of thing before, and was very good at his job.
A uniformed officer stood near the door, but seemed relaxed—even entertained—by the questioning.
"It says here you were a former MMA fighter," Detective Wallace said. "Is that true?"
"No, not really," Chase answered.
"What do you mean 'not really'? Were you or weren't you?"
"I wasn't very good," Chase responded. "Didn't last long."
Wallace ignored his answer and flipped through the pages in front of him, occasionally flipping backward.
"It looks like you weren't good at much of anything," he noted, without looking up. "You've had run-ins with the law for most of your life. A stint in juvie for arson, several arrests for petty theft, no serious jail time but a number of warnings, bar fights, even a complaint filed by your ex-wife."
Chase shook his head, "Which one?"
"Which one what?"
"Sarah's complaint," Chase said. "My ex-wife. What complaint did she file?"
Detective Wallace looked at him without responding. He simply stared at Chase with both eyebrows raised.
"What?" Chase asked.
"Of all the things in your rap sheet, that is the one you want to ask about?" Wallace asked. "The rest of your record—those things don't concern you?"
"Not really," Chase said.
"Why am I not surprised?" Wallace said with exaggerated flair, turning toward the uniformed officer by the door. "Mr. Madison is more concerned with his ex-wife's complaints than he is with the possibility of doing serious jail time."
Chase grunted a laugh.
"Is something funny?" Wallace asked.
"Yeah," Chase said. "It just seems like you are the one more concerned about her complaints. Why is she even in there? Don’t you have better things to do than to listen to her and add her crap into my file?"
Wallace rose to his feet and shoved Chase's paperwork out of the way before putting his hands on the steel table and leaning toward him.
"If I were you, I would worry about myself right now," Wallace warned. "You've got motor vehicle theft and drug running written all over your past. No charges, but I know you have a history with the wrong people. My guess is that your past is catching up with you, eh? That's what this drug sale of yours today was all about, wasn’t it?"
Chase didn't respond. The detective couldn't be further from the truth, but Chase didn't want to say anything to make the situation even worse. He was pretty sure that Wallace was antagonizing him—deliberately. Perhaps trying to scare him into admitting to what exactly did happen today.
Wallace sat back down and turned his attention to Chase's file. He tapped his finger, and said, "This is what clued me in. Drug bust, six years ago—Ponoco Ridge. You weren't charged, but you were found on the scene with a roll of pennies duct taped to your fist."
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Chase looked at him but remained silent.
Wallace smiled, "It confused the arresting officer, but I know what that means. Your knuckles were messed up—cut, or broken—who knows. But you were a fighter, weren't you? You were on the muscle end of the business, and knew you had to show up for work. So you taped the pennies to your fist and toughed it out."
"Not true," Chase said.
"So you said at the time," Wallace nodded. "But I can see the pattern. You're a fighter—admit it. You were in UFC for God's sakes!"
"I don't fight anymore," Chase said.
"Oh I beg to differ," Wallace said, looking down at Chase's file and leafing through it. He stopped on a paper clipped report and stuck a finger at it. "It says here that you punched out your boss at Beauregard Financial—reputable place. You threw away a decent office job, all because you lost your temper."
"That was a long time ago," Chase said. "Besides, he deserved it."
"Uh huh."
"He did," Chase insisted. "The whole office chipped in afterward and bought me a cookie basket."
"Funny man," Wallace said. "You think this is funny? Maybe I'll have a conversation with your current place of employment, eh? Tell them how you were caught selling Adderall to college kids."
Chase grew silent. He was already on thin ice with Tre, his boss. It stood to reason that his office would be notified of the arrest eventually—regardless of the outcome—and he was sure that he would be fired.
"You have a history of poor decisions, Chase Madison. Maybe it's time you started getting your act together."
Chase sighed heavily at that. It was the first thing that Detective Wallace said that he agreed with. He could feel his features sink in self-loathing.
"What am even I doing here?" Chase mumbled, shaking his head. He thought back to his conversation this morning with Dr. Chandrian, wondering if she was right, that he was punishing himself in some way. He felt disgusted at what he had done—at getting arrested.
"What did you say?" the detective asked.
"Nothing," Chase grumbled.
His demeanor seemed to trigger a change in the detective. Wallace softened his voice a bit and said, "Confess to what you did. The D.A. doesn't take this sort of thing lightly. Illegal prescription drugs are a big problem right now and they're gonna want to make an example out of you. If you play ball then we can lighten the sentence."
Chase wasn't sure why they needed a confession out of him. Hawaiian shirt was an undercover cop, and he saw the whole thing. He probably recorded it as well.
The detective pushed a large yellow pad of paper toward him, and then took a pen out and clicked it, setting it on the paper.
"Just write down what you did."
Chase hesitated, his eyes flicking down toward the pen and paper.
"Can I have my phone call first?"
The detective stared at Chase for a moment, gauging his level of mollification.
"Yeah, sure," he said, pulling out his own cell phone. "What number do you want?"
Chase shook his head, "Sorry, I don't know the number, they're all in my contacts list on my phone."
"Well who you tryin' to call?
