Obama Care

by Jason Scimitar

20

  Detective Steve Branch and his side kick Keven Richter were briefed by the Precinct Commander, Grant Holland, on the developing story. Holland was not certain that the butchery was over, but he expected it either was over or would be soon.

  “It depends on whether or not this man who is dead at the TV station is the only threat out there,” Commander Grant Holland said. “If he was the only one, he seems to have been very busy and very methodically accurate. Either way, it seems like another Small’s Restaurant killer has happened right in front of us. Again, we look like a bunch of blue clothed lazy donut stuffing pieces of shit who cannot control our own city. Ain’t it a bitch! I need a new job!”

  “If this keeps happening, we will all need a new job soon,” Kevin Richter said. “People aren’t going to tolerate this sort of thing forever.”

  “Like I mentioned to you many times, the answer is easy,” Detective Steve Branch said, “Arm everyone. That way people can protect themselves.”

  “Tell it to the mayor one more time,” commander Holland said. “See how long it takes for him to fire you. He’s a fucking liberal through and through. You already got him fit to be tied over that statement the first time. The second is your personal career killer.”

  “Fine,” Steve said. “Let them continue to die.”

  “I know. I know. But the libs aren’t going to allow us to arm the people. You and I both know that.”

  “What if it happens again?” Detective Branch asked.

  “Tough shit, I guess. Let’s hope it doesn’t,” Holland surmised. “Now, I want you to make sure the killer is dead. Check it out. Find out if he had friends and if they are of a like mind. Then, I want a survey of all doctors in town and all funeral directors. I want to know who is supposed to die this week, who has already died, and I want all of their relatives briefed, interviewed, and reports on their god damn gun ownership on my desk in two days.”

  “We’ll need court orders,” Kevin said.

  “I’ll get the court orders,” Holland said. “Oh, yes. I’ll get them in the next hour. They will allow us to enter anywhere we deem necessary.”

  “Anything else?” Detective Steve Branch asked.

  “Yes. I’m going to post an officer in every store that sells guns, and I want an executive order from the governor for a mandatory two week wait on gun sales in this town, unless the person has a conceal carry permit.”

  “Why the exception?”

  “Maybe a gun carrier who is trained on the law might be relaxing in the next restaurant or doctor’s office being shot to hell and will stop it in progress by blowing the murderer’s head off, that’s why.”

  “So, you agree with me.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Yea, well, you do.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Yes. You do.”

  “Not a word of this,” the commander said. “Understood?”

  “Not one word from my lips,” Steve promised.

  “Nor mine, either,” Kevin chimed in.

  “Good. Now that we are agreed, let’s get out there and do some real police work. I’ll have the court order here in an hour.”

  21

  Robert Adams, who was the son of Ralph Adams who had jsut committed the mass murders, was working on a business project when the police arrived and handcuffed him. He had no idea why. His fellow business workers watched passively as several well-armed fascists in blue garb trundled him out of the room. In the police car, he was read his Miranda rights.

  “You have the right to a lawyer. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

  Robert was terrified. He had never been in trouble with the law. He was a peaceable person. He never fought at school or anywhere else. If anything, he was a typical metro-sexual, a phrase invented to describe men with feminine characteristics who were endemic in today’s culture. These were guys without balls. They were zero testosterone freaks who grew up eating from the feathery teat of Big Bird and the effeminate indulgences of Jack Webb’s soft police Dragnet reruns.

  Robert Adams was placed in an interrogation room where he looked at the walls in amazement. Just how had he gotten here? Why were they persecuting him? What had he done? He wondered if he was crazy and if he had strangled an ex-girlfriend in the middle of the night, then driven the body to an unknown location and dumped it way off the street somewhere, all of which he did without knowing it, because of a hitherto undiagnosed psychotic disorder. He had seen things like that on Hawaii Five Oh and other sleazy TV shows as a part of his dysfunctional upbringing by mentally disturbed script writers on his way to adulthood.

  Robert Adams tried to remember what it was that he had done, but his mind was having none of it, so he was still in the dark as to whatever sins he had committed. Whatever it was, it must have been quite bad to warrant arresting and cuffing him like this.

  Detective Branch came in and sat down.

  “Do you want to tell us about it?” he asked. “Why you did it? How you put them up to it?”

  Robert Adams had no idea at all what he was talking about.

  “I think not,” he said.

  “Surely, you know that it’s best if you tell me. Once it leaves my hands, things will go a lot tougher on you.”

  “Whatever,” Robert said. “You know everything. Why don’t you tell me what I did? That way I can sign off and walk to the loony bin unassisted.”

  “You are a smart ass. Is that what you are?”

  “Whatever. You are the producer of whatever this is that’s going on. I’m just an observer.”

  “Did you help him do this?”

  “Whatever.” Robert still had no idea what this was about.

  “I’ll get it out of you,” Steve Branch told the young man. “But it doesn’t have to come to that.”

  “I want a lawyer.”

  “All right. Be a tough guy. What’s his name?”

  “You tell me. I’m broke. I don’t have one.”

  Detective Branch dialed his cell phone and reached the district’s public defendant.

  “Gloria? I have a young man who asked for an attorney, and you are it by default.”

  “He’s broke?”

  “Says so,” Steve said.

  “I’ll be right there,” Gloria said. “Who is it?”

  “The son of Ralph Adams.”

  “Gotcha.”

  A few minutes later, Gloria Dennison entered the interrogation room and introduced herself.

  “I’m Gloria Dennison, your public defender. What have you told them?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are the charges?” Gloria asked.

  “I don’t know. I have no idea why I’m here, even.”

  “I see. I’ll be right back. I’m going to get some answers for you. First, don’t talk to anyone, including a cell mate. They will put a person in your cell to get you to confess. I’m going to ask for an isolated cell so that cannot happen. Now, remember, if Detective Branch or anyone else comes in, tell them you want your lawyer here, that she will speak for you. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I’m scared,” Robert said. “Should I be?”

  “Yes. It’s natural. They are screwing with you. Just keep your lip buttoned.”

  “Yes, mam.”

  Gloria left. She announced in the police room to everyone there, that she was now assigned as Robert Adam’s attorney and that absolutely no one was going to interrogate him without her presence. “I will answer for him. Not him. Me. Understand? If you talk with him now that you know, I’ll get his case tossed.”

  She walked over to Commander Holland’s office. “What gives?” she asked.

  “Robert Adams?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not sure. His father shot up the town. We are pumping him to see if he’s involved.”


  “Why?”

  “Because he exists and his father is deceased. That’s why.”

  “It’s a fishing expedition. I can’t allow that. It’s illegal.”

  “Not really.”

  “Oh, yes. Really. Trust me. I want the man released. You have no reason to have him here.”

  Commander Holland called Detective Branch.

  “Yea,” Branch said.

  “Gloria. She wants you to cut her client loose.”

  “I want to question him.”

  “He’s lawyered, so you cannot ask him anything.”

  “Okay then. I’ll cut him, after I take him to his apartment and search it with him and Gloria there. Have you got the warrant?”

  “Yes. Okay. We’ll head there. If he’s clean there, I’ll cut him loose.”

  “You and Detective Branch are taking him home, and Branch is searching his premises. If he’s clean, Branch agrees to cut him loose right there.”

  “Agreed. But no questions. Understood?”

  “Yes.”

  She walked to the interrogation room to collect her client.

  “She’s one tough bitch,” Holland said under his breath. “When she’s alone, she’s fine. But give her a client and the hair stands up on her back like an enraged cougar tearing into a steak with an over-large meathook.” He looked up at the ceiling. “God, save me from women,” he said. “Just keep them out of my face.”