Hey, guys. Long time no write.
~*~*~*~The Only Way Out Is In~*~*~*~*~
He didn't exactly know what Vince's plan was. It wasn't like they were in any position of power to do anything. He didn't know the process that suspects for murder went through. Would they even allow them into the room to see Chris? Was Chris even in a room? Or was he locked behind iron bars?
Vince stopped them outside the doors of the police station and suddenly Kurt looked up at Mark keenly, knowing what the halt was for. "Mark, you stay here."
"Vince!" Mark started, outraged.
"Mark, no arguments. I don't want people stopping and staring."
Mark growled and was about to protest when Kurt said, hastily, "Listen, Mark, I'll come and get you if they let us go in. I'll even let you be first in line to kill him." He waited for Mark's reaction, which was a growling chuckle, but it was permissible.
He and Vince walked in through the double doors. The place was half- full, with officers standing by a bench with men handcuffed sitting on it. They didn't appear to be doing anything. A long, glossy counter dominated the room, with desks and tables behind it. Uniformed officers bustled around, carrying papers, laughing, yelling. A young officer sat behind the counter, tapping away at a computer.
Kurt hung his head, feeling pain log into him. Too much light and too much noise were not doing his concussion any good. Nonetheless, he followed Vince to the counter and to the young officer, who stopped his typing to look up.
"Excuse me, sir," Vince said respectfully. "I'm looking for someone. His name is Chris Irvine and he was brought in earlier this morning."
The young officer looked up, startled, and his liquid green eyes were blazing anger. "You are aware he is being held on murder?" he asked, his voice pinched.
Vince's eyes widened. "Yes, sir, I am. I want to know if I can see him, sir."
"I don't think," the young officer replied, carefully. "Murder suspects aren't usually allowed this."
Kurt spoke, quietly, "Is there a manager or someone we can talk to, please?"
The officer, whose name tag read WILLIAMS, said, curtly, "No, sir. We're quite busy, as you can see. The only thing I can advise you to do is to leave and wait until you receive a phone call."
"Sir, please-"Vince started to protest.
This is going nowhere, Kurt thought immediately as he saw the man's jaw line set. He gazed around the room. Drastic measures, he sang, drastic measures will do anything.
He drew in his breath, hardly aware of what he was doing.
"I WANT TO SEE MY FRIEND, AND I WANT TO SEE HIM NOW!" He shouted at the young officer, who looked badly surprised as Kurt started to scream in his face. Vince had taken a step back, shocked at the outburst. Suddenly the room was unnaturally quiet as all stopped to look. "I WANT TO SEE MY FRIEND! YOU HEAR ME? I'M GOING TO KILL SOMEBODY IF YOU DON'T LET ME SEE HIM! AHHHH!"
Two officers came towards him, hands up, helpless. "Take it easy, fella, I'm sure we can have something worked out. Just calm down and be quiet."
Kurt kept screaming, "I WANT HIM! YOU HEAR ME? WHERE THE HELL IS HE?"
"Shut up!" Vince hissed, trying to stop him.
"NO! YOU CAN'T SHUT ME UP! I WANT TO SEE CHRIS IRVINE AND I WANT TO SEE HIM NOOOOOW!"
"Shut up!" shouted a new voice and Kurt swiveled to look. A man, gray and balding, was rushing up to him, his face angry. "I have you friend. Stop this ruckus!"
Kurt stopped, smiling at him brightly as his angry air stepped up. "Now that wasn't too hard, was it?" he said, pleasantly.
"Follow me," said the gray, thick man. "Don't say another word."
Kurt and Vince fell into step behind him, Vince staring at Kurt in amazement. "I can't believe it. You're crazy."
"That's what my psychiatrist says," Kurt nodded. "But then, of course, I just say the same to him."
The man, whose name tag read ORTIZ, led them to a room down a quiet, deserted highway. They passed empty holding cells until they reached the room, which was painted ice cream green. They entered the room and Ortiz motioned for them to sit.
"Chris Irvine," Vince said, automatically, "I want to see him."
"This is a liberty that I'm taking with you right now," Ortiz said, turning his head toward him, his eyes flaming. "You are not at any privilege to demand. I will tell you what I can and then you will have to leave. No questions asked, and no more screaming fits." He looked at Kurt, who innocently shrugged.
"Christopher Keith Irvine," Ortiz said, suddenly dropping a manila file onto the cream colored table. "Born October 9, 1970, is currently in one of our special holding rooms. He has been questioned, photographed, fingerprinted, and looked over for any evidence. Now he is waiting. Evidence is being collected from the crime scene. He will be arraigned as soon as possible for the murder of Elaine Rodriguez."
"How do you know he did it?" Kurt asked, outraged.
"I found him personally over the body of the victim," said Ortiz crudely. "He was drunk at the time of the murder; our tests showed this and he admitted to it. Evidence will be collected from the crime scene. That is all I can tell you right now."
"Does he have a lawyer?" asked Vince.
"He will get one or he will have one assigned to him by the state," said Ortiz, nodding.
"Can we see him?" blurted Kurt.
Ortiz paused and looked at him venomously. "Not at this very moment, no. He needs to meet with his lawyer first and then, perhaps, he can have a visitor. If he makes bail, he will able to leave."
"Can-"
"No more questions," said Ortiz curtly, going to the door. "You're leaving. Now."
~*~*~*~* Kurt and Vince met Mark outside the police station. Mark was counting the blades of grass when they came out and he pounced on them immediately.
"Nothing came," said Kurt, shaking his head. "They won't let us see him."
"So it's true?" Mark said it as a lame question.
"Damn straight," Vince cursed as they headed back toward the van. "Damn him, damn him, damn him! Do you realize how seriously this is going to plunder us? He's a main eventer, for Christ's sakes, and he's in jail for a murder? What the hell was he doing out anyway?"
Mark coughed.
"I'm going to kill him," Vince continued raging, obviously not catching Mark's pause. "He's going to die for this. He's putting us behind . . . there's no way he can be out by tonight and . . ."
Vince looked up suddenly, as if he had seen the light.
"Get us back to the damn hotel!" he suddenly shouted at Kurt and Kurt jumped sideways at the outburst. "Hurry up! I mean it, move it!"
Kurt hopped into the driver's seat and Mark leapt into the back as Vince got into the passengers side.
"HURRY, KURT, DRIVE LIKE HELL!"
Kurt looked at Mark pitifully as he pulled out of the parking lot.
Mark slapped the seatbelt over his chest, wondering if he should find a helmet.
~*~*~*~*~*
Suffer the children.
I stared at the darkness, ominous, dark, deadly, a snake.
Suffer the little children.
~*~*~*~*
Not much accomplished with this chapter, I'm sorry, but it's the best I could do.
And if the legal stuff is screwed . . . I'm sorry. I'm no lawyer. I knew more two years ago when I wrote this, but now I'm messed up. Thank you.
~*~*~*~The Only Way Out Is In~*~*~*~*~
He didn't exactly know what Vince's plan was. It wasn't like they were in any position of power to do anything. He didn't know the process that suspects for murder went through. Would they even allow them into the room to see Chris? Was Chris even in a room? Or was he locked behind iron bars?
Vince stopped them outside the doors of the police station and suddenly Kurt looked up at Mark keenly, knowing what the halt was for. "Mark, you stay here."
"Vince!" Mark started, outraged.
"Mark, no arguments. I don't want people stopping and staring."
Mark growled and was about to protest when Kurt said, hastily, "Listen, Mark, I'll come and get you if they let us go in. I'll even let you be first in line to kill him." He waited for Mark's reaction, which was a growling chuckle, but it was permissible.
He and Vince walked in through the double doors. The place was half- full, with officers standing by a bench with men handcuffed sitting on it. They didn't appear to be doing anything. A long, glossy counter dominated the room, with desks and tables behind it. Uniformed officers bustled around, carrying papers, laughing, yelling. A young officer sat behind the counter, tapping away at a computer.
Kurt hung his head, feeling pain log into him. Too much light and too much noise were not doing his concussion any good. Nonetheless, he followed Vince to the counter and to the young officer, who stopped his typing to look up.
"Excuse me, sir," Vince said respectfully. "I'm looking for someone. His name is Chris Irvine and he was brought in earlier this morning."
The young officer looked up, startled, and his liquid green eyes were blazing anger. "You are aware he is being held on murder?" he asked, his voice pinched.
Vince's eyes widened. "Yes, sir, I am. I want to know if I can see him, sir."
"I don't think," the young officer replied, carefully. "Murder suspects aren't usually allowed this."
Kurt spoke, quietly, "Is there a manager or someone we can talk to, please?"
The officer, whose name tag read WILLIAMS, said, curtly, "No, sir. We're quite busy, as you can see. The only thing I can advise you to do is to leave and wait until you receive a phone call."
"Sir, please-"Vince started to protest.
This is going nowhere, Kurt thought immediately as he saw the man's jaw line set. He gazed around the room. Drastic measures, he sang, drastic measures will do anything.
He drew in his breath, hardly aware of what he was doing.
"I WANT TO SEE MY FRIEND, AND I WANT TO SEE HIM NOW!" He shouted at the young officer, who looked badly surprised as Kurt started to scream in his face. Vince had taken a step back, shocked at the outburst. Suddenly the room was unnaturally quiet as all stopped to look. "I WANT TO SEE MY FRIEND! YOU HEAR ME? I'M GOING TO KILL SOMEBODY IF YOU DON'T LET ME SEE HIM! AHHHH!"
Two officers came towards him, hands up, helpless. "Take it easy, fella, I'm sure we can have something worked out. Just calm down and be quiet."
Kurt kept screaming, "I WANT HIM! YOU HEAR ME? WHERE THE HELL IS HE?"
"Shut up!" Vince hissed, trying to stop him.
"NO! YOU CAN'T SHUT ME UP! I WANT TO SEE CHRIS IRVINE AND I WANT TO SEE HIM NOOOOOW!"
"Shut up!" shouted a new voice and Kurt swiveled to look. A man, gray and balding, was rushing up to him, his face angry. "I have you friend. Stop this ruckus!"
Kurt stopped, smiling at him brightly as his angry air stepped up. "Now that wasn't too hard, was it?" he said, pleasantly.
"Follow me," said the gray, thick man. "Don't say another word."
Kurt and Vince fell into step behind him, Vince staring at Kurt in amazement. "I can't believe it. You're crazy."
"That's what my psychiatrist says," Kurt nodded. "But then, of course, I just say the same to him."
The man, whose name tag read ORTIZ, led them to a room down a quiet, deserted highway. They passed empty holding cells until they reached the room, which was painted ice cream green. They entered the room and Ortiz motioned for them to sit.
"Chris Irvine," Vince said, automatically, "I want to see him."
"This is a liberty that I'm taking with you right now," Ortiz said, turning his head toward him, his eyes flaming. "You are not at any privilege to demand. I will tell you what I can and then you will have to leave. No questions asked, and no more screaming fits." He looked at Kurt, who innocently shrugged.
"Christopher Keith Irvine," Ortiz said, suddenly dropping a manila file onto the cream colored table. "Born October 9, 1970, is currently in one of our special holding rooms. He has been questioned, photographed, fingerprinted, and looked over for any evidence. Now he is waiting. Evidence is being collected from the crime scene. He will be arraigned as soon as possible for the murder of Elaine Rodriguez."
"How do you know he did it?" Kurt asked, outraged.
"I found him personally over the body of the victim," said Ortiz crudely. "He was drunk at the time of the murder; our tests showed this and he admitted to it. Evidence will be collected from the crime scene. That is all I can tell you right now."
"Does he have a lawyer?" asked Vince.
"He will get one or he will have one assigned to him by the state," said Ortiz, nodding.
"Can we see him?" blurted Kurt.
Ortiz paused and looked at him venomously. "Not at this very moment, no. He needs to meet with his lawyer first and then, perhaps, he can have a visitor. If he makes bail, he will able to leave."
"Can-"
"No more questions," said Ortiz curtly, going to the door. "You're leaving. Now."
~*~*~*~* Kurt and Vince met Mark outside the police station. Mark was counting the blades of grass when they came out and he pounced on them immediately.
"Nothing came," said Kurt, shaking his head. "They won't let us see him."
"So it's true?" Mark said it as a lame question.
"Damn straight," Vince cursed as they headed back toward the van. "Damn him, damn him, damn him! Do you realize how seriously this is going to plunder us? He's a main eventer, for Christ's sakes, and he's in jail for a murder? What the hell was he doing out anyway?"
Mark coughed.
"I'm going to kill him," Vince continued raging, obviously not catching Mark's pause. "He's going to die for this. He's putting us behind . . . there's no way he can be out by tonight and . . ."
Vince looked up suddenly, as if he had seen the light.
"Get us back to the damn hotel!" he suddenly shouted at Kurt and Kurt jumped sideways at the outburst. "Hurry up! I mean it, move it!"
Kurt hopped into the driver's seat and Mark leapt into the back as Vince got into the passengers side.
"HURRY, KURT, DRIVE LIKE HELL!"
Kurt looked at Mark pitifully as he pulled out of the parking lot.
Mark slapped the seatbelt over his chest, wondering if he should find a helmet.
~*~*~*~*~*
Suffer the children.
I stared at the darkness, ominous, dark, deadly, a snake.
Suffer the little children.
~*~*~*~*
Not much accomplished with this chapter, I'm sorry, but it's the best I could do.
And if the legal stuff is screwed . . . I'm sorry. I'm no lawyer. I knew more two years ago when I wrote this, but now I'm messed up. Thank you.