B. B. Wolf

Police Lt. Detective Grimm was not a maternal looking woman, and her lined face was set with a firm jaw. She stood by the one-way glass window that viewed into the interrogation room, and motioned me over.

                “Come in, Hans,” she acknowledged me with a tiny nod, and tossed her head over to one side, indicating the furry brown figure, sitting alone at a table, through the glass. “There he is. We picked him up a couple of hours ago.”

                “I’m amazed you got him in here,” I said, looking at the hulking sullen seven-and-a-half-foot muscled figure that was strapped into the gray metal chair.

                “It wasn’t easy. It took six officers and two of them are still in the emergency room. He managed to cut them up pretty bad.”

                “You think you can hold him in there?” I stepped over to the one-way and touched it with my finger. Half an inch of plate glass didn’t seem like all that stout a barrier to me. Not with three hundred pounds of psychopathic fury sitting on the other side of it.

                “We bolted the chair down to the floor. And he can’t get out of those Kevlar straps.” She glanced at me with a slightly worried look. “You’re not losing your nerve are you? Look, I need my best people on this. That’s you and your partner Greta. But If you’re not up to it, let me know and I’ll get someone else to interrogate him.”

                “No, no, no…I love a challenge.” Then, mustering bravado I really didn’t feel, I said “I’ve seen worse.”

                “Where is Greta?” Lt. Grimm said.

                “On her way. I’ll get started and she’ll join me in a few. What are we trying for here?”

                “Third degree criminal trespass, for starters. Felony destruction of property greater than five thousand dollars. Felonious assault with intent to kill. If the victim in ICU doesn’t make it, it’ll be felony murder.”

                I whistled softly. “Has he asked for a lawyer yet?”

                “No, and your job is to get a confession before he does. Save us all a lot of work. We need to put this maniac away.”

                “Thanks, boss,” I said sweetly and opened the door into the interrogation room.

                Inside the tiny cubicle the air smelled like wet fur and sour sweat and the moldy smell of leaf litter on the forest floor. I pulled the other metal chair out and sat across from the giant animal. He lifted his shaggy head with a threatening growl and fixed me with yellow eyes. I could see the hair on his shoulders lift against the sinewy muscles as he strained against the straps. The fur above one brow was matted with dried blood from a cut that gleamed wetly redly pink. His jaws were wet with saliva, and he panted, keeping time to his breaths with his long tongue. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught our reflection in the one-way mirror. His yellow canine teeth were long as my fingers. I looked like a doll next to him, and my stomach knotted. But I had a job to do.                

“So, Mr. Wolf,” I said softly, casually, “Tell me what you’ve got against pigs?”