Free An Ordinary Decent Criminal by Michael Van Rooy

pistol.
    “Hold it. Officer, you can go. Sam, the Crown’s dropping the charges so you’re free.”
    Free, I almost laughed. My kidneys were ground round, I had a fever of a hundred and change, and I had a plastic tube running into my dick, but I was free. Capitalize that sucker, FREE!
    The cop sounded petulant, though. “Sorry. I have to be relieved by a superior. Until then your client is in my custody.”
    He fumbled out his cell phone and handed it over. “Call your boss.”
    She went to her chair and Thompson sat down. His overcoat flapped open as he yawned and I turned my head away from his breath.
    “Did you call Claire?”
    “First thing. Now, the shooting is still up in the air, but the Crown has dropped the murder charges and pitched the confession. Youmight still do some time for discharging a firearm within the boundaries of the city, something like that. I’m not sure about that.”
    The cop still had the phone.
    “What about Stiles?”
    “The felon you stopped from assaulting a cop? They just want to forget about that entirely. It’s a bitch of a thing to try to explain to a jury.”
    “Um, Thompson? That’s the cop who got drugged behind you.”
    “Oh.”
    He turned and looked at her and then back at me. “Did she say thanks?”
    The cop blushed and focused on talking to someone on the other end of the line.
    “Yes. So how long I am looking at for the shooting?”
    He made a big deal about thinking about it. “A month. Like that.”
    “Nah. I don’t think so, it’s in their best interests to let it slide. All or nothing.”
    The cop came over and dropped the phone on the bed. Then she removed the restraints and slapped them against her leg. “It’s true. See you around, killer.”
    My lawyer watched her go and yawned again. “I don’t think she likes you.”
    “Breaks my heart. So you’re still representing me?”
    “Yes. I thought about you. You’re a pretty reprehensible human being.”
    “Yep.”
    “Not gonna try to defend yourself to me?”
    I grinned and shook my head. “Fuck you. I’m not responsible for your morals. That’s your problem. I have enough trouble with my own.”
    Thompson patted my arm. “Right. Anyhow, the reason I’m still here is because I hate being forced to do anything. I hate being conned. I hate being manipulated. I hate being threatened.”
    “Which is what Walsh was doing? Is doing?”
    “Right.”
    He stared at me. “Plus, I believe you. Part of the way, at least.”
    “Thanks.”
    He left and I turned on the TV at the end of the bed. I’d been watching it a lot, not enjoying it but watching it. The local stations, the morning shows, the afternoon talk shows, the early afternoon news, the soap operas, the kids’ shows. At first the cops had monitored what I’d watched, but soon their interest had waned and they’d started to ignore both it and I. Or is it I and it? Me and it?
    In their minds I had become meat they had to watch. Nothing more.
    I’d watched the TV but hadn’t paid attention to anything but the credits at the end of the shows. Producers, directors, writers, researchers, the faces in front of the cameras, and the people behind the machines, proper spellings, names, titles. Those I had remembered, repeating them endlessly and silently until they became my mantra.
    When the nurses had given me newspapers, I’d memorized more names. Not the crime reporters, those guys had to be in the pockets of the cops in order to do their work effectively. So I concentrated on the political reporters, the guys doing the town hall work, not the guys doing the editorials or the opinion pieces. Opinions I could get anywhere. They were like tits and balls, everybody had two, and I needed facts.
    A very shy nurse-in-training came in and froze when she saw no cop.
    I said, “C’mon in. Charges have been dropped.”
    She was pretty and olive, a Filipino girl with a beautiful complexion and the movements of a dancer. She blushed and changed the