The Titans of Ardana by J.S. Frankel

Author:J.S. Frankel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: action, comedy, young adult
Publisher: eXtasy Books Inc

Chapter Eight: Bar-Code

Give Tacoma’s finest some credit. Angstrom had told me they didn’t know a thing. Wrong again. They’d obviously been waiting. After the officer had hauled me to my feet, he walked me over to a police car and tossed me into the back seat. “Sit down, shut up, and don’t move,” he instructed.

We drove in silence for five minutes until we reached the station where no less than ten other cops stood, armed and ready. A few curious onlookers shouted out questions while a few more yelled, “Hey, I know that kid!”

A van raced up to within ten feet of us and a woman got out, holding a microphone. Another man emerged from the vehicle with a large camera. News at six—aw, this couldn’t be happening! Soon, more reporters appeared, all of them firing questions at the same time.

One police officer interposed himself between us and them, and waved them off. “We need a statement. Can you give us anything?” one of the scribes called out.

The policeman who’d been sitting with me threw his jacket over my head. “Keep your mouth shut, kid.”

With rough hands, he yanked me from the cruiser. As he and another officer dragged me toward the building, someone yelled, “Are you connected with the Dana-Van fight?”

“No comment,” I called back from undercover as the officer pushed me inside the building.

“Smart move,” one of the policemen growled. He snatched the jacket off my head and shoved me ahead of him. “Now get going!”

Through the hallways and up to the second floor we went, and once there, they escorted me to the captain’s office. “What, no cell?” I asked once my handcuffs had been taken off. My wrists hurt, but my fingers felt numb and I wiggled them around, trying to get the circulation back.

“Chief’s got some questions for you,” he said. “Sit down, keep your hands to yourself, and don’t give anyone an excuse to hit you.”

He left me alone then, and I sat in the chair waiting for someone to walk in and read me the riot act. The office held cabinets and shelves, a number of pencil holders on the table along with a laptop and an empty coffee cup. In a moment of the ridiculous, I had the idea of sending my real name to The Metas fan club sites and telling them the truth.

It would have been funny in a way, except this wasn’t a funny situation. It fell into the realm of I-am-being-chased by the law to I-am-so-screwed.

The sound of the door opening disturbed my thoughts, and a tall, broad-shouldered man in his late fifties with a huge gut, a florid complexion and a bulbous red nose walked in.

“I’m Chief of Police Walter Sanders,” he said as he seated himself behind the desk. “Ordinarily, the captain would be talking to you, but considering you’re the prime witness in this case, I think it’s a good idea we have a private chat first.”

At first, I wondered if I should give him more than my name, rank and serial number.

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