The Angriest Angel

Chapter 6

Chase sat across from the detective doing the questioning.  The steel table between them had a large ring, where Chase's handcuffs were linked. 

Detective Wallace was a middle-aged man with fierce brown eyes and a very serious countenance.  What little hair he had left was close cropped, and his demeanor indicated that he was all business.  Chase could quickly tell that the man had done this sort of thing before, and was very good at his job.

A uniformed officer stood near the door, but seemed relaxed—even entertained—by the questioning.

"It says here you were a former MMA fighter," Detective Wallace said.  "Is that true?"

"No, not really," Chase answered.

"What do you mean 'not really'?  Were you or weren't you?"

"I wasn't very good," Chase responded.  "Didn't last long."

Wallace ignored his answer and flipped through the pages in front of him, occasionally flipping backward.

"It looks like you weren't good at much of anything," he noted, without looking up.  "You've had run-ins with the law for most of your life.  A stint in juvie for arson, several arrests for petty theft, no serious jail time but a number of warnings, bar fights, even a complaint filed by your ex-wife."

Chase shook his head, "Which one?"

"Which one what?" 

"Sarah's complaint," Chase said.  "My ex-wife.  What complaint did she file?"

Detective Wallace looked at him without responding.  He simply stared at Chase with both eyebrows raised.

"What?" Chase asked.

"Of all the things in your rap sheet, that is the one you want to ask about?" Wallace asked.  "The rest of your record—those things don't concern you?"

"Not really," Chase said. 

"Why am I not surprised?" Wallace said with exaggerated flair, turning toward the uniformed officer by the door.  "Mr. Madison is more concerned with his ex-wife's complaints than he is with the possibility of doing serious jail time."

Chase grunted a laugh.

"Is something funny?" Wallace asked.

"Yeah," Chase said.  "It just seems like you are the one more concerned about her complaints.  Why is she even in there?  Don’t you have better things to do than to listen to her and add her crap into my file?"

Wallace rose to his feet and shoved Chase's paperwork out of the way before putting his hands on the steel table and leaning toward him.

"If I were you, I would worry about myself right now," Wallace warned.  "You've got motor vehicle theft and drug running written all over your past.  No charges, but I know you have a history with the wrong people.  My guess is that your past is catching up with you, eh?  That's what this drug sale of yours today was all about, wasn’t it?"

Chase didn't respond.  The detective couldn't be further from the truth, but Chase didn't want to say anything to make the situation even worse.  He was pretty sure that Wallace was antagonizing him—deliberately.  Perhaps trying to scare him into admitting to what exactly did happen today. 

Wallace sat back down and turned his attention to Chase's file.  He tapped his finger, and said, "This is what clued me in.  Drug bust, six years ago—Ponoco Ridge.  You weren't charged, but you were found on the scene with a roll of pennies duct taped to your fist."