"Ain't No Rest for the Wicked"
Detective Victor Stone hated working with the police. He still remembered the long nights working at the lowest rung of the ladder, watching his superiors take wads of cash from lowlives and stuffing it into their already overflowing pockets.
It made him sick.
He kept his head low, he did his job, and he did it well. And once he had the experience and reputation, he dumped his fair-weather friends to pursue private detective work.
“You were the best man we ever had, Stone.” The chief said with a shake of the head when Victor handed in his badge. He knew it was true. And now he was the best private detective in the city.
It’s why, Detective Stone mused as he cracked open the off-white folder, they kept begging him to come back. He had always said no before, but something about the frantic emails he received made him finally return to the department for an interrogation.
He began reading the files. “Oh for the love of-”
The police department of Las Luces could barely tell their firearms from their own ass. Cases such as this were way beyond their qualifications.
He stopped just outside of the interrogation room. When was the last time he had stepped inside the sound-proofed walls? Behind blinds shut tight? He hadn’t done an interrogation in…years? A decade at least? There should be another officer watching the interview, but there wasn’t a single other person in sight.
On the door of the interrogation room was a single sticky-note. “Went out to lunch. Just do it anyways.”
How…professional. As much as Victor wanted to raise a fuss about this, he didn’t want to stay any longer than he had to.
He could almost picture them at a seedy bar, laughing at lonely Victor at the office. Of course they’d beg for help, then immediately dump all the work on him. Typical.
After briefly flipping through the files, Victor sighed and opened the door.
“I am Detective Victor Stone-” he began the classic spiel, but paused upon seeing the actual person in the chair.
It looked as if a scarecrow had come to life. He looked normal at a quick glance, wearing a pair of farmers overalls, boots, and a red tartan shirt. But normalcy quickly took a turn as Victor took in the man’s large hat, yellow-straw hair and the burlap mask he wore. The only facial features that could be seen were the man’s piercing green eyes and toothy grin.
This was a Villain. Perhaps even a super one.
The walking embodiment of Halloween sneered at Victor, like a cat with a new mouse-shaped toy. “I was startin’ to think ya’ll forgot about me!" His voice was dripping with a southern drawl that wasn't exactly common in the city. "Leavin’ me in this room - are you the cop no one likes or somethin’?” As he spoke, he tugged on the police handcuffs currently on his wrists and keeping him attached to the table.
Victor took a deep breath. “I am Detective Victor Stone. You are-” he briefly flipped open the file. “...Hayday. No civilian name given. You are currently a C-Class villain, and you are here-”
“Only C-Class?” Hayday scoffed. “I like to think of myself a little better than that.”
“C-Class means you are not an active threat to the city, our world, reality, whatever.” Victor said with a handwave, sitting opposite of the man. “You’re a thief at best, a public nuisance at worst.”
Hayday grinned, Victor noticing that he was missing a tooth completely. “It’s what I’m good at! I was always told to stick with what I’m good at. An’ stealing is what I’m very good at.”
Victor was less than impressed. “You seem very casual, for being inside a police building. My colleagues were quick to mention how slippery you’ve been in the past. You realize what’ll happen, correct?”
“Oh, please enlighten me.” Hayday said, his smug, almost playful temperament not budging an inch.
“We’ll take off that ghastly mask you’re wearing.” Victor began to explain. “And then we’ll figure out who you are, and you’ll go to jail. For a long, long, time.”
“Mhm, that’s why I don’ plan on stayin’.” replied Hayday, the epitome of nonchalant. “I don’ mind playing twenty questions though, but then I gotta head home.”
Detective Stone raised an eyebrow at that. “And how do you plan on escaping, exactly?”
“Aww, yer no fun! Nice try, gumshoes.”
This was quite unusual. He had never interviewed a real villain like this before, and Hayday’s nonchalance intrigued him. And really, what kind of detective would he be if he didn’t try and probe further?
“If you wanna play twenty questions, I’m game.” Victor said, eyes narrowed. “What’s your goal, then? Jewelry stores, banks - Hell, I have reports of you just walking out of places-”
“The minimum wage here is seven dollars and twenty five cents.” Hayday answered, still grinning, but it was clearly strained. “Seven dollars. Twenty five cents.” He leaned back, giving Victor a look-over. “Not a problem for ya, eh gumshoes? Mm, ninety thousand a year, right? Must be nice.”
“How…pragmatic of you.” Definitely not the answer he expected. “You’re honestly doing this for rent?”
“Rent, utilities, maybe groceries if I can swing it.” Hayday agreed with a nod. “I’d tell ya how much, but knowing how this whole thing goes, ya’d probably run that by yer tech wizards or whatever, and ya’d find where I live! I definitely don’t want that. I can tell you this much though, it’s a lot more than minimum wage can pay for!”
Victor needed more information. He needed to pin a face behind the mask. A name, an address, real job, family, fingerprints, he needed something concrete. Pulling up the information again, all he saw were empty boxes meant to be filled.
But Victor knew how these went. Just keep them talking, keep them talking. Ask questions, even the stranger ones, and eventually they’ll slip.
“I find it a little baffling you’re doing all of this for rent and utilities.” He said.
Hayday shrugged, placing his hands in his lap, handcuffs clinking as he did so. “Ain’t no rest for the wicked.”
Victor struggled not to roll his eyes. “I just feel like you could use your skill sets for a better purpose. To help people.”
“Wha’ are ya, my guidance counselor?”
“Let me rephrase. You could use your skill sets to get a decent job. One with good pay.”
Still grinning, he snarked, “Oh, get a real job? Why didn’ I think of that!? Do they pay ya double for good ideas, gumshoes? Yeah. I tried that. Criminal record makes it tricky.”
“You have a criminal record?” Victor asked, making a mental note of that.
“I know, I know. Real shock, ain’t it?”
Progress was progress. No matter how small.
Victor folded his hands on the table. “I may be able to sway the guys here to give you a job, you know. They’re good guys, you know.” (Ugh, saying that left an awful taste in his mouth.) “Having someone with your expertise would be invaluable. They pay isn’t that bad, either-”
Hayday burst into laughter; loud and cackling laughter that echoed in the soundproof room. Victor knew it was a bit of a longshot, but this reaction seemed a bit over the top.
“When you are done, we can continue.” he grumbled.
“Y-You and I-” Hayday continued between fits of stifled laughter. “Y-You and I both know that the police is rotten to the fuckin’ core. I’ve seen the bribes, I’ve seen them plant evidence, and I know that ya seen this too. You can sit there and preach to me about how I’m wasting my talents, what are YOU doin’ here?!”
“I am not the one currently in a police interrogation room wearing a burlap sack on my head.” Victor deadpanned. “How did no one manage to take off your mask, anyway?”
“When they tried, I bit ‘em.”
“Of course you did.” Victor was getting nowhere. Appealing to the man’s desire for financial stability wasn’t working. He needed to try a different angle. “How old are you, really? You don’t sound that old. 23? 24?”
“Ding Ding Ding! Yer good!”
“You got a family, kid?”
“Doesn’t everybody?”
Detective Stone tapped on the papers with his knuckles. “I just…it’s so hard, telling the family. Knocking on doors, no one wants to hear their baby is…well. The mothers, oh, they never take it well.”
For the first time during the interrogation, Hayday seemed to hesitate. He didn’t immediately shoot back with a smug attitude or with a reply dripping with sarcasm. “They don’t seriously knock on doors, do they?”
Bingo.
“Oh, yes. It’s a must, you know.” he continued, nonchalant. “Showing up in person really helps the truth set in. When I was still in the force, I had to go to so many doorsteps. ‘Oh, hullo Miss Johnson, I’m so sorry, we had to take little Jimmy in today-’, that whole thing.”
Hayday said nothing. Victor stared at him.
“...your mother doesn’t know, huh?” Detective Stone asked after a moment.
“I’d like to keep it that way.” he replied, an air of anxiety that wasn’t in his voice before.
“And I can help with that. If you cooperate, and tell us what we want to know, we can help.”
Hayday seemed so small, slumped in his chair. “Wha…what do ya want?”
“Take off your mask. Tell us your name. Do the right thing, son.”
With a long, tired sigh, Hayday’s head dipped down. His hat obscured his face from view entirely. “...fine. But ya gotta promise me that my momma won’t ever find out.”
“I promise.” Victor lied.
“M..My name.” he began to say, voice cracking with apprehension. Victor could hear his handcuffs clinking as he wrung his hands under the table.
Victor leaned closer. “It’s alright son. You can tell me.”
Hayday moved quickly. Before Victor could even register what happened, the handcuffs were around his wrist now, connecting him to the metal bar on the table.
As Victor blinked, dumbfounded, Hayday stood and began to chuckle. “Damn, I’m good, ain’t I?"
The realization was finally dawning upon him as Detective Stone tugged on the handcuffs currently around his wrists. “H-How did-”
“Oh, better take these.” The man strolled to the other side of the table, removing the ring of keys from Victor’s belt. “Yeah, don’t want you leavin’ anytime soon, gumshoes.”
“How did you do that?!” Victor demanded, tugging harder on his wrist. The handcuffs clinked, a reminder that he was stuck to the table, which itself was bolted to the floor.
Hayday snapped his fingers and with a shit eating grin replied, “I’m damn good at lockpicking. That should get me a B-rank, eh? Lockpicking? That’ll impress the pigs-”
“What about the deal we had?!” Detective Stone barked. “About telling us to protect your identity?! Was all of that just a lie?!"
“Oooh, nice try. Knew you were lyin’ to me. Tryin’ to butter me up so I’d talk. Ain’t my first time in the interrogation seat.” he shrugged, hands raised in a defensive gesture. “Just…not as Hayday.”
“Oh! And while I’m here-” Hayday reached over into Detective Stone’s pockets, revealing the man’s wallet with the flourish of a streetside magician. “Very good at pickpocketing, too.”
“That is MINE-”
“Carrying twenties? Very nice.” already rummaging through the wallet, Hayday practically purred. “This should cover the cost of my time.”
“You could’ve done this at anytime.” Victor practically spat. “Why did you even bother? With the acting-"
“That wasn't acting. I didn't lie to ya once." Tossing the wallet onto the table (but just out of reach), Hayday spun on his heel towards the door. “I’ll be taking my leave, gumshoes. Next time ya catch me, better hope you have something better than cuffs like those.”
He snorted as he opened the interrogation door. “If ya catch me at all.”
Closing the door, Victor groaned as he heard it lock behind him. He slowly set his head down against the table, knowing that no one would come looking for him for hours at least.
Victor tossed the pack of cigarettes, a package of muffins, and a cold coffee drink onto the checkstand. “Just this.” he grumbled, not wanting to divulge in small talk with the cashier.
Just as he predicted, it was hours before someone stumbled into the interrogation room to let him go. It wasn’t even an officer, it was the poor janitor who found him. All in all, he just wanted to forget the night ever happened, and move on.
The cashier, clearly not taking the hint, gave him a tired little grin. “Rough night, hm?”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Aww, c’mon. Try me! I see a lot at this job.” the cashier replied, brushing some of his blonde hair from his face before starting to scan. “I won’t tell nobody, honest.”
Victor gave the young man a cold look. “No. Confidential. Nice try.”
The cashier quietly chuckled at that, and in a tired voice muttered, “Aww, yer no fun. But alright. Your total is twelve-seventy-three.”
Victor paused for only a moment. No. No it couldn’t be. He shook his head and pulled out his credit card.
(He preferred using cash. But he was a bit short on cash after last night.)
“Do you want your receipt?”
“No. Keep it.” he said, grabbing his things and turning to leave. “I don’t plan on returning these items.”
The cashier gave him a little wave as he left. Once he was sure the other man was gone, the cashier grinned, his large smile missing a tooth. He hissed, “Have a good day, detective…”