The Interrogation.

Various smells all come together at once. Sweat. Desperation. Cigarettes. Overtones of blood. The acetone stink you get when electricity has arced and earthed on flesh. Leftover food. Chilli fries.
So I decided to leave my apartment, and go conduct my interrogation.

It was a short ride to the warehouse. It helps to have a place to ask questions where it doesn't attract attention from the other passers-by. Admittedly, this warehouse was more of a storage place where you were assigned a roller-door and a single power point, and on either side there were guys who had been reduced to living in one of these things. I nodded at Dave on the way past.
"Evenin' Dave."
"Oh, hey, Knut. Got an interrogation again, huh?"
"Yup. Gotta keep busy."
"Fair call. Could you keep the screams down after about 8pm though? I have work in the morning and this alimony doesn't pay itself."
"Don't I know it. I'll try to finish quickly, but this one's looking like a tough nut to crack."
"Appreciate it, neighbour."

The roller door came up. The roller door came down. In the dark, I could hear my subject start to shuffle on his chair nervously, the rustle of the ropes reassuring me he was still safely bound.
"Who- who's there?" came a tremulous voice.
I sat down at the desk, and turned on the lamp to shine in his face, and yanked the black bag off his head. He squinted and screwed up his face.
"I'll ask the questions here, Daniel," I intoned firmly, feeling safe that the light being turned on him would mean he couldn't identify my face or features.
"How do you know my name?"
"That's not important. This can be over quickly, or over painfully. It's up to you which one."
"P-p-please, my family will know I'm missing."
"Oh, I'm not so sure about that. But let's not get distracted, Daniel. I want names."
"I don't know what you're talking about! Names of who?"
"Daniel, Daniel, Daniel. Do you think I'm stupid? I don't get hired for nothing, Daniel. My client is paying me good money to get to the bottom of this whole ugly matter. Help yourself, Daniel."
I find that repeating their name conveys an air of power and keeps them feeling cowed. My principal used to use the exact same technique, especially after Debbie Fulsom found the handycam in the girl's locker room. In hindsight, having a sticker with my name and address to return it was probably not the wisest move.
Focus, Tortenheimel. Get the result.
"Daniel, I'd like to think of us as friends. And friends share secrets. I know you have a secret. Everyone has a secret."
"I just liked the way they felt against my skin, all right?"
"All righ- wait, what?"
"My mom's underwear!"
"What? Ew. Daniel, that's not what I'm talking about. I want to know where you got the stuff."
"What stuff?!?"
There was a banging on the concrete wall, and Dave's voice from the other side yelled "dude, some on, wrap this up! I can barely hear Downton Abbey!"
"You and I both know you're watching the Kardashians, Dave!" I yelled back. "Don't pretend like you aren't!"
"It's Downton!"
"It isn't! I can hear Kim whining about Khloe's fat ass!"
That shut him up. Back to business. It was clear this guy was tougher than expected. Time for a little incentive.

I reached into my bag. Pulled out a hammer. Laid it on the table. Pulled out a pair of pliers. Laid them beside the hammer. Pulled out a saw. Placed it carefully beside the pliers.
"Are those...?"
"Yes, Daniel, they're for you."
"No, are those from the Bob the Builder 'I'm A Big Builder Boy!' toy range?"
"No, they aren't."
"They are. They're made of plastic and I can see the Bob sticker on one."
Dammit. Had the light too close to the table. Only one thing for it. I reached back into the bag and grabbed the jerry can. With a sudden jerk, I lunged forward and threw its contents over the guy. He spluttered as it ran out, his eyes closed, and as soon as it was empty he began blinking furiously. As his vision returned, and his eyes focussed, I struck a match. He screamed.

"Daniel, I want names! Who gave you the paper? Otherwise I swear on all that is holy, we will have a barbecue for one in this little room until even radical Islamists will go 'dude, that's just wrong.'"
"The paper? That's what this was all about?"
"Names, Daniel!" I shouted, waving the match closer. Dave thumped on the wall again.
"It was Jimmy McFarlane! Jimmy McFarlane!" Daniel yelled desperately, his eyes transfixed on the flame and his mind awash with images of his imminent demise.
I noted this name down on my notepad. My client would be very pleased indeed with the results of tonight's work.
"Was that so hard, Daniel?" I said calmly as I blew the match out. "I knew we could be friends. Your secret is safe with me, except that my client has paid me to tell them. You can go about your business, and I trust you'll think twice before you do this again."
"Oh God, oh God, just don't set me on fire, please!"
I threw the bag back over his head, to drown out the whining. Wheeled him, still in the chair, back to the elevator. Pushed it back into the trunk of my car. Put the car in neutral and pushed it down the hill, because the battery was on the blink and I had to clutch-start it until the next paycheque came through.

I drove back through the tree-lined streets of his neighbourhood. The contents of the jerry can had just been water, but if you move fast enough and they don't have time to smell it, you can convince them of anything. Called my client from the Cell phone.
"Hello?"
"Mrs. Johnson? It's me. Jimmy McFarlane is the one who sold the test results."
"Little bugger. I'll have your payment ready tomorrow," she said, and hung up.

It's nice knowing that even though history needs its butchers as much as its shepherds, sometimes your actions helps make the world a little better. A little cleaner. A little more honest.
I don't know why this Jimmy McFarlane was selling answers to a Sixth-Grade mathematics paper, but young Daniel should have known better that there are no shortcuts in a good education. The world needs more teachers like Mrs. Johnson, who are prepared to do whatever it takes to ensure her students do the work.

I pulled Daniel out of the car, cut one of the ropes, and drove away before he could take the bag off his head. He was still whimpering, which annoyed me. If he thought tonight was bad, just wait til he starts High School.