BUSTED!

2: Interrogation

The porch light buzzed like a trapped fly, its sickly glow carving shadows under her eyes as she pressed herself against the siding. I stepped closer, boots crunching a discarded red cup.
“Name.”
She swallowed. “M-Mia.”
“Full name.”
“Mia… D-Danvers.”
I smirked. “Danvers. Like the asylum?” Her flinch confirmed it. “Student?”
She nodded.
“Major.”
“A-Art History.”
I snorted. “Explains the clown makeup.” My flashlight beam crawled up her fishnets. “How’d you find this dumpster fire?”
Her eyes darted sideways. “Snapchat story.”
“Bullshit.” I stepped closer, close enough to smell the skunk and her wide wandering pupils. “Try again.”
She paled beneath the white face paint. “I—I followed friends!”
“Friends.” I leaned in, radio static hissing. “Got names? Numbers? Alibis?”
Her breath hitched. “I don’t… I just—”
“Save it.” I gripped her chin, forcing eye contact. “Whose. House.”
“Amy’s! Amy Walker!”
I whistled. “Chief Walker’s little girl? Shame. He’ll disown her after tonight.”
Mia’s lips trembled. “She didn’t—!”
“Turn around.”
“W-what?”
I spun her roughly, cheek smacking the siding. “Probable cause pat-down. Now.”
Her hands fumbled against the wood. “I-I’m clean, I swear!”
“Said every mule at JFK.” My gloves skimmed her shoulders. “Arms up.”
She obeyed, trembling. The flashlight dangled from my teeth, casting jagged shadows as I palmed her ribs.
“You DJing tonight, Mia?” My thumbs grazed the sides of her breasts. “These could smuggle a kilo.”
“Stop!”
I dug my knee between her thighs, spreading them wider. “Resisting adds time.”
She froze.
“Smart girl.” My hands slid down her waist, lingering at her hips. “SnapChat, huh?” I jerked her denim cut-offs higher, fabric biting into soft flesh. “What’d the invite say? ‘BYOB, BYOD’? Bring Your Own Drugs?”
“N-no! It was just—_augh!_”
The dime baggie materialized in my palm, pressed into her waistband as I “searched.” “Well well.” I stepped back, holding it aloft. “Schedule I. Felony weight.”
Mia whirled, eyes wide. “That’s not mine!”
“Says the art major with daddy’s credit card.” I tucked it into her corset, fingers brushing nipple. “Judge’ll love your… aesthetic.”
She clawed at her chest. “I’ll tell them you planted it!”
I grinned. “Bodycam malfunctioned. Your word against mine.” Leaning in, I breathed her vanilla panic. “But maybe…” Gloved fingers traced her collarbone. “...we skip the trial.”
Her tears dripped onto my badge.
I yanked her toward the door. “Let’s discuss… reduced sentencing.”
The foyer swallowed us—strobe lights slicing through weed haze, bass throbbing like a trapped heartbeat. Mia stumbled, her choker’s crucifix catching the light as I kicked the door shut.
“Welcome to confession, Mia.”

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