The night was killing one of his days, like this...
They asked me if I killed the old man. I told them "no" and lit a cigarette. The officer slapped me
with the pretext that I had to pay attention to what he was saying. My last cigarette flew away from my lips
but I didn't follow its flight. After all I heard what the officer said. I even answered his question. The
chances of smoking again now were thrown away with the last cigarette, fell on the dirt and disappeared in the
depth of the pond. I started to hate that officer. He asked me where I was when the murder happened. I asked
him about the time of the murder and as an answer I received another slap. This time's reason was that I
shouldn't play stupid with them. Yes, he already told me the time of the murder, and I gave him an answer for
that. I forgot about it. "we know you killed him" said the officer. He was so well-behaved that he even gave
me a reason after each slap. Four slaps, I should kill this man. No! I'm starting to think like a criminal. I
haven't killed anybody and if they acuse me of something I have no connection with, they were fucking
dilatants. They brought me inside. The questioning room had a special light. It was like in the movies. I
always hated the interrogation parts in the movies or books. I hated this room as well.
This whole situation made no sence. They must have seen someone killing the old man, someone who
looked like me...or maybe someone who hates me must have told them that it has been me who shot the geezer in
the head, and the ones who hate me are many. What am I thinking? I don't go around killing people, why should
I have killed him. They said that I was linked directly to him. Who the hell was this Nicolas Bernard. He was
French, alright. I asked them if the old man had been robbed or hit. I didn't get slapped this time but I
didn't get an answer either. I didn't know that man. I didn't have a motive to kill him. And here I am as a
primary suspect. Wait. This must be a dream. Nah. I was building on my mind what happened that day. I woke up
late, I had breakfast at Horatio's and met Lora. We kissed and smoked a cigarette promising each other that
this was the last day we'd smoke. This whole idea of quitting was hers. So be it. I drove her to work on my
motorcycle, then I went to fill up with gas. I met Giacomo on my way home; he hates his name. He never liked
his grandfather, less the fact that he was named after him. We followed the road to the Oak and turned left at Horatio's. Giacomo bought me a beer. Lora called to see how I was doing with the studies and i told her that
I was too lazy to think about it now, but that would be the first thing i would do after leaving Horatio's.
Giacomo insisted that we stayed a little bit more and I couldn't refuse free beer. The beer was perfectly
cold. Old Horatio knows well.
I really had to leave so I fare welled Giacomo and drove to the market. I was going to dinner at Lora's that night and she gave me an enormous list of the things I had to buy. I didn't like big lists. They reminded me of those prescription letters full of Latin drug names and I hate to remember those dark times. I hated the word "junkie" in the mouths of people who didn't even had the most minuscle idea of who I was. I had
a nice place at the time...I didn't live in a junkyard...but I knew others who did. **** this whole junkie business. I bought all the food, drove to the drug store to get my medication; Lora didn't forget to put my medication on the list. This new drug was helping me a lot. It made me feel less dizzy and I could sleep well at night. I always trusted medicine. I had a friend who studied medicine for some time, after dropping out to go to the rehabilitating center. I was in such pain back then. This isn't a dream.
Marcus waved at me and I stopped. He offered me a cigarette and I smoked it thanking him. He asked me to lent him some money. I had only 34 pounds and I gave 15 to him. I knew what he wanted to buy. I told him that this was the last time I was giving him money to buy shit, but he thanked me and said nothing else. I was like a God to this kids for being the only one courageous enough to go to the center. I drove home and studied some Foreign Literature and Marketing for 3 hours. Marketing is the worst subject ever and my professor is the worst. And then Lora called me. I had to pick her up from work and go to her place. Why don't we live together? I haven't asked her to do so. She is nice and pretty and I think I love her and I know she loves me. She says that all the time. Two months is not too long. I was thinking of asking her to move in. I drove fast, passed a red light and there's the police car calling me to stop. I stopped. They started questioning my whereabouts around 4-4:30pm and I told them I was studying. That was when I got slapped for the first time in 12 years. I fell. It wasn't a hard hit but I got caught off-guard. The last thing I was expecting was a slap. He said he knew what kind of person I was, not the kind who studies. And I deserved the slap for lying. I told him not to do that anymore and there went the second. This was for being a "smartass." I was furious. Who does he think he is. Nobody has the right to slap me except my mother. My grandmother had that right as well, but she is dead now. I thought that it was prudent not to say anything to him. He was probably sick in the head and all he needed was medication. Medication works.
I had only one cigarette left and it could have been broken from my fall. Stupid policeman. He said that an old man named Nicolas Bernard was killed in my neighborhood and that I was a suspect. Someone had made a description of the killer and he happened to has had the same jacket as mine. I went through so much trouble to find and buy this particular kind of jacket and here is another guy with the same jacket who killed an old man. I should have called Lora. I was thinking that she must be worried. They wouldn't let me use the cell
phone. Instead they arrested me. And here I am. What a stupid day.
*
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This is the first part of some crapy novel I started to write. Eventually the guy is convicted for murder of the old man and he commints suicide.
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