I Laugh at your Misfortune!
Normal is a synonym for boring
- 2,626
- Posts
- 16
- Years
- YOUR MOTHER! (aka: England)
- Seen Aug 1, 2016
Warren was panting lightly as wheeled the bike up to the rental shack at the end of Cycling Road. Pushing open the door, he stepped over to the desk and handed the rental ticket to the cashier. The twenty-something guy looked up at him.
"Hey, you didn't meet anyone on the bridge, did you?" Warren froze.
"What? Why? Who's on the bridge?" Seemingly taken-aback, the cashier shrugged.
"I dunno. Those guys have just been asking everybody who comes through here anyway." We jerked his thumb over at the exit where two policemen were waiting, polystyrene cups of coffee in their hands. One tall, clean-shaven and with a friendly face. The other short, bald and with black stubble covering his chin. Warren looked back at the guy behind the desk.
"Little and Large? What's happened? What's going on?" Another shrug.
"I dunno. They've just been questioning everybody passing through." He paused for a second, scratching his chin.
"But now that I think about it, there haven't been many people coming through here today. We're normally pretty busy at this sort of time." Warren bit his lip, then jumped suddenly as a hand tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around to see the tall policeman smiling politely at him.
"Are you alright? You seem a little jumpy." Warren's mouth flapped uselessly for a second.
"....I'm fine. Just tired." The policeman frowned.
"Are you sure? You didn't run into anybody suspicious on the bridge, did you?"
"No, I-I'm fine," Warren stuttered, slowly stepping backwards towards the door.
"I just need to get going. Gyms, badges, all that stuff, you know." Without waiting for a reply, he turned around and dashed out of the door, pausing outside for a moment. He clenched and unclenched his fists for a moment, breathing heavily. Why didn't he just turn the guy in? He could just hand over the phone number and the police could track him down from that. Pulling the scrap of paper out of his pocket, Warren unfolded it to reveal a surprisingly childlike scrawl. Scribbled above the barely legible number was a name. Eric. Well, there it was. He had enough information for the police to track him down with ease. So why not just hand it over? Suddenly, the door behind him swung open and he hurriedly stuffed the paper back into his pocket, turning around to see the shorter policeman looking at him suspiciously. Had he seen?
"What's your name?" He called, his voice hoarse and rough.
"Warren. Warren Simmons." The policeman nodded slowly.
"I'm Detective Winters. We need to talk to you." Warren froze.
"About what?"
"I think you can tell us. Come to the Police Station in Mauville this afternoon, around two."
"Are you arresting me?" Winters narrowed his eyes.
"Not yet." With that, he turned and strolled back inside, leaving Warren with a stricken look on his face. Now what?
"Hey, you didn't meet anyone on the bridge, did you?" Warren froze.
"What? Why? Who's on the bridge?" Seemingly taken-aback, the cashier shrugged.
"I dunno. Those guys have just been asking everybody who comes through here anyway." We jerked his thumb over at the exit where two policemen were waiting, polystyrene cups of coffee in their hands. One tall, clean-shaven and with a friendly face. The other short, bald and with black stubble covering his chin. Warren looked back at the guy behind the desk.
"Little and Large? What's happened? What's going on?" Another shrug.
"I dunno. They've just been questioning everybody passing through." He paused for a second, scratching his chin.
"But now that I think about it, there haven't been many people coming through here today. We're normally pretty busy at this sort of time." Warren bit his lip, then jumped suddenly as a hand tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around to see the tall policeman smiling politely at him.
"Are you alright? You seem a little jumpy." Warren's mouth flapped uselessly for a second.
"....I'm fine. Just tired." The policeman frowned.
"Are you sure? You didn't run into anybody suspicious on the bridge, did you?"
"No, I-I'm fine," Warren stuttered, slowly stepping backwards towards the door.
"I just need to get going. Gyms, badges, all that stuff, you know." Without waiting for a reply, he turned around and dashed out of the door, pausing outside for a moment. He clenched and unclenched his fists for a moment, breathing heavily. Why didn't he just turn the guy in? He could just hand over the phone number and the police could track him down from that. Pulling the scrap of paper out of his pocket, Warren unfolded it to reveal a surprisingly childlike scrawl. Scribbled above the barely legible number was a name. Eric. Well, there it was. He had enough information for the police to track him down with ease. So why not just hand it over? Suddenly, the door behind him swung open and he hurriedly stuffed the paper back into his pocket, turning around to see the shorter policeman looking at him suspiciously. Had he seen?
"What's your name?" He called, his voice hoarse and rough.
"Warren. Warren Simmons." The policeman nodded slowly.
"I'm Detective Winters. We need to talk to you." Warren froze.
"About what?"
"I think you can tell us. Come to the Police Station in Mauville this afternoon, around two."
"Are you arresting me?" Winters narrowed his eyes.
"Not yet." With that, he turned and strolled back inside, leaving Warren with a stricken look on his face. Now what?