Run-in with the Authorities
I get drilled for a little over three hours in a damp, dark, indistinguishable backroom at my local police box. (Police boxes are on the corners of every Japanese community and act as branches for actual police stations.) The only thing missing from the way I'd always pictured an interrogation is the styrofoam cup of coffee, but I was getting my share of caffeine just by taking in the cops' breaths. (See "coffee contact buzz"). The two are pressing hard--trying to get a confession out of me that I was attempting to break into an apartment located outside the prefecture, and everytime I ask "what prefecture" or for an address, they laugh, and say "we're not tellin' YOU." I begin tiring of this and am on the verge of lying to admit being there, but the possibility that doing so might confirm that I was at the scene of a REAL crime stops me. I really don't want to say anything until I get more information from them. "WE ask the questions here, sonny." This condescending speech incenses me, but I sit still in my chair recalling that I HAVE no rights. This whole episode is getting to become an exercise in patience and Japanese ability. The older cop removes a remote control from his pocket and switches on the TV in the corner using both of his thumbs. It's the black and white security footage of an apartment corridor. My full attention is on the screen when a figure in a plain, white T-shirt stumbles into the picture and starts past the first few doors on his left.
"Who is that?"
"That's...me," I swallow.
"And?..."
"--But. There's no date here--there's no way you can tell when this was taken!!"
"Oh, we can tell," the younger cop responds casually.
I'm satisfied with this answer, and am ready to leave. The figure stops and takes a confident step toward the door to his left, and begins fumbling with the keys he's drawn from his pocket. There's no sound, but you can see the dismay on his face when he realizes the key won't fit into the lock on the doorknob. He begins ramming this one key into the doorknob at a steady pace and with ferocity--this I can recognize. I see one tenant, a few doors down, poke her head out enough to see me punching at the doorknob and swiftly pull her head back in to shut the door. At this point, the cops observe my look of disbelief as I take note of the scratches and bruises traipsed across the knuckles of my right hand--left behind by the knob and frame of the apartment door. Then, my stomach turns when it hits me that I might know the girl that spotted me--in fact, I KNOW I've seen her face before, and a paranoia that I might have done something to this girl starts to grow within me. I try to stay expressionless. Could this be why they have apprehended me--showing me this footage?? To establish opportunity to commit murder? Or even rape? To induce a plea?! I can't even think of what I might've done. I need to stay ahead of them. They know something.