Interrogation
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2024 by Walter Reimer

Prompt: free


The subject was hustled into a chair and strapped in, one of his jailers making certain that the cuffs on the coati’s wrists were tightened down to cut off the blood flow to his paws and maximize the pain and possibility of injury. Despite a few grunts and a grimace as some of his earlier injuries were aggravated, the coatimundi remained silent.

Behind a one-way mirror, the chief interrogator asked, “Still hasn’t said anything, has he?” The fox glanced back at her subordinate. “You’re supposed to get information out of him, not just beat him up.”

The bear smiled. “Just softening him up. Cutting off his hormone treatments might actually hurt him more.”

“Hmm.” The vixen idly reached up with a paw to caress the religious symbol around her neck. “Possibly. We need to get information out of him, find out the others he knows about so we can root them out and cleanse our society.” She swished her brush. “Learn what he knows,” and she left the room.

The bear shed his suit coat and removed his tie before rolling up his shirt sleeves. Grinning at the thought of “softening” the subject further, he left the observation area and stepped into the room with the coati. Cameras were recording everything.

He paced around the subject, before reaching out to pat him on the head. The coatimundi’s previously shoulder-length headfur had been crudely cut into a shorter, more masculine style befitting his actual gender. “Garcia,” the bear said.

The coati stirred. “What? You again? No ‘good cop?’”

“Heh. All you deserve is ‘bad cop,’ you pervert,” and the bear gently slapped one heavily bruised area on Garcia’s face. “Now, you know what I want to hear.”

“Me screaming? My throat’s a little scratchy.”

A harder slap. “You’re in enough trouble as it is. Why not make it easier on yourself, and give us a few names? You know, people like you.” The bear smiled and bent close to one of Garcia’s ears. “We’ll let you go.”

The ear flicked. “Really?”

“Of course.” The bear recoiled as the coati chuckled. “What?”

“I’ve heard about the camps out west,” Garcia said. His head rocked as the bear slapped him again. “You hit like my father, you know that?”

“I’m bigger than your father was,” the bear said.

“But still a little man, when everything’s said and done,” Garcia said thickly. His head wobbled on his neck as he looked up at his tormentor. “You’ve hurt or killed everyone I knew and loved, all in the name of ‘cleansing’ society. Do what you want. I’m not telling you a fucking thing.”

The bear’s lips skinned back, showing teeth in a grimace as he punched the coati several times, aggravating already-bruised and cracked ribs, before following it up with a hard kick that pitched the chair back. The back of Garcia’s head struck the concrete floor.

Blood began to seep out from around the back of the coati’s head.

There was a sound of running feet as a pair of medics approached the room, alerted by whoever was superintending the cameras. The bear stooped over Garcia as the coati’s lips started moving. The interrogator leaned in close as the subject – sang?

“I’m proud to be an American, where at least I know I’m free . . . “

Despite the efforts of the medics, the coati passed away, there on the concrete floor of the interrogation room.



end