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twisted his wrists together.  The officer slapped on the cuffs, giving Joe
a death stare the whole time.  The cuffs were much heavier than Joe had
expected, and a little too warm.  Once he heard them snap shut, he found that
they were way too tight as well.
    “You have
the right to remain silent.  Anything you say can and will be used against you
in a court of law.  You have the right to an attorney.  If you cannot afford an
attorney, one will be provided to you.  Do you understand the rights that I
have just read to you?  With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak with
me?”
    Joe: “I
understand, but I don’t think I want to speak right now.”
    “Good,
because I don’t think I can stand to listen to your crap, dirtbag.”
    With that,
Joe was unceremoniously dumped into a cop car like all the criminals he saw on
a show he watched all the time, Cops .

Chapter
7
    Joe the
Terrorist
     
    The ride
to the police station was surprisingly quiet and, of course, hot.  This was “The
Sunshine State,” and heat was the norm, but this year’s temps were the hottest
that Joe could remember.  His whole body was racked with sweat, and it made the
frying pan hot handcuffs that he sported on his wrists even more unbearable.  A
beet red rash was forming where the cuffs set on his wrists.
    Joe was
thankful that the sheriffs had decided to cuff his arms to the front.  Once the
heat became unbearable, he had to scream.
    Joe: “Can
you let my window down a little more?  I’m going to pass out back here.”
    The
officers continued to face forward.  The driver chewed on something.  A few
more silent moments passed before Joe heard the electronic movements near his
nearest window, but was disheartened when he saw the glass ascend and heard the
door lock click.
    They
must’ve thought he was the terrorist scum that had tried to blow up the
hallowed battlegrounds of the Orangetown Pickers.  He would’ve hated himself
for such a thing if he didn’t know of his own innocence.  He hoped his name
didn’t get out in association with this; otherwise he’d attract the ire of the whole
town.  The Pickers were the biggest thing that came out of this town.  They had
won two NCAA championships, and though that had been over twenty years ago the
town still had that pride from the good ol’ days.  The team was always one of
the town’s biggest treasures.  Joe was in for a world of hurt if they put his
name out in the news.  He wondered how Kate and Mod were doing.
    The car
came to a stop, apparently parked.  Joe was marched right out of the squad car
and into a holding cell.  He tried to rub as much pain as he could out of his
wrists once his cuffs were off.  There was much fuss over the stadium explosion
by both the cops and the prisoners in the cells.  Joe noticed that his clothes
smelled like smoke and fire.  Outside of his cell he saw coverage of the
Pickers’ stadium explosion on a nearby T.V.  He looked on, mortified as he saw
footage of himself tackling, or rather attempting to jump over, the stadium
security guard and landing on the concrete below.  The caption read: Terrorist
Suspect Caught. At least they didn’t get my face , he thought.
    “Hey
look!  This guy’s the terrorist from the news,” said some guy in the cells.
    Joe
looked at the man and then to the T.V. and saw himself, face up, being put into
a cop car.
    “This kid
blew up the Picker stadium!  Evil little scumbag, get over here!”

Chapter
8
    An Effort
of Futility
     
    Joe was
saved by the police.  They pulled him out just as his cellmates attempted to
rearrange his face.  Two uniformed officers then escorted him down the hall and
to an empty room.  They asked if he needed some coffee, which he declined.  He
had seen enough cop shows to know that the small table and single wooden chair
in the middle of this shabby looking room signified this was the interrogation
room.  A sinking feeling was paradoxically rising in the pit of