I spent the rest of the evening trying to think while Ra'zizi kept on interrupting. Even without her presence, I am not sure I could have come up with anything. I simply drew a blank every time I tried to formulate a plan. I knew I couldn't run, either from the succubus or the police, and I had to fulfill my pact. After a long period of clutching my head and crossing out every other alternative, I decided to just go as soon as possible—delaying it would have been even worse.

This is once more where my knowledge of the world proved to be full of holes, mostly filled in with fiction. How exactly do these interviews work? The only thing a session of browsing—interrupted by Ra'zizi's continuous physical and emotional molesting—has taught me was that I should get a lawyer, maybe. Possibly. For sure. It seemed like a good idea, but who would have guessed that lawyers were in such a short supply at these prices? I turned to my trusty landlady, who acted more than happy to see me. After hearing how much of a useless layabout I was and that I would be evicted soon, I learned that Suzanne's father liked to keep a close eye on her bank accounts, so shelling out for a lawyer might alert him—and I didn't feel keen on being introduced to him yet. On the other hand, I worried that each day of my delay showing up would just end up looking more and more suspicious. In the end, with all the reasonably-priced lawyers being booked for the next three weeks plus, I managed to finally get through to a pro-bono one, after sitting through a seemingly endless stream of low fidelity elevator music. His name was Gordon Gold, and I wasn't sure if he had it changed to that.

"It's a standard thing in investigations, don't worry!" he reassured me, sounding like was reclining in a chair.

Gordon did end up showing up, so I couldn't complain about that at least. Or, at least he seemed to have been there physically, but he seemed strangely mentally absent when I recounted to him what had transpired between me and Izzie while we stood at the parking lot of the police station, next to his old sedan. Of course, I omitted the succubus.

"Okay, so, you and shortie had a bit of a moment, and she ends up in a hospital," he nodded, and sipped on a cup of coffee he poured himself out of a gold-painted thermos that he set on the roof of his car.

Looking with a thousand-mile stare towards a street full of cars passing us by on their way towards the business high-rises, he paused for a moment, leaned back against the vehicle and shook his head with a smirk. "Happens all the time, kid, lotsa clients like that."

He had the tone of an old-timer uncle, lecturing a nephew on fishing. The overcombed hair on his head was displaying signs of being dyed brown to hide the graying, and his off-beige shirt was tucked into gray trousers, covered by an unbuttoned jacket, with a string of material sticking out of the right sleeve. The loosened black tie, bleached by what I assumed were countless cleaning cycles, flapped in the gusts of air streaming down between the surrounding blocks before going past us.

"No, it wasn't like that," I told him, clenching my fist. "I wouldn't do anything to her!"

"Who says you did, kid?" he glanced at me and took another sip. He turned back to look at the passing cars, and I started to think that maybe his expression was solely the result of the way his coffee tasted. "You are crystal clear, a model citizen, and these damn bastards..." he paused to nod at a similar-looking passer by, "... won't do anything to you! You'll just give them a short chat and go."

"Well..." I paused as his lack of care caught me off-guard. "Okay, but what do I do now?"

"Exactly as I tell you, kid," he took the last sip of his coffee and grimaced. "Exactly as I tell you..."

What he told me amounted to "answer only basic questions, don't say anything if you think it sounds weird, and when I clear my throat, stop talking". Having imparted this wisdom upon me, he guided me to the entrance.

Two male police officers identified me and led me to a small room, one that I could recognize looking eerily similar to those in police dramas on TV. There, they sat me in a chair and asked me to wait for a moment, while my lawyer excused himself to go with another officer and fetch a chair to sit in. Will they keep me here overnight? When is the time I can hear my rights being read? Will a frowning inspector with rugged brow ridges come to yell at me? Left to my own devices, I let my mind wander.

It seemed like at least the first one would be true, or maybe it was just the lack of any contents besides a table and three chairs in the room that made the time seem to slow down to a halt. After a long while of staring at the blank wall, I heard Ra'zizi sit on the opposite end of the table.

"Hmm, it looks like no one's coming," she began and let the pause hang for a moment. "Do you think they'll have you in handcuffs?"

"Please just be quiet," I said with a tired voice.

"Oh, but it's fun to chat you up," she answered. "Don't you like handcuffs?"

I heard her get up and slowly stroll in front of me. The same voluptuous curves I had gotten so used to towered above me as I tried to focus on what I would say.

Ra'zizi bent over, letting her breasts, held up by the flimsiest black bra imaginable, precariously bulge and wobble.

"Do you know what time it is?" she asked, and ran her finger down my temple.

I closed my eyes, trying my best to remain focused, but the touch of her silky skin was enough to make me blush, even after all this time.

"It is..." she whispered in my ear.

The door opened with a loud clack and my body jerked a little as I turned my head in a snap.

In walked two women, followed by Gordon, carrying a folding chair. One of the women was tall, almost as if not a bit taller than me, with red, shoulder-length hair and a long sleeved white shirt and black pants. The other was much shorter, slightly chubby, with a blonde ponytail—she was holding a note pad and pen and seemed to be busy leafing through it. I felt my heart stop for a moment. The taller one had two water bottles in her left hand.

"Mister McNowdy?" she asked.

"Uh, yes?"

"I'm detective Rellin. Natasha Rellin," she said and smiled, reaching out to me for a handshake.

I hesitated for a moment before a thought welled up inside me. I reached out and shook her hand firmly, and looked her in the eyes. I saw a sharp, decisive gaze behind a smiling exterior.

"And this is officer Megan Parkland," she let go of my hand and nodded at the blonde who gave her and me a nod back before going back to sift through papers more vigorously.

"I know this might all be a bit disconcerting, but we are looking into something, and we're wondering if you'd mind helping us answer some questions?"

I stared dumbfounded into the distance, as if someone emptied my head.

"Questions...?" I asked.

"Just a few things," the policewoman said. She had a strangely high-pitched voice.

I knew deep down I had no clue what to tell them. At least my lawyer was here, I thought as he finally unfolded the chair and sat it next to mine, facing vaguely away from me.

"Here, thought I'd bring you something to drink," Natasha said as she put the bottles on the table.

"I just want to clear up that you're not under arrest," she started explaining calmly before I said anything as they both took their seats, "and right now we're only trying to establish some facts."

There was something about the pauses she made, the way she gave me a courtesy smile and the way she leaned in slightly. I gulped my saliva and breathed out, then leaned slightly towards her.

"Okay."