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but as soon as the image formed in his mind of a cop messing with his zipper, he knew it was a stupid idea. As was the idea of letting him out of the cuffs just long enough to do what needed to be done. He’d just have to endure.
    Saying nothing, he allowed himself to be led from the garage and into the basement of what he assumed was the local jail. The door through which he passed certainly looked thick enough and heavy enough to be part of a jail. And Ethan knew what he was talking about. This wasn’t his first rodeo, after all. The cops would soon find out about his previous history of breaking and entering and his two DUIs. A few abortive attempts at drugs, but the drugs never bent reality enough to be worth the risks. The high wasn’t worth the expense. Not when you could buy beer by the quart for a couple of bucks at 7-Eleven.
    He’d done this processing thing in each of those cases, but he’d been released on his own recognizance on the B and E, and let go from the DUIs after the mandatory six-hour stint in the drunk tank. The judge had warned him of dire consequences if he didn’t straighten up and fly right, and he’d been trying. Really, he had. He even thought maybe his life was back on a normal track.
    Until the monster. Until this nightmare. It was all still very new, but looking back on it from the perspective of a couple of hours downrange, he’d have done it again. The monster had to die. Had to. Surely these people would understand that.
    The heavy door slammed shut. Beige concrete blocks surrounded him on both sides as the cop led him across gleaming white linoleum that reflected and multiplied the glare of overhead fluorescent light. Fisheye cameras on the ceiling watched their every step. The hallway was narrow, and it terminated at another door, as heavy as the first, but this one sported a thick glass window.
    â€œDon’t move,” the arresting officer said. He stepped away from Ethan to what looked like a bank of safe deposit boxes. The cop punched numbers into an electronic pad and a metal door dropped open. The cop drew his pistol from his holster, slid it into the box, then locked the door with another code.
    The cop made eye contact with a guard at a desk on the other side of a heavy glass window, and the door buzzed. The cop pushed it open, and Ethan felt hope evaporate. He sensed that he’d breathed his last breath of fresh air for a very long time.
    In that vacuum of hope, he felt the hot urine stream down his right leg. It soaked his socks before it showed through his pants, and it streamed over his shoes. “I’m sorry,” he said.
    â€œDon’t worry about it,” the cop replied. “It happens more than you might imagine. At least you don’t have to feel like you’re going to explode.”
    â€œIt’s embarrassing.”
    â€œIt’s jail,” the cop said. “There’s a lot more embarrassment to come. Just try to keep it in perspective.”
    A man at the end of the hallway sat at another window, reminding Ethan of a receptionist in the ugliest medical practice in the world. He wore the same uniform as the cop who escorted him. The receptionist cop smiled as they approached.
    â€œSo, I see we’ve got a bed-wetter,” he said. “I’ll make a note for rubber sheets.”
    â€œGive him a break, Vince,” the cop said. “This is Ethan Allen Falk. We’re booking him on a homicide.”
    â€œAh, the big one!” Vince declared with a smile. “Bring him in and sit him down so we can get down to business.” The door next to the window buzzed.
    â€œCan I change clothes?” Ethan asked his escort at a whisper.
    â€œSoon enough,” the cop said. “Really, don’t worry about the little stuff.” Ethan glanced at the cop’s name tag. He wanted to remember the nice cops. There was Hastings out there in the parking lot, and now this one. His name