The Story of Lucifer

"State your full name and age", the balding police interrogator stood over the digital recorder having just hit record in the interrogation room of the 9th precinct downtown station. The mirror glass behind them leads to the observation room where the district prosecutor and two detectives stood by patiently. The officer sat down, leaning back into his chair observing his suspect, though from the way he was dressed he did not expect much cooperation. He looked like a proper mobster if there ever was one, in fact his clothes were reminiscent of the 20's mafia days in Chicago, his hair however, black and pulled back in the pony tail gave way to his modern pulp fiction essence. This hit man was definitely a made man, but in Chicago no amount of connections can protect a cop killer.
"My name?, well that depends on who you ask", the dark haired man spoke with an unrecognizable accent, but certainly European. "I have been called many things over the centuries, Mephistopheles, The Father of Lies, Moloch, though personally I always liked Lucifer, it has a nice ring to it in any age", he smiled, pleased with his selection, knowing their were plenty more where that came from.
"Ok so your the devil right? You seriously think this, I'm insane, bullshit is going to work asshole? Your in Chicago, you just killed a cop, I suggest you start answering questions or your not going to make it out of this room, let alone see the inside of a court room", the interrogator was clearly agitated, uncharacteristically unable to keep his cool. He hits rewind on the recording device deleting the last few seconds. "Now lets start again, state your name".
The prosecutor in the observation room fidgeted as she looked over at the two detectives. "Is this his first day on the job or something?", she asked with an inquisitive raised eyebrow. One of the detectives shrugged his shoulders as he lit up a cigarette with a light it anywhere match using the worn out no smoking sign.
"Have you ever heard the story of the counting mental patients?", with a grin the mobster posed the rhetorical question. As an interrogator with 9 years experience officer Barington knew that sometimes an uncooperative suspect may slip even when he is talking shit, so he collected himself and decided to play ball. "No I haven't, why don't you tell me the story".
"So there is this guy right, his name is Dick and he is walking past a mental hospital. Now there is this tall fence so he can't see anything on the other side of it, however he hears a bunch of mental patience on the other side chanting", the mobster tries to lift up his hand, having forgotten that he is handcuffed to the desk, he is suddenly jerked down. He looks down for a moment and then continues.
"So they are chanting, 13, 13, 13, over and over again. Now this drives the guy crazy, he could have just walked by but he just couldn't help himself, he had to know what the fuck these nut jobs were chanting about. So he looks around and he can see that there is a crack in the fence in this one spot. So he decides to have a peek, like he just has to see. So this motherfucker walks up to the crack and peeks in. Then suddenly a stick comes through the hole and pokes him right in the eye", the mobster starts laughing, while the interrogator looks at him as if he is supposed to figure something out, but obviously he doesn't get it.
"So Dick, is standing there like, what the fuck, these guys just poked me in the eye with a stick. Then suddenly the mental patients, they start chanting, 14, 14, 14".
In the observation room the two detectives start laughing as the district prosecutor shakes her had. "You guys are fucking idiots", she says as she cracks a smile. "What, THAT was funny", the smoker says.
"You get where I'm going with this pig, don't be a Dick, you are going to get your eye pocked out", the slick haired mans demeanor suddenly shifted right as their is a knock on the door but before the interrogator could answer it, it swings open.
"This interview is over", an Italian looking man bursts into the room like he owns the place, showing his credentials to the interrogating officer. He is wearing a Gucci suit that costs more than a cops yearly income. "You can't just c...", before the interrogator could finish, "Actually I can, what you can't do is interview my client without the presence of his attorney and since you denied him that opportunity under article 38 section 9, my client is under no obligation to answer any further questions until you have court order." the suited man spoke smoothly, practiced and full of arrogant confidence.
At that moment the district prosecutor looked over at the two cops in the observation room. "You guys just fucked this case for me", she grinned through her teeth as she walked past them to the exit to the room towards the interrogation room around the corner.
"Now you have two options officer?", he framed the sentence into a question. "Barington", he responded, waiting impatiently for the district prosecutor to arrive and save his ass. "Officer Barington, you have two options, charge my client with a crime or release him", the defense lawyer knew those weren't the only two options, but he enjoyed putting the fear of god into into local cops like this pinhead.
"Actually he has a third option, your client can be held for up to 48 hours and since he arrived two minutes ago, that gives us 47 hours and 58 minutes to charge him with a crime", the district prosecutor finally arrived retorting.
"Karin, how lovely to see you. I hope you have an open and shut case, because its Friday night at 11pm and I'm betting it will take you 72 hours to get your court order so your not getting shit out of my client", the suited man spoke with a sweet voice reserved for the ladies.
"Come Sergio, if your client did nothing wrong, let us ask him a few questions, we will verify his alibis and you and I can go have a drink after, put this whole misunderstanding behind us", she smiles knowing her bullshit would not fly.
"Tempting, but I get paid by the hour and I need a new Rolex, 48 hours should about cover it", he smiled knowing he had her over a barrel. He also knew that she would demand he relinquish his passport and could demand he not leave the state, but beyond that charging him at this point would be stupid even with solid evidence.
"Passport and if this guy leaves the state I will charge you with aiding and abetting", the prosecutor smiled knowing full well she played the only card she had left to play.
"Are you serious, you are just going to let him walk?", the interrogator asked with an injured voice, knowing full well this is a shit storm he started by denying this guy his phone call.
"He's not going anywhere, after all, Sergio knows that should his client disappear on him, his days of buying expensive toys are over, don't you Sergio", they both knew it was true.
A few days later Lucifer's body floated up on the coast of Lake Michigan. He was found with two shots to the back of the head.
Sergio and Karin went out for drinks.
I'm sure there is a moral to this story.