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Transcript date: Sept 24, 2002 Voices: Mr. Zarkot (no first name), Detective Henry Haitzler, Detective Keith Werner Incident: Assault and Battery (#AFT-1223-12-2399812), 15:20, Antonio's Delicatessen - charges dropped Location: 12th Precinct, holding cell 5
HH: So, Mr? Z: Zarkot HH: Mr. Zarkot... can you tell me what happened over at Antonio's? Z: Oh, nothing, nothing at all. Simply a difference of opinion. HH: Nothing at all, eh? I think that boy will need several stitches. Z: Oh, well, you know how the youth are clumsy. But they're resilient. I'm sure he'll be all right. HH: So you had nothing to do with that? Z: Oh, no. He fell and hit his head. I'm sure that's what he'll tell you in the end. HH: And why did we find blood on your walking stick? Z: Oh, it's slippery stuff. I reached to help the poor lad up and zoop, down I go. Foolish of me... I'm no longer a young man. HH: ... no longer "Gopher Master?" Z: Detective... HH: Some patrons claimed that it was after the youth, a Mike Marten, called you "Gopher Master" repeatedly, that you struck him. Was he taunting you, Mr. Zarkot? Z: Me? Strike him? Look at me... do I look like I'm in shape to fight some young whippersnapper? I need that cane to walk around with, not to thrash impudent wretches with. HH: And you were never the costumed menace "the Gopher Master"? Z: A matter of public record, and my own foolish youth. Ha. Gopher Master. I certainly was the young fool. Oh no. no no no. I was foolish, I was caught, I payed my debt to society. And here I am now... decades later... a fine upstanding member of the community. HH: mmm, ...upstanding. Z: Detective? HH: When the officers brought you in, they found this in your pocket... can you tell me what that is? Z: I should think it is exactly what it looks like. HH: A small piece of plastic with a button on it? Z: Indeed. That would be my guess too. HH: Your guess, Mr. Zarkot? We found this in your pocket -- one of the ones hidden in your cape. Z: Does it have any distinguishing features? Does it have a label? Is there anything written on the back of it? HH: No. Z: Sorry, I can't help you. I must have a thousand of those. I'm so forgetful. They each do different things. HH: What things would those be? Z: Oh, anything you could imagine... HH: Such as? Can you give me an example? Z: Oh, start the coffee brewing, bake a cake, turn off the alarm in my car... those sorts of things. HH: Nothing harmful or illegal? Z: Illegal? Me? Detective... I'm shocked. Really I am. But then, you wouldn't go around pushing random buttons that you didn't know what they did, would you, detective? Who knows what sorts of things people might have buttons do... they could have little bits of explosives to blow off the fingers of pick-pockets... or little needles that inject neurotoxins... why, the mind just boggles at the possibilities. HH: I'd think something like that would definitely be considered illegal, wouldn't you, Mr. Zarkot? Z: Well, that would be for a jury to decide, I'm sure. We'd just have to see which side they'd lean towards... that of the nasty pick-pocket or the sweet old inventor who got mugged. HH: You think they'd be so sympathetic if it were an officer who's hand was blown off? Z: Oh... maybe, maybe not... you never know. But surely your men are smarter than to push unknown buttons? Besides, I'm sure that button doesn't do anything quite so gauche. HH: Oh. Yes. You're probably right. The lab boys tell me it's just a transmitter. They don't know to what, or for what... just a single impulse transmitter... I wonder what it said. Z: Oh, it's not what it said but who heard it, certainly. HH: Oh? Z: I mean, and I'm just recounting a tale here... an old friend of mine, now departed, often said he'd make something just like that thing you're holding in your hand there. He boasted that he'd make an ultimate deterrent, some little gadget that would instruct gigantic robotic spiders to swarm the White House and hold the President hostage if he ever were in need. But he was like that... always going to extremes... HH: Extremes? This coming from you? Z: Oh, my dear boy, yes... You would destroy Washington and put the entire nation on alert just because you needed a distraction? No no no... the right tool for the right job. Sure there's a time and a place for storming the White House, but if your needs are smaller, you should apply more directed force at the people who can help you the most. HH: Such as? Z: Oh, well, when I was talking to my old friend, and this was purely hypothetical, let me assure you... I suggested that instead of blundering mega-insects, instead he should plant a squad of sleeper agents around some lesser functionary who could "get him out of jail free" as it were. You know... maybe some cyberneticly enhanced zombies buried in the ground near the target, just waiting (as zombies are want to do) for a signal to come in and wake them... Why seize the functionary when you can nab his daughter and leave a note? So simple. But my friend, would he listen? No. Always with the giant spiders. Nice guy, fixated though. HH: Buried zombies? Z: Well, after all, I once ran around the city calling myself the Gopher Master... what's not to love about buried deterrents? HH: So you associated yourself with this known criminal? Formulating premeditated acts of chaos? Z: Criminal? What criminal? Dr. Butorac was the President of Mozambique. Would I have put my parole on such a thin line as to hang around known criminals? No no no. Not me, detective. I put my evil ways behind me long ago. KW: Hey Harry, time's up, we gotta let him go. HH: What? Says who? KW: The mayor. He just phoned the captain, and the captain just told me, and I'm telling you. You want to talk to the mayor? HH: No. Blast. Fine... Looks like that's it, Mr. Zarkot, you're free to go. Z: hehe... Thanks detective. Always remember, the right tool for the right job. |