Bad Cop, Worse Cop

There were two of them. They whisked me off the sidewalk and into a tiny room that looked like it came out of a gothic horror flick. The only illumination was a single, unshaded light bulb. Not even fluorescent.

"All right," snarled the first, who could have been a gothic horror flick reject by reason of being too ugly, "we know you done it! Make it easy on yourself. Confess and give us back the loot. With, say, 17% interest."

"I'm sorry," I burbled. "I haven't got the faintest idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, oh, oh!" sneered the gothic horror reject. "'Faintest,' is it? All la-de-da, are we? Well, if you don't cough up that loot heap pronto, I'll beat the crap out of you! And if you do, I'll just beat the snot out of you."

"Sit, Mongo!" said the other, speaking for the first time. "Now, now. Let me talk to the suspect. I'm sure I can persuade him to see reason."

"Suspect?" I wailed. "What are you talking about?"

"There's no need for beatings, is there?" crooned the second guy. "And I think we might be able to come down a little on the 17%."

"Please, please!" I babbled urgently. "Will someone tell me what's going on?"

"It's the robbery you just did, Mugsy," said the second guy mildly. "Over at 'We're on Your Side, Honest' Bank. Last Tuesday. Take your time."

"My name isn't 'Mugsy!'" I protested. My name isn't "Mugsy." Really.

"Lemme just break his face!" growled the first guy.

"Now, now," replied the second guy. "No face-breaking yet. Let's let Mugsy talk."

"My name isn't 'Mugsy!'" I screamed, losing patience. The brutier guy punched me in the face.

"That wasn't necessary," said the second guy as I spit out a couple of teeth. A dim light went on in my brain. Dim, but still brighter than the interrogation bulb.

"Hey, I get it," I spat. "You guys are doing 'Good Cop/Bad Cop!' I get that. But listen! I haven't done anything. If you'll just look at my identification and take a few minutes to check me out, you'll see that I'm not the guy you're looking for! I don't even have any parking tickets! I don't even jay walk!"

Bad Cop proceeded to beat the crap out of me. When I came around, Good Cop was leaning sympathetically over me.

"I apologize for my colleague's behavior," said Good Cop. "I'm not going to let him beat you up anymore. But you can make this all a lot simpler, if you'll just turn over the loot."

"There is no loot!" I wailed. "I am not this Mugwump, or whoever it is you're looking for. Have you tried checking out my record?"

"We know everything there is to know about you, Mugsy," said Good Cop, not unkindly.

"Have you at least called EMS?" I whined. "I think I have, maybe, three or four bones left unbroken."

"Now, I would like to do that, Mugsy," said Good Cop. "I'd like to. But I can't."

"Why not?" I sobbed.

"Calling EMS is not something I can undertake on my own authority," Good Cop explained. "I need to get my partner's cooperation. Without that, I'm helpless. Now, if you tell us where the loot is, that might help."

"I don't think you understand how the Good Cop/Bad Cop thing is supposed to work," I gurgled. "You're doing Bad Cop/Worse Cop. I don't know anything about any loot. I didn't rob any banks. You're missing the essential point: I'm innocent!"

"No," said Good Cop. "You don't understand how Good Cop/Bad Cop works. We both work for the same people, and you are not one of them. The difference is that one of us beats you up a little less, but neither of us gives a crap about you."