Filling in Swift

Detective Mike Swift stood up and began fiddling around in his pockets. He checked both pant pockets simultaneously, then the inner pocket of his sport coat, "Hey, I'm gonna use the head real quick," he said as McKinley nodded.

Tommy snickered a bit as he lifted the foam cup again and inhaled the water.

"So how did you get into the business?" McKinley asked, his foot still resting on his knee as he reclined back in the chair and locked his fingers behind his head.

"How does anyone get into the business?" Tommy responded wincing again as he rubbed just below the gunshot wound that landed him in their custody. "If you're good at something, Detective, they seek you out."

Glancing at the door and then his wristwatch, McKinley let his foot fall to the floor. "So you had a talent Cleaver?"

"You could say that. By the age of sixteen I had taken care of a few problems in my neighborhood, one of which was the former employee, God rest his soul, of Carlos Sarcozi."

"Sarcozi," the Detective said with a, hmmph. "That sounds unfortunate for you?"

"That all depends, Detective," Tommy replied, taking another swig of his water. "I tend to look at the cup as half full if you get my point."

"Oh you're an optimist? How wonderful for you Tommy," the Detective jabbed. "I suppose you love sunsets and long walks on the beach too?"

"Have you been to Coney Island at sunset?" Tommy replied with a raise of his eyebrow. "It's quite enjoyable," the prisoner continued as the door to the room squeaked open again.

"You're just in time partner," McKinley said as Swift walked in and sat down beside him again. "Captain Positive here was just about to tell me the story of his first hit, weren't you Tommy?"

A calculating grin was cemented on Tommy's face. There was a menacing look about his eyes as the heart monitor bleated out a change in heart rate again. "You know those things will kill you," the prisoner jested, picking up the smell of smoke that lingered on the Detective. "At least that's what the Surgeon General says."

Swift let out a nervous laugh. "Yeah, what doesn't?" He replied. "So go on. Tell us about this unlucky bastard that you had to hit."

"Well." Tommy smirked. "He looked a lot like you except he had a cock and balls. This I know because he was one of those fairy cops that wore spandex and rode a mountain bike around passing out tickets all day."

"You think you're cute asshole?" Swift yelled, jumping up from his seat.

McKinley was up right behind him, holding his partner back. "Calm down Mike," he urged as his ruffled partner huffed.

Tommy snickered despite the pain that burned through his shoulder. "That unlucky bastard never knew what hit him," he continued. "I was told he kept putting tickets on Sarcozi's car so to initiate me into the family they had me do him."

Calming some, the two Detectives sat back down. Swift glared at the prisoner as he straightened his coat and tie. "If I ever get the chance to shoot at you again Tommy I'll be sure to aim a little more down and to the right."

Still smiling, the comment seemed to ricochet off him. "It was simple really," Tommy continued. "I just watched him for a few days. You fellas understand a stakeout. I got to know his routine, his habits, his bike route. Then on a sunny Friday afternoon I boosted an old Trail Blazer." With a slurp, Tommy drew the last of his water from the cup and sat it back on the cart. "Now there's a trick to hitting someone on a bike if you want to kill'm," he went on reenacting the event with his hands, his left moving slowly as the right, like a sail, rounded its way in front of it . "Patience is everything. So I let Officer Franklin round the corner on 5 ^th Street and gently ran into him from the side accelerating as he fell down."

There was a mortified look on McKinley's face as he scratched the back of his head compulsively. Swift just sat and stared like a starving dog on a leash. "The reason for this, boys," Tommy continued "is if you hit a person and you're going too fast they tend to fly up and onto the hood or windshield. This will often bust them up a bit, but won't necessarily kill them. So I gave Franklin a little love tap and then crushed him."

With a long exhale McKinley began rubbing his forehead.

"The beauty of this technique is you can drive away and your windshield's not all buggered up." Tommy said, as if it were a procedure out of a manual. "Hell, you guys understand right? You can't see to drive if the glass is all spider webbed. It's simple."