A d r i a n
"VII. Do Not Steal!"
(Ten Commandments)
Forgive me, my God, for I have sinned, and my greatest sin is theft.
Often, I wonder if someone were to ask me, once I become a successful boxer (better than Muhammad Ali, because let's admit it, I'd be better than a phony Muslim guy!), in an interview, why I started boxing, I would answer: Money, money, money, and adrenaline. I know it doesn't sound like a Coelho quote, but hey, it's better than those lofty poems praising God that guy churns out.
But there's a problem with this... Muhammad Ali is still my role model, and I have to fight for the money.
Just not in front of the public.
Although... who counts as the public, right? The fifteen-year-old kids doing drugs in the alley, or the homeless people who love watching me box. Once, as a joke, one of them even asked for an autograph, it was hilarious.
But the thing is, money and fighting don't go together, both have huge downsides, especially when the cops are relentless.
That night, I realized that life is sometimes not a piece of cake but a bomb disguised as a cake.
In the twilight of the evening, smoke clouds loom over the city, and the sirens' loud screams fill the air. I can feel the adrenaline surging through my body as I tightly grip the briefcase. In the labyrinth of the streets, all my senses are on edge; I can hear my footsteps, echoing wildly on the pavement.
Jumping over the debris of crumbling buildings and discarded objects, I try to put as much distance as possible between myself and the cops. The flickering lights of street lamps briefly illuminate my face, and my vision blurs as I lose track of time; who knows how long we've been playing this cat-and-mouse game. The command to escape is roaring in my ears, and I feel like Tony, who only hears sounds in his disguise.
I stop for a moment, longing for a hiding place, while I hear my heart pounding in my ears. The bastards are right on my tail, but I won't give up! No way! I exhale deeply to keep my mind clear and focused. Then my eyes pop wide as I hear one of the guards shouting.
"Kid, don't play games with us!"
Damn it...
No time to rest!
The nighttime wind ruffles my hair as the world closes in around me.
Dead end.
Shit...
The walls on both sides are high and barren; I don't stand a chance of climbing them, and who am I, Jackie Chan?
In moments of desperation, my brain works frantically, trying to find a way out of this horribly wrong situation.
Suddenly, I catch myself; the cops appear behind me. The bright barrels of their guns shine menacingly in the darkness, and their eyes reflect a determined resolve. Time slows down as they approach me with purposeful movements.
"At last," one of them says proudly, "you've been playing this idiotic game of tag with us for nearly two months, kid."
I'm too good; it's over...
Damn it, Adrian, don't be cute now!
I try to pull myself together, but a sense of hopelessness overwhelms my mind. The possibility of escaping vanishes, and none of the solutions I've concocted seem foolproof; they're all cold and harsh.
"Well, what's this? You're not such a tough guy now?" one of them grins while they get closer.
Damn it...
"I surrender," I suddenly speak up, my voice trembling but determined. I raise my hands, signaling that I won't attack, and then I drop the briefcase resting on my shoulder, and a few stacks of cash spill out from the fall.
For a moment, I see a glimmer of fear in their eyes as my gaze meets theirs.
The guards walk cautiously towards me, keeping their guns pointed at me, which makes my heart race even more.
"Good job, you're a smart kid."
"Your mom won't be happy if we call her in the middle of the night."
I tense up, but the voice of reason is ringing an alarm, so I don't mouth off to the cop with the pretty, muscle-covered long neck.
Perhaps the inevitable judgment will be harsh, or maybe an unexpected turn of fate awaits me...
They reach me, and one of them secures my hands behind my back. The cold steel touches my wrists as they put on the cuffs. The bitter feeling and my helplessness intensify as the cuffs lock around my wrists.
The deserted street amplifies every step I take. I move slowly towards the vehicle; the cops are constantly watching to prevent me from attempting an escape. They know what teenagers are like; we're dangerous, hysterical, and we bite our nails.
The car door clicks open, and the police guide me to the back seat. They move the briefcase to the back as I sit down on the cold seat, which sags beneath me. The doors slam shut, and the reality sinks in. This is the moment when my freedom is restricted, and the weight of the consequences falls upon my shoulders.
My heart races faster as the car starts, and the urban landscape gradually blurs outside the window. The stiffness of the seats and the weight of the cuffs intensify the feeling of helplessness. The roar of the car's engine fills my ears as my gaze fades into the distance.
My thoughts whirl wildly as a sense of hopelessness engulfs every fiber of my being.
Even though I don't have a home to go to, for once, I wished someone would come and take me home...
But no one comes. The car speeds on.
---
In the police room, piles of papers cover mahogany desks. Here and there, you'll find a cute family photo, along with dusty artificial cacti they received as a birthday gift but didn't have the heart to say it was a cheesy present, so now it always sits on the writing desk.
The officers make you sit in an empty chair.
"Wait here, kid!"
Let's not kid around; I'm not a dog!
In the sea of fluctuating fear, unsettling thoughts dart like lightning through my head, and my restlessness only complicates things because the cold plastic digs uncomfortably into my wrists, leaving an acute mark.
How the hell didn't I manage to escape? I was only one damn block away from Jenny's house; all I had to do was stop for a moment to think whether I should turn left or right... Well, I went straight...
"Never stray from the path, Red Riding Hood..."
But you. You do it, you whore! Get off the path!
A respectable, high-ranking police officer enters through the floor-to-ceiling glass door, his gaze determined and serious as he looks me in the eye. But he's bald, so I can't take him seriously. He looks like a squashed, cheap Ken doll.
"I'd like to request an ID, an address..."
"I have nothing" I interrupt, fiddling with my fingers.
"What?" Ken doll, who actually goes by Robert according to his nametag, glances up from the piles of papers.
"I've got nothing. No address, no ID, no nothing."
"So, you're saying..."
"I'm homeless?" I shrug, trying not to appear unstable, staying resolute even in this messed-up situation. "Almost. I crash at a friend's place, but that's not my permanent address, so I don't have any papers for it."
Ken doll, alias Robert, goes quiet, and unfortunately, I get caught up in this awkward silence that I'd love to break, but I don't know what to say in this situation.
Sorry, mate?
No, that's too friendly, and I'm not in the mood to be friendly with this Ken figure.
"Name?"
"Adrian Robinson" I sigh, then, in one breath, I rattle off the few bits of my personal information that I remember. "It's 2006, October 10th, I think. I don't celebrate my birthday. My mom was Mrs. Robinson she passed away in a fire four years ago."
Ken doll just sits there, typing things and his fingers dance swiftly on the keyboard.
"Mrs. Robinson... She..."
"Yeah, one of the victims of the Alabama fire."
Or, if Mom hadn't gone to work that day but taken a day off, she might still be alive.
There are too many conditional clauses... it sucks.
"Do you have any relatives we can contact?"
"Dude, I just told you I don't" I clench my fists.
"Why did you steal a bag containing ten million worth of stuff?" He props his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his interlocked fingers.
"I didn't steal it, let's get that straight" - I snap my lips. "However strange it sounds, I didn't steal it. I was sent by a client to pick it up, but the police intercepted me, and that client will probably send a headhunter after me."
"Who's the client?" he adds air quotes with his fingers.
"I can't reveal that" I mutter. As if that's what I need, a bounty on my head.
"But if.."
Ken doll was about to go into a mountain speech, but the knock that scared the hell out of me cut it short.
"Come in!"
A bespectacled woman in a black suit, wearing a ponytail, opens the door.
"You're being looked for, sir. Please step outside; the man says it's urgent."
"Eva, tell the gentleman I'm busy."
"Not you, sir... but the defendant."
There a photo from Adrian: https://th.bing.com/th/id/OIG.TKwvNNhFu8V7KlMRZ9YJ?pid=ImgGn&w=1024&h=1024&rs=1