Officer Kent sat at his desk, mulling over the recently closed case file, still riding the sweet high of victory. It was his dirty little secret file, after all. His trophy. His hidden pleasure, and giant middle finger to the department. A contented sigh escaped his lips. He could still freshly remember the pleasure of setting that restaurant on fire. And with all those people inside, too. Kent's gaze wandered over the photo's of his victims, reviewing each with a morbid attention to detail. How wonderful that night had been for a closet psychopath like him.
"Kent! Stop daydreaming and get over here. I need your help with this damn fax machine."
Stirring from within himself, Kent hurriedly set the case folder down, looking over his shoulder at the one who had spoken. Standing five feet, six inches tall, with a gut of nearly the same proportions, was his partner: Officer Lane. With the look of a child trying to construct a space rover, Lane tentatively touched buttons on the fax machine with one hand while scratching his fat and balding head with the other. Kent smiled. The bastard was like a child. A very fat, stupid child. Had been ever since they teamed up those many years ago.
"Next you'll be asking me to tie your shoes, I expect." Kent said exasperatedly, standing up with a stretch and a yawn. He toyed with the idea of his partner dying from a horrible accident in his mind, though his smile never wavered.
"Yeah yeah smart ass, very funny. Seriously though, I gotta fax this confession to the court house and schedule the trial."
Kent picked up his coffee from his desk, sipping it as he strode past a few rows of desks and a bustling secretary. Interesting that the set up had gone off without a hitch. No doubt this poor fool would be staring through bars for a long time. Kent on the other hand, would be free as a bird.
"Alright, lemme take a look at it." Kent said, motioning for his partner to leave him. Lane bristled a bit at being simply waved away, but he sucked in his pride and obeyed. Good little bitch. Kent thought, smiling. Lane was very submissive to him. Mainly because he was so retarded, he constantly needed to borrow Kent's brain just to appear as a functioning human being.
As he opened the fax machine's primer slot, something caught Kent's eye. Lane had left the confession statement sitting in the tray. A shiver of pleasure ran up Kent's spine. The wonderful feeling of getting away with murder. Mmmm. Can't beat it. Pausing what he was doing, Kent skimmed the confession with his eyes. He read through all the boring interview details. Blah blah this, blah blah that, blah blah tell us what you know. Puke. As soon as he felt that his brain was going to explode from lack of interest, the actual confession statement shone forth, bright as day. It went a little something like this.
OFFICER LANE: "So, you're telling me you did it."
FAKE CULPRIT: "Only because I've been sitting here for hours, telling you I'm innocent and that doesn't seem to fly with you."
OFFICER LANE: "Look. I wanna play good cop and all that shit, but you've got a list of Arson's already on your record that kinda make it hard to take your side."
FAKE CULPRIT: "Yeah, I got that. Shit, life is a bucha bullshit anyways, so why don't we just seal the deal. I did it. Yeah. I did it, and fuck you too."
OFFICER LANE: "Considering your facing some major jail time, I'll let that one slide. So, out of sheer curiosity, what thoughts were running through your screwed up head when you committed all of these horrible crimes, you sick fuck?"
FAKE CULPRIT: "Just burn it all, man. Just burn it all."
Kent grinned maniacally. He had been thinking the same thing.