“Right. Well, wow. I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that before,” Sal said.
            The detective sat with his shoulders back and his left leg over his right. His body was relaxed, but his pupils were matte black saucers devoid of any reflecting light from the cramped interrogation room. He listened with such intent in his ears that, at times, it seemed like his eyes stopped working altogether.
            Sal was swaying in his chair. His shoulders went far enough forward that they formed a straight line with his feet and knees, but they stayed tense so that the blades of his shoulders hit his chair first when he swayed back. He was nervous, disheveled, and kept looking around the room. The detective could sense that something may not have been right in Sal’s head— aware of Sal’s deeply troubled past. Does he really not know his first memory? He thought.
            “Really?” the detective asked Sal.
            “Yeah, ha. Damn. Well, I mean, I guess I was with Gino. My best friend, Gino. Oh my—…” Sal paused. He looked down at the cuffed wrists that were sitting in his lap. Then, he excitedly looked up at the detective. “Okay, yeah,” Sal continued, “Gino and I were outside somewhere. Like a park. Yeah. A park. I don’t really know, but it was green outside. Very green.”
            Sal smiled.
            “You grew up with Gino,” the detective said in an assured tone.
            “Yep,” Sal replied. “Yeah, we used to be stuck at the hip. But I mean, well, yeah. I’m pretty sure you know what happened to us. It was uh…” Sal’s voice trailed off again.
            “Yes. Tragic,” the detective said as he uncrossed his legs and attempted to form a bond with Sal. “I remember it being all over the news. No one should have to go through anything like tha…”
            “I know. And thanks for that. Really,” Sal smiled to the detective’s surprise. “But finally, finally, it’s all behind us. We went through it, and, well, yeah. I always knew I’d finally see him again. And well, damn. Ha. I’m just really happy now, you know? I mean all of this is just one big misunderstanding. I shouldn’t be here like this.”
            Sal smiled and sarcastically shook his head. He shook his cuffs and looked at the detective, whose eyebrows pushed against each other as he tilted his head. See him again? Does he mean Gino?
            “Mr. Branco, let me ask you,” the detective began, “Why do you think I’m talking to you? Why do you think you are here?”
            The detective gestured at the interrogation room with an open palm.
            “Well, apparently, I did something!” Sal shouted and then laughed. “Why else? I mean, I didn’t do anything wrong. I mean, like, if anything, I was too ready, you know?”
            “No, I don’t know. Care to elaborate?” the detective answered quickly.
            “Like I was too ready, too ready for our reunion, you know?” Sal said excitedly. “People get over things in very different ways. Maybe Gino wasn’t as ready to see me again after all these years as I was to see him. You know, I think it all startled him. When he saw me, I think a lot of the bad memories from when we were kids rushed back to him. Sad, really. But, yeah, I mean, like, this is all one big misunderstanding. The more we hang out, the more we rebuild our friendship and all that, the more those bad memories will go away. He–, well, we, we just need more time, you know?”
            The detective worked hard not to show his confusion. Does he think Gino is alive?
            “I,” the detective began. He took a deep breath. “Okay, Mr. Branco. Let’s act like this is a misunderstanding. Who knows, maybe it is. But I want you just to walk me through, step by step, what brought you here. What happened with, um, with Gino? What happened earlier today? How did it go once you, um, ran into him? I’m guessing it is Gino you were with earlier today?”
            I’m not sure if he is even slightly aware of the crimes he is here for.
“Well, um, okay, yeah,” Sal began. “So, um, earlier today, after I got lunch, it was so random. I mean, I think it was fate. Had to be. But yeah, I ate lunch, and then I saw him. I mean, I just couldn’t believe it. After all this time. Just ten feet away from me in the parking lot of the strip mall. It had to be fate. It was a miracle we ended up at the same place at the same time. Fate. Honestly! And, I mean, I was so excited. Maybe I was too excited, I don’t know. But I ran across the parking lot screaming, ‘Gino! Gino!’ and he was so shocked. Like so, so, shocked. I was shocked, too.”
            “And then what did Gino do? How’d he react?”
            “Well, he was shocked, ha! At first, I think he didn’t recognize me. And I don’t blame him. I mean, it’s been over twenty years since we last saw each other. But I hugged him and he stood real still, but I kept saying, ‘It’s me, Gino! It’s me, Salvatore Branco! Sal! It’s me, Sal! Can you believe it?’”
            “Did he eventually recognize you at all?” The detective’s eyes refused to show any color or emotion behind their black depth.
            “He did! It took longer than I expected, but eventually, his eyes got real big and he was like, ‘oh my God! Hi! It’s been so long,’ and all that.”
            Sal sounded so sure. He sounded too sure and perplexingly innocent to the detective that he did not believe, or know, that he had done anything wrong. Either he truly doesn’t know, or he’s not letting himself know. I think he might tell me everything. The detective chose his words with caution.
            “Then what did you two do?”
            “We went back to my apartment to catch up!” Sal was still excited. “We had to. It’s been so many years. See, we should be catching up right now. See, it’s all just one big mis…”
            The detective interrupted him.
            “Mr. Branco, I just have to cut you off.” The detective leaned forward in his chair, and the rest of his body portrayed the cold nature his eyes.
            “Why, then, are you two not still catching up?” he asked Sal. “Tell me, truthfully, why are you here?”
            “Well,” Sal began, shifting his body. The detective saw that his change in demeanor unsettled him.
            “I mean, like, he’s just shocked still,” Sal continued. “I know he’s just adjusting to…”
            “Wait. Wait just a minute.”
            The detective sat up in his chair and opened his eyes as wide as possible. He stared at Sal, sitting sheepishly, who stared back. Holy shit. Holy shit. It’s him.
            “You’ll have to excuse me for just a moment,” the detective said as he quickly got up from his chair and left the interrogation room. After about thirty seconds, the detective returned with a manila folder in his hands.
            “I’m sorry about that. Please continue,” the detective told Sal.
            “Um, yeah, so like I said, Gino just needs time to adjust to…”
            “What happened once you got to your apartment?” the detective asked after interrupting Sal again.
            “Well, um, we…” Sal stammered.
            “Did he go up with you?”
            “Um, well…”
            “Or, when you got out of the car, did Gino run away?”
            The detective’s eyes began to chill Sal, and he tried to warm his forearms with his hands. He rubbed them from his elbows down to his wrists, the handcuffs making a clunking noise.
            “Okay, okay, well, I mean…”
            “Mr. Branco,” the detective continued, “we have multiple witnesses who claim they saw you, or a man who they claim to be you, running after him down an entire block before turning around, running back to your car— or what they claim to be your car—, getting in, and driving away.”
            “It’s not like that…” Sal’s voice quieted down.
            “We have witnesses from the strip mall you saw him at…”
            “No. It’s not like that. He’s just shocked and needs time…”
            “And they claim they saw you,” the detective continued to talk over Sal, “or a man who they claim to be you, force Gino into a car that looks a lot like yours and drive away.”
            “No, no. See, look, see, it’s just a big misunderstanding,” Sal said as he swayed more and more.
            “And what about the patrol officer who pulled you over and brought you here?” the detective asked, expecting no answer. “He followed you for over fifteen minutes. But you didn’t know that, I bet. And we have dashcam video of you driving erratically, stopping and starting a lot. Almost like you were looking for someone.”
            “No! I promise!” Sal began to shout. “I promise it’s just, this is all just crazy. No, no, you got it all wrong!”
            “Mr. Branco…”
            “Let me talk to him. Please, just let me talk to Gino.”
            “Mr. Branco!”
            “He’ll clear it all up! He just needs time to readjust. I promise…”
            “Mr. Branco! The man you brought back to your apartment was a man named Charles Garner.”
            “No!”
            “Mr. Branco, you kidnapped Mr. Gardner at that strip mall,” the detective said in a loud, stern tone. “And I know why.”
            “No! That’s not what…”
            “And it was all going to plan, but then he got away. He escaped, outran you, and called us from a local gas station.”
            “That’s not what happened!” Sal began to cry.
            “Mr. Branco, does the name Paul Diamante sound familiar?” the detective asked, throwing Sal a curve ball he did not expect in the slightest.
            “What? N-n-no,” Sal stammered.
            “What about Felix Hackett?” the detective asked.
            “I don’t know what…”
            “Or maybe Isaac Stewart?”
            “Stop! Stop! This is all crazy!” Sal continued to cry. “It’s, it’s, it’s…”
            “It’s become clear to me how devoted you are to finding your old friend, Gino Frattessi,” the detective said. “In fact, I think you’ve spent your entire adult life trying to find him.”
            Sal sat his head on the table with an audible thud. The detective let the silence thicken with the humid interrogation room air. The lights flickered and hummed behind their plastic covers in the ceilings. The detective clicked his tongue a few times, breaking the silence before talking again.
            “But Mr. Branco, are you aware, and after so long, I can only pray that you are aware that, after what you and Gino went through, you are the survivor? That only you”
            “No! Stop it!” Sal shouted.
            “Gino did not survive. Mr. Branco, it was everywhere. It was all over the news. I know you were told. I know that you know.” Either he truly doesn’t know, or he’s not letting himself know.
            “No! He survived!” Sal continued to shout. “I know he survived! We both did.”
            The detective stood up and smacked his palms on the table. Then, he took the manila folder, flipped it open, and displayed five pictures of strikingly similar-looking men onto the table. This will get him.
            “You kidnapped and murdered Paul Diamante,” the detective said as he pointed at one of the pictures.
            “No!” Sal shouted.
            “You kidnapped and murdered Felix Hackett.”
            The detective picked up another one of the pictures and shook it with aplomb in Sal’s face.
            “Stop it! Please!”
            “And you kidnapped and murdered Isaac Stewart. And you were going to murder Mr. Gardner had he not gotten away. Look!” The detective hit the photos on the table with his index finger, shaking the table with each thump. “Look at all these men. Who do they all look like?”
            “Stop!” Sal shouted again, answering quickly.
            “I’ll answer for you. They all look like they could be a grown-up Gino Fratessi. Spittin’ image, all of ‘em.”
            Sal swayed and shook in his chair. He sunk his chin and mouth into his palms and cried.
            “I’m not here to psychoanalyze you,” the detective continued. I’m here to find the truth. I’m not here to diagnose you with anything or call you anything. I’m only here for the truth and to seek jus…”
            “I JUST WANT MY FRIEND BACK!”
            Suddenly, the lights stopped making noises, and the air dried up. The detective’s eyes began to gloss as the matte black finish of his pupils showed emotion for the first time during the interrogation. Sal’s words forced the detective’s Adam’s apple to jolt inside his throat, and he coughed. He sat back down in his chair and lined the photos up in a stack, putting them back in the manila folder.
            “You,” Sal began to speak in a broken, shaky voice. “You have no…idea… what that man did to us. Please stop yelling. Please, I beg you. You, you sound like him when you raise your voice at me.”
           

John Carmen Harper is a 26-year-old writer from San Antonio, Texas. A recent graduate from The Bluegrass Writers Studio MFA Creative Writing program at Eastern Kentucky University, his short story, “You Can’t Hate a Cowboy,” was published in About Place Journal in the Summer of 2024. He currently works as a First-Year Writing instructor at Eastern Kentucky University.