Flashes of Inspiration

Cut to the Chase

Sergeant Phillips stood up and left the room in disgust. Back in the observation room, his partner, Sergeant Neil, murmured to himself. "We're not getting anywhere with this guy."

Phillips all but burst into the room full of monitors. Neil looked over without reaction; he was used to his partner's mercurial moods. "This guy thinks he's a real tough cookie, don't he?!"

Neil didn't look away from the monitors. "Have you considered the possibility he really didn't see anything?"

"With that smirk all over his face? No way. Uh-uh. Even if he didn't see who was holding the knife, he knows something!"

Neil muttered to himself again. "Yeah, maybe... but what?" To Phillips: "It's probably best to tread lightly on this one, Marty."

Phillips huffed and took a drink of his coffee. "I'm gonna get to the bottom of this, Don. Don't think otherwise!"

Neil looked at his partner and raised an eyebrow. "You might want to think about switching to decaffeinated, Marty. You're wired tight enough to give this whole room a heart attack!"

Marty set his cup down in irritation, slopping some on the table. "I'm goin' back in." Moments later, Directive Neil saw him enter the interrogation room and smiled. Marty talked a big game, but he was good at his job.

Phillips smiled briefly and turned his chair around, sitting in it backward as he faced the young boy next to the desk. His voice was much smoother now, almost cajoling.

"Look, Tommy, I understand you don't want to be a rat. But it's really not like that this time. It's okay to tell us; even your mother wants you to tell the truth. We both know you were there. So tell me, little man: who cut into the captain's retirement cake before the party...?"

NOTES: ▶︎

Word Count: 299
Submitted for "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" 
Prompt: Use the phrase " We're not getting anywhere."