9 cold-bloodedness (1/2)
Sam did what he asked for. He stepped behind her and tapped his hands from her wrists to under her armpits. There he paused for a moment. He grabbed her breasts with both hands and kneaded them violently. Sam did not speak a word.
The two colleagues found the situation rather amusing. His hands slid down her sides to her hips. Again he paused, then brutally grabbed her butt with both hands. His colleagues smirked. Sam remained silent like a fish. He felt first her left and then her right leg. As he got up behind her, he reached back to her chest with one hand and brutally grabbed her between the legs with the other. Sam felt his wet tongue in her left ear and grimaced in disgust.
”Maybe the boss allows us to have fun with you before he turns you around.”
Sam turned his head to the side and hissed at him. ”Yes, it would be a feast to put your tiny cock in your mouth and bite your balls off.”
He released her as if he had burned his fingers on her. Painfully, he grabbed her upper arm, pulled her around and pushed her away from the car. ”Your cold-bloodedness will drive you out of the boss.” he spat.
Her little procession began to move. Sam saw a one-story building with a flat roof. She counted six steps as they approached the entrance. The sky was still the color of old iron. Sam said goodbye to the hope of perhaps seeing the light of day.
As they stepped through the door, she blazed the hard light of the neon lights. The driver still clutched her upper arm like a vise. Bruising and bruising should be her least concern. With a jerk, the driver motioned for her to stop.
”Where is he?” he asked his colleague, who sat in a chair behind the counter in the entryway, peeling off an orange.
”In Interrogation Room 4. He's expecting you. Ramon, you should write the log immediately.”
The on-duty cop turned to Sam's guard from the backseat.
Ramon seemed annoyed. ”Hey, I want to be part of the interrogation.”
The driver pulled Sam roughly. Behind them, Sam Ramon was still scolding and cursing. They walked down a long corridor, from which several doors opened on the left side.
At the end of the corridor, they walked down a winding staircase to the lower section of the police station. Here there were sobering cells, detention cells and interrogation rooms. The walls were bare and dirty brown in color. The floor was laid out with sea green linoleum, which had seen better days. Everywhere the glaring, merciless light of neon lights.
At the end of the corridor was a door from which the dirty white paint had already chipped off in many places. The driver knocked briefly and pulled the door open. They entered an L-shaped room. In the middle stood a heavy wooden table with two chairs. There was a single painting in the room, a large rectangular portrait of a man who seemed familiar to Sam.