Maxx (Part 1)

   I wrinkled my nose in disgust. In the air were the pungent smells of coffee, sweat, and crime. The floor beneath my chair was scuffed and, underneath all the bleach, probably bloodied as well.

   The detective fumbled with papers and manila folders on the cool metal table. Then she leaned toward me with the same intensity as a hunting lioness. Determined. Beautiful. And going for the kill. "We're going to ask you for your name one more time."

   I looked around. We? There was no one else in the interrogation room. "I told you. I'm Maxx. Maxx West."

   "And I'm Harry Potter. Are we done playing this game?"

   "I'm serious, honest."

   "I don't want your alias, kid. I want your real name." I studied her face. She couldn't have been much older than me. Yet she still called me kid.

   "You won't find any other name than Maxx. M-A-X-X."

   "We've looked through our entire database. There is no one by that name, anywhere."

   Someone stormed in the door. "Who is he?" Only he said it like WHO...is he?! The man looked at me with disdain, like he was the king of the world and I was a lowly mouse.

   The lioness didn't take her eyes off me while she spoke. "We found him robbing a bank. Told a teller to give him all the money."

   "I told you, I'm still confused about all that," I protested. "All I know is my name."

   She ignored me. "He's not anywhere in the database."

   The man eyed me for a moment. Then he motioned to the detective to come.

   I waited until the door clicked shut to inspect the detective's business card. She had to have been wealthy, her blazer freshly ironed and her business card crisp and professional. Her name read, "Carmen Mallory, Robbery Detective." I rolled my eyes and tossed it aside.

   I propped my feet up on the dented metal table. Might as well, I thought. Looks like I'm going to be here a while.

____________________

   "Good news," she sighed, waking me up from my half-slumber. She eyed my feet as if I were in her house and my shoes were propped up on her coffee table.

   "I can leave and you can go home to your perfect husband?"

   "I'm not married," she said quietly. "And the good news is, you're not guilty."

   I narrowed my eyes. "Really."

   "Since you have no recollection of what went down at Heston Bank on Oak Avenue, you're not being charged with robbery."

   I lowered my feet and looked her in the eye to see if she was for real. All I saw was her detective's mask -- unreadable. "What's the catch?" I asked slowly.

   "You have to work with me to solve this."

   "Fine. But no more riding in the back in handcuffs. Deal?"

   Her jaw tightened, and she bit her lip. "Fine."

   "There's one more thing," I said, and I felt my legs tremble. If I stood, I would have fallen down.

   "What?" From her usually flat tone, I could sense the slightest bit of sympathy.

   "Who am I?"