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The three murdering bears.
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Published March 15, 2012

There is a seemingly empty police interrogation room. Everything in the room is incredibly dim, the only part with any decent amount of light being shown in the center of the room, where the overhead lamp reveals the aged wooden table and the equally aged wooden chair closest to the metal door. The lamp emits just enough light to reveal a silhouette of a large being sitting on the opposite end of the table, with what appears to be iron chains shackled to its arms attached to the floor. It does not move. Behind the figure is a large observation mirror, where there is an observation room behind it. The room only contains a counter, which has a tape recorder and a microphone on it. Inside the room is a middle aged Irish man in a police chief outfit discussing with a dark haired detective wearing a grey trench coat. The police chief is a liver spotted balding red haired man whose baggy eyes revealed how late he has been up dealing with the situation at hand.  The detective has a five o’clock shadow and a face that is excessively leathery for his excessive smoking habits.
“Alright Donavan,” The police chief says to the man in front of him, “This bastard and his whole family were found at the location when the murder happened. This is your first interrogation boyo, keep in mind what I’ve taught yah”.
The detective named Donavan gives the chief an annoyed look. “This isn’t going to be tough at all O’Malley”, said Donavan with a restrained anger in his raspy tone. “He and his family were obviously the sickos who tore that girl apart. Just because they were smart enough to get rid of any trace of evidence on them doesn’t mean we can’t just book em on suspicion.” The detective turns toward the counter below the double sided mirror and slams his fist, with enough force that it could have knocked the tape recorder off the metallic counter. “Christ!” he yelled, revealing his true anger, “She was in their fucking house! What are we, a bunch of God damned retards!?”
“You better be shutting your trap boyo!” snapped the O’Malley,” Just because I promoted you detective last week doesn’t mean you can run your fucking mouth at me!” O’Malley points his finger half an inch from Donavan’s nervous face, making Donavan draw his eyes away from the chief’s reddening face. “I’ll remove your promotion and make you do graveyard shifts for the rest of your career! I know we should be able to arrest him and his freak of a family, but we gotta go by the books to book him! We need a confession!” Realizing how worked up he was getting; O’Malley retracts his hand and slowly regains his normal color, with hints of sweat dripping down his forehead. Donavan’s face reveals some calmness returning. “Boyo,” O’Malley says, “You don’t want to give me a heart attack, do ya? Just do what I asked. Remember the techniques.”
“Whatev…. I mean, will do O’Malley,” says Donavan, turning around and begins to exit the room. As soon as he is about to walk through the door, he pauses without looking back when he hears the chief.
“It’s Chief to you, detective,” O’Malley says in an authoritative tone.
Donavan’s teeth cringe and resumes his walk out the door. He walks eleven feet down the crowded hall to the interrogation room’s door, cursing to himself about the confrontation he just had with the police chief. He opens the door and slams it closed harshly, as an attempt to frighten the suspect. Donavan gags as soon as he takes a whiff of the room; it was a terrible odor, similar to the smell a wet dog that has been diving in a septic tank. The detective decides to keep the door ajar a little, trying to ventilate the room. The silhouette of the suspect did not move.
“Keep the door shut,” said the speaker. It was O’Malley’s voice.
Donavan began to imagine the police chief being sent into a coma through a horrible car accident. The thought went away and he closes the door, not before he took a final deep breath of fresh air from the hallway. The door shuts and Donavan turns towards the suspect with a serious expression on his face, trying to cover up his embarrassment about the door ordeal. The detective casually walks directly to the table and leans on the surface with both hands, eyeing the mysterious large shadow on the other side.
“So do you understand why you are here, Mr. Bear?” the detective asked.
The silhouette finally moves. His head moves towards the light, revealing a very large grizzly bear wearing a partially torn white button down shirt and a half ripped tie. The bear’s snout was massive enough to devour an infant in one bite. Above his threatening snout was an even more threatening pairs of eyes, both full of restrained wrath and fury.
“Good evening, detective,” said Mr. Bear in a most ominous voice.
The detective backs away cautiously as if the bear was preparing to pounce, but then regains a sense of control when he realizes the bear was still in chains.
“I gotta ask you the obvious question here,” the detective asks. Before he continued his question, he pulls out a cigarette and begins to light it.
“I may be a bear, but that is pretty stupid what you are doing,” says Mr. Bear in a condescending voice.
The detective puffs some smoke and eyes the grizzly bear. “Oh yeah yogi?” said Donavan, more than hinting sarcasm.
“Oh yes, Mr. Detective.” The bear leans away from the light and continues. “By inhaling that poisonous concoction, you are introducing harmful chemicals into your system, allowing those chemicals to affect the genetic structure of your cells in a way that they reproduce the same cells. And when all those identical cells reproduce and replace the different, necessary cells, then you have cancer on your hands. But what really fascinates me is how weak your mind is. How can you allow such toxins to enter your most precious of things, your temple? Is your mind not strong enough to fight against your moronic physical urges to smoke when the danger is clearly described on the package? You might as well drink some rat poison. Who cares what the label says.” 
Donavan got caught off guard by Mr. Bear’s lecture.
“For your information pal,” retorted the detective,” I smoke because I want to smoke. I’m going to stop before any harm is done to me. I know it does harm, but I’ve got the balls to do so before I get cancer or any of that shit.”
The bear leans back into the light. “But how do you know that?” asked Mr. Bear. “Maybe you already have cancer. And this whole bravado notion you place upon smoking. You’re not going to have balls once they are cancerous. What makes you smoke, huh?”
The detective finishes his cig and throws it on the table in front of the beast. “Jesus,” responded Donavan, “I would never have guessed in my life that I would be lectured by a fucking bear, especially about my health.” He leans on the table. “You are smarter than your average bear, how did you get that way in the first place?”
“How did humans progress from cavemen?” the great bear responded. “When you have an aimless existence of just trying to survive, that becomes incredibly tiresome incredibly fast. Like your species, I was able to develop a more conscious brain than my bear counterparts. I didn’t want to be a bear; I developed a desire for more than that, I wanted to find a tranquil meaning in which I may live my life. I was curious about the things around and I was curious to discover the answers.”
“How did you learn though?” asked Donavan.
“From the books I bought.”
“How?”
The bear gives a sigh and rolls his eyes. “I was lucky in a bear market. Now can you just ask me….”
“Wait, a market for bears?” The detective begins to laugh.”What is it, a honey supermarket?”
The detective begins to laugh immensely, clearly irritating the bear.
“No you schmuck,” the bear responded in a sharp tone,” unlike you, I am very good with the stock market.  I realized there was an imminent bear market, so I sold all my shares before the values went down. I made a fortune.”
The detective was too puzzled to be offended by the bear’s insult.
“How did you make the money that enabled you to make a fortune off of stocks?”
“I was an original programmer of Google.”
“Then why did you just live in a cottage instead of a fancy pants mansion. That doesn’t make any sense! How did you learn to program..”
The bear gave a roar.
“Can we just get to the interrogation you incompetent fool?”
The detective points his finger at the bear. “Shut your mouth! You should be lucky my boss thinks you have human rights you goddamn bear! It’s not every day a smartass bear gets pulled into the precinct you know!”
Donavan takes a deep breath.
“Why did you kill that girl Goldilocks? You could have simply called the police about a trespasser, couldn’t you?”
“Who would respond, or even believe a phone call from a family of bears?”
“I guess that’s a fair reason, but since you seem like such an intelligent bear, couldn’t you use more discretion. I mean it was just a little girl.”
“Who says I murdered her? My family and I were out at the movies that night, watching a 3D bear movie named after that famous baseball player. We were nowhere near when that vandal broke into my home and started touching my possessions.”
“How did ya know your possessions were touched?”
Mr. Bear paused.
“I noticed my rocking chairs were still rocking, my porridges for our meal after the movies were gone, and my beds were not made. I ensure that my family and I make our beds. We aren’t complete animals after all.”
The detective gave a small smirk. He caught Mr. Bear in a loophole.
“So that was the only thing that happened to all the beds? They were just made messy huh?”
The chained grizzly bear nodded.
“It seems you forgot that we found her torn corpse in your cub’s bed. Kind of hard to forget the image of a dead girl torn to shreds, wouldn’t it?”
The beast snorted.
“Well under these circumstances, my memory is not serving me correctly. I am after all chained in a police precinct after all. I was at the movies, far away from that gruesome event.”
“It wasn’t just you, she was beyond mutilated.”
“Well I didn’t, nor did my family. There is no real evidence that would indicate me or my family otherwise. You cannot exploit my weaknesses. You are trained to find human emotional weaknesses, not weaknesses of bears.”
Donavan lights a second cigarette. He begins to think like a true detective. He realizes that bears are all naturally territorial creatures, no matter how much intelligence they may possess. For the first time in his interrogation of the bear, he has found some solid ground in which he could make the beast crack.
“So I guess you didn’t mind Goldilocks rocking the chairs back and forth?”
The bear starts showing actual signs of aggression on his face.
“My chairs.”
“And I suppose you didn’t mind her tasting your porridges?”
“My porridges.” Mr. Bear was getting increasingly aggressive.
“And I guess you didn’t mind her usin your beds, right?”
Mr. Bear snapped. “My Beds! She got her scent in my scents! She invaded my territories! She had to die! SHE HAD TO DIE!”
Mr. Bear began to roar with intense ferocity. He broke through his chains and swiped the chair away. Donavan backed away and pulled out his gun. The chief in the observation room ran out to get help. The bear stood up on his hind legs and was ready to deal a fatal swipe to the detective. Before they could do that, Donavan fired a bullet right between the bear’s eyes .The bear plopped to the ground, not moving. Donavan stood still, looking at the immense dead creature at his feet. His half burnt cigarette fell from his mouth. The chief ran in, accompanied by two officers.
“That was a close one,” said the chief, wiping the sweat from his brow. “eh boyo?”
“Sure was chief,” said Donavan after a long pause. “ That animal needed to be put down anyways.”
The police chief patted Donavan on the back.
“Very nice work getting the confession. Pretty surprised how stubborn he was. Well, we will send him to Goldilocks parents as a nice bear rug for them. Maybe they can place him by their bed. His wife will be sent to a Romanian circus and his son will be sent to the zoo, hopefully he can become a real bear like nature intended. In the meantime, I got another assignment for you. It’s a suicide of a Mr. Humpty dumpty. I want you to investigate it, I suspect some foul play boyo.”
“You got it chief.”
The chief and officers vacate the room. Donavan continued to stand in front of the dead bear, staring into its dead eyes.
“Lying, murders, and bears.” Donavan lights another cigarette and puffs a thick cloud of smoke. “Oh my.”
 

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