CHAPTER 152: A PERFORMING ARTIST

"I knew I should have acted the crack whore or the beggar part." Averie clicked his tongue. "If I had some make-up, it would’ve been a breeze."

He was leaning against the bars of the holding cell that the police had thrown him in. He wasn’t alone; the crew of three was with him.

They occupied the closest corner of the cell, keeping away from the other detainees who smelled like trouble.

"What are you in for, baldy?" Averie asked a tattooed man.

The heavy man turned his thick neck to study the pretty boy. "It’s a shaved head. Call me bald again, and I’ll bash your skull in."

The three breathed heavily, trying not to make eye contact.

’What is wrong with you?’ their glares seemed to relay.

’We aren’t even filming; why are you picking fights with him?’

’He is twice your size, for fuck’s sake.’

Averie’s expression twisted into one of disgust. "Why shave it if you take offense when being called bald? Are you as dumb as you look?"

The big man stood up.

"You’re dead, you piece of shit."

"Ha!" Averie exclaimed. "You’d die of cardio; as if someone like you could ever kill anyone."

He walked up to the actor. "I’ll bury you with the rest of them."

"Rest of what? Little girls? That’s all you can kill, you sicko?"

He squeezed Averie’s neck and pushed him into the bars.

"They were grown men," he said, sadistic pleasure seeping through his eyes. "Every last one."

Averie’s agony flew away, as a creepy smile graced his lips.

"You are as dumb as you look."

Suddenly, the door to the cell flew open, policemen rushed in, and subdued the heavy man.

Averie looked at the detective overseeing the process.

"Was that good enough for a confession?" he asked, a cocky grin mocking everyone in the room.

The detective, somewhat upset by that display, nodded his head.

"Not by itself. But we have enough evidence to convince the judge."

"A thank you would be more appreciated than whatever you’re spouting."

The man’s face hardened.

Police weren’t best known for their courtesy; after all, with power came abuse of power.

"Whatever." Averie pointed at the clock hanging outside their cell. "When are we getting out?"

It showed a quarter past three.

"Who says you are getting out?"

"I helped you with catching the guy, didn’t I?"

"And I said, we’ll—"

"Show leniency? Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time. Don’t pull that nonsense on me. I know that means nothing."

He flicked a piece of lint off his t-shirt.

"Get me out or I won’t testify."

"We have that on camera; we don’t need—"

"It’d make your life easier, won’t it? I am sure you have seen cases thrown out for a single misplaced signature. Do you want to take that risk? Judges, attorneys, prosecutors—they are all fickle; you know that."

They shared a single, long stare.

To Averie, it was no different from playing poker.

’Will he call, or will he fold?’

He was enjoying it.

After a minute, the detective folded.

"We can’t drop the charges."

The actor displayed a foxy grin. "You can’t drop all the charges, you mean?"

The detective sighed as his officers escorted the heavy man out of the cell in handcuffs.

"Wait here," said the detective. "It should take about an hour."

"Make it less than fifteen minutes."

He whistled and pointed at the security camera pointed at their cell.

"Be a darling, and get me that footage too, will you?"

"That’s evidence."

"I need it for my show. You’ll look smashing on telly, don’t you think?" He looked at the cameramen for support, who nodded their heads in unison. "I bet your children will be proud to see their dad on a popular program."

Perhaps, the offer sounded too enticing for the family man.

His lips quivered, and he cleared his throat before leaving in an elated mood.

Fifteen minutes later, Averie and the crew were allowed to leave their cells in an unofficial capacity.

"So, this is illegal?" the sound guy whispered.

"Not exactly. We haven’t been charged with anything yet. So, it’s just that they are showing—" He tapped his chin and gave it a long think "—courtesy."

The detective informed them that the charges against the crew were dropped.

Averie grinned boyishly. "And me?"

It was as if he were opening a birthday present.

"We are only charging you for motor racing and speed trials on public roads."

"Are you serious?" His smile fell. "What did you even drop then?"

"Resisting arrest, dangerous driving, some charges concerning the vehicle’s modifications—"

"That’s absolute nonsense. That car is barely tuned."

"—public disorder, noise nuisance, and there are a few more. Honestly, the list isn’t short."

"You police are a bunch of thugs."

"Hey, you should be glad. You’ll most likely have to pay a steep fine, serve a driving ban, and that’s it."

"Driving ban?" Averie scoffed. "You think I care about that? I don’t even have a license."

"Oh yeah, that’s another charge."

"Waive that too, will you?"

"Sure, buddy. We’ll set up a court date. Please, don’t run away."

Afterward, they received their belongings.

On Averie’s insistence, they prepared to film a quick outro.

"Isn’t the second AD waiting outside for us? Shouldn’t we—"

"No," Averie interjected. "My lovely friend is also there. She must be desperate to chew me out. We’ll have to film now."

"The editor will hate this sort of shoddy footage, I’m telling you."

"Just film it, man."

The second cameraman complained about not having a clapperboard, and Averie impolitely reminded him that they were a documentary crew and not a drama crew.

In his own words, it was like ’watching a clown call himself a performing artist.’

Averie sat on the nearest metal chair and tapped his foot on the ground. As the rhythm got faster, he clapped his hands loudly.

It was his way of calling ’action.’

"Under the Road Traffic Act of 1988, street racing is illegal in the UK." He crossed his legs. "More often than not, the convicted are punished with a mandatory driving ban and a fine of around a thousand pounds."

He leaned back and tilted his head.

"So, hear me well, kids. If you want to drive at extremely high speeds and place innocent lives at risk, come to the United Kingdom."

He rhythmically tapped his foot.

"We may hate the poor, and you may never see the sun, but we will continue not to punish criminals severely enough."

He winked at the camera as his foot stopped.

The impromptu recording ended.