Possible new MS. Not sure I want to let it see the light of day. Very dark, very complicated treatment of taboos and psychology. 

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In an upper-middle class neighborhood that could have been anywhere, full of deciduous trees, manicured lawns, and quaint but expensive houses, a black Ford Explorer with understated but official-looking markings crept down a quiet road and parked next to the curb at a corner and under a tree. Two men emerged from the dark interior, one wearing all black, in what seemed liked an urban combat get up, full body armor and a black, full-face ballistic helmet. The other wore khakis and a vest with a tan covering that masked the lower part of his face, a pair of polarized, sports-styled sun glasses, and a green cap that had “Federal Officer” stitched into it. They appeared heavily armed and sorely out of place in that storybook shrine to suburbia. But, given what had been running on the nightly news for weeks, combined with an already disproportionately sized and ubiquitous local police force, it was unlikely that anyone there would really take notice.

Taking quick stock of the street, checking windows for prying eyes, and noticing the potted plants, flags, and concrete walkways around them, they jogged two houses down the perpendicular street, up to a particular door—the one they had in mind—knocked and rang the doorbell, and waited with an air of patience that was wholly affected. A small, slender woman in her late 50s, wearing black leggings and a blue t-shirt opened the door. Her hair was longer than unusual for a woman her age, dyed a deep brown, and it was clear she had it done regularly at a salon, as no roots were showing. She wore no makeup but smelled faintly of expensive perfume, and the lines on her face gave her true age away. Her initial smile faded as she become quickly conscious of what was at her door.

“Hello,” she stammered, in a voice that seemed too low for her petite frame, likely a vestige from once having been a smoker. “Can I help you?”

“Maybe, ma’am,” the man in the green hat began in an amenable tone. “Good afternoon. We’re looking for some information about people coming and going from one of your neighbor’s houses. We’ll be questioning a few of your neighbors as well. If you don’t mind, we’d like to come in and ask you and your family about some details you all may have noticed. Won’t take very long.” He had a drawl, suggesting that he was from the South somewhere and not from around the area.

That the man mentioned her “family” did not register with her. It was only she and her son, and these men had not seen him yet. As she eyed their attire, the “Federal Officer” inscriptions on their chests, and their weapons, she thought about her record. Though it primarily consisted of traffic violations, there were a few criminal charges from her younger days, which had been dealt with but still came up, and she wanted to be a good citizen for the sake of it, not courting any unneeded problems. She didn’t like the look of the man in black, who didn’t have an inch of skin showing, nor the bag he was carrying. Though she wanted to refuse, more for the sake of spending her Sunday watching football in her underwear and sipping wine, she gave in. “Okay.”

The men entered and looked around, as she stood out of their way, holding the door. They quickly made note that it was a two-bedroom with a relatively small, open kitchen, one bathroom between the bedrooms, a living area that melded into the kitchen, and wood floors. If they had been thieves, there would have been nothing much of value there to steal, even given the affluence of the area. There were gaudy-looking crosses on the wall, not crucifixes, but the Protestant kind. She pleasantly directed them to the couch and chairs, but they seemed intent on sitting at the four-chaired kitchen table, which they began heading for.

“Ma’am,” said the man in the green hat, “could you get your son out here too?”

Again, the fact that he knew her son was there was lost on her, but, as the two men sat at the table, one on either side, which would keep her and her son separated, she knocked on her son’s door and asked him to come out. Then she sat in one of the empty, wooden chairs between the two men. A few seconds later, a man of about 20 emerged from his spotless den, shirtless and shoeless but wearing red athletic shorts. He was just below average height, blond and blue-eyed, like his father, not his mother, and was just beginning to thicken up around the arms and chest, though he would likely remain on the slight side. He wore a dumb expression upon his face, his eyes not displaying any semblance of recognition or cunning.

“What’s going on, mom?” he asked, while he fidgeted with his cell phone, immediately marked by the man in all black.

“These officers just want to ask us some questions about the neighborhood, Baby. Come sit down. It’ll only be a few minutes they said.”

The way she said it gave both the visitors the sense that they were dealing with a man child, whom this woman coddled in every conceivable way, and that gibed with their information. The young man took the remaining seat and dumbly shifted his gaze from his mother to either of the men at his side, before deciding to stare at the table, with his phone in his lap.

“Mo,” the man in all black spurted out, with a quick cock of his head toward the younger man. His voice was muffled by the helmet and sounded further distorted by something else, sounding robotic.

“Mo” picked up on his partner’s concern immediately. “Now, we’re gonna need y’alls’ complete attention. If you’d do us a favor of putting your cell phones on the table, that would be fine.”

The young man’s brow creased with annoyance, but he glared at his mother, in lieu of the men, hesitant to relinquish his precious device.

“It’s okay, Baby. You’ll get it back in a few minutes. Let’s just get this out of the way, okay?” she said, in a higher-pitched, sing-song voice that was completely at odds with the husky tone with which she had greeted the men. “Mine’s on the table over there. See, Baby? It’s no big deal.”

“Fine, mom.” The young man heaved a sigh and put the phone on the table.

The man in black immediately moved it out of his reach, and the young man’s face turned red. The officer smelled an opportunity. “What?” he growled through the mask,” You got some hot piece of ass on the line?”

The young man turned almost purple. “No!”

The woman’s face lost its superficial smile with the informality of the officer’s comment, and she began side-eyeing both men.

“I don’t like your tone, boy,” the officer continued, with an inflection clearly meant to bait the young man.

Sensing that her son was on the verge of throwing a temper tantrum, the woman tried to intervene. “Lucas, it’ll only be for a few …” But it was too late.

His face having become something reminiscent of a puling infant, the boy stood up, his arms tensed, and he began breathing through his nose. In a flash the man in the green hat had the boy’s arms pinned behind his back and was cuffing him. His mother jumped up, her mind trying to take in the sudden chaotic whirlwind, before she found herself being cuffed from behind by the man in black. She started crying, and the sound seemed as infantile as her son’s angry face.

“Well, hooey, that was a lot of crap to make sure they didn’t tip no one off with them phones, Mo,” the man in black snickered under his mask.

Mo chuckled.