death penalty

I was stooping over Micheals with my had on his shoulder."Tell me, God damnit Michaels! We know you were there. We have physical evidencelinking you to the murder. Just tell us where Jeff Putin’s body is."My face was about six inches away from Michaels’s, and I could see beads of sweat starting to form on his furrowed forehead. He was an ugly man, and not just because he had killed three people. He had ratty, slicked-backed hair, that shined of grease and dirt from lack of bathing. His facial hair was ungroomed, sprouting from beneath his sunburnt leathery skin, in sparse patches of various length.
"Get me a pack of cigarettes and some whiskey and I’ll talk." Micheals said, staring at me unrelenting and hollow. We sat in a stalemate for about ten or fifteen seconds. I was breathing just soft enough so as not to show any movement and I could see him practicing the same restraint. "Very well. No bullshit though Micheals. You understand?"
"Like I said, cigarettes and whiskey. Then I’ll be the biggest narc you want me to be." He leered out the side of his mouth, revealing his crooked, yellow teeth.
I took my hand off his shoulder, and stood above him cross-armed, debating whether or not I should give into his requests. He was slouched in his chair looking up at me as if I was in a pulpit, statically waiting for me to make my move. Then what seemed to me as an inconsequential act of mercy, I walked out of the interrogation room and asked a deputy to get me a pack of cigarettes and some whiskey, then handed him some money. About twenty minutes later he came back with them, and then I took them to Micheals’s interrogation room, and set them on the table in front of him. Without hesitation, he slowly opened the pack, and causually placed a cigarette inbetween his two lips. I threw him a book a matches, and once he had it lit he started up.
"Well me and Patrick Stevens had just got dropped off in Kingman, by some guy who picked us up in Boulder City. We were high on meth and needed a ride down to Bullhead City because that’s where Pat’s sister lived, and he figured she could help us out with some money. Well we started hitchhikin down the 68. Then after about 20 minutes, Fuck I don’t know. I was fucking high. It was some fucking time, we came across this long dirt driveway that led to a trailer about a quarter mile back from the highway. Eventually we got to the trailer and saw a truck parked out front and decided that we needed it, so we was gunna fuckin steal it. Kill the people. Whatever. We just wanted that truck. Then I knocked on the door and some guy, I’m guessing it’s that guy you callin Jeff Putin, answered the door. Well right when he answered I hit him in the face with a fucking cinder block that I found in front of his trailer. I didn’t think he died right away, so I kept beating his head with the cinder block till he was dead. Well as I was going to town this guy, Pat found that some kid was livin with him. I don’t really now what happened, but Pat had abutter knife and slit his throat from ear to ear, then stabbed him with it in the ear. Then I came over beat his head in with the cinder block, which was what finally killed him."
He then took a long puff of the cigarette, and then gradually exhaled it, looking me up and down, stubbornly waiting for me to respond.
"The body?" I asked queasily, nearly causing my voice to crack.
"I can show you it. We dumped it in the desert somewhere." He said, gradually exhaling the smoke he had just inhaled, and had now moved his head upward to observe the ceiling.
As I watched him, I realized that I had never met anyone so morally hollow and heinous in my entire twenty-one year career at Mojave Sheriffs Department.
"So can I do some sort of plea bargain?"
"God I hope not" I said staring him down, restraining every single muscle in my body that was so readily about spring up and put three gunshots in his head. "There aren’t any plea bargains in heaven."
"Where I’m going," he sneered, sitting back in his chair "The devil’s gunna let me sit in a cell with a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of whiskey."