S is for Snitch
"The date is April 7, 2016 and this Officer Krupky conducting the interrogation. Sir, could you introduce yourself for the record?" Krupky glanced at the camera in the corner.
"Bert." The felt-skinned suspect rubbed his wrists, straining against his steel cuffs. "I want to speak to my lawyer."
Krupky frowned. "I was thinking we could talk a little until he gets here. Would that be okay?"
"...I guess."
"You're from Sesame Street, right? I used to patrol down there. I know you folks got a raw deal."
"Raw deal? You don't know the half of it."
"I guess not. That's why I'd like to hear from you. Maybe you tell your side of the story and I see about getting those cuffs off you."
Bert sighed. "It all started a few years ago with Mr. Grump and his skyscraper. Sesame Street was supposed to be rent-controlled city housing, but money talks in this city. It's a lot easier being green."
"Right. I think I read about that. They tore all those apartments down. What did you do?"
"Well - not to brag - but as chapter president of The National Society of W Lovers, I managed to pull some strings. To make a long story short, we scraped together enough money to pay rent in the West Village."
"I'm happy to hear that, but that doesn't really explain how you got here today."
"How I got here today? You should know! You brought me here, Officer, and handcuffed me to this table."
"Bert - What I meant was, how did you go from chapter president of the NSWL to the single most powerful cookie kingpin in the Northeast."
"Oh... that. Well that money didn't last forever, you see. Pretty soon, we needed a way to keep making money or we'd be living out of trash cans. Fortunately, my friends are all very special people with unique talents. What's one of your talents, officer?"
Krupsky pursed his lips. "Can we get back to your story?"
"I can see conversation isn't one of them." Bert looked straight into the camera. "But like I was saying. Our accountant makes sure no-one is short-changing us and he shuffles around the numbers, and there's a professional keeps up quality control, though you might call him an addict. You see Officer, everyone has something they're good at. We started small and before we knew it we were raking in the dough."
"Don't you mean baking in the dough?"
"I don't have time for games officer. I didn't wrest control of the underground cookie trade by wasting time. I did it by being exacting, precise, and giving twice as bad as I got. I had to learn on my feet or starve."
"So your impact on local crime was what, community service? Your organization has been more effective at stopping the coke trade than the NYPD."
"Sugar is sugar, officer. Most people don't care how they get it." Bert strained against his cuffs. "Does the DA have enough yet? I put a lot on the line for this plea deal."
"Just one more thing - why'd you do it?"
"Why?" Bert tightened his hand into a fist. "Officer, it might be easy for you to sit there and treat me like a common criminal, but you're not the one who had to make the hard choices. Sure, there's been plenty of ugliness, some people might've gotten hurt, but everything I did, I did to help my friends. I stand by my decisions."
"No, I mean why go into organized crime? Cookies aren't illegal."
"They're not?" If Bert had eyelids, his eyes would've been wider than then ever. He trembled with rage. "ERNIEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"