【悬疑】Mirror (9) Chase
What in the ever-loving hell is this?
Holding between the cop’s fingers, is a ziplock bag that he claims to have found in my jacket. It is filled with the brownish green herbs mom and dad warned me not to touch since I was a kid.
“Does this belong to you, Mr. Fisher?” The cop by the table repeats the question.
“No! It’s not mine!” I shout, earning me a harsh glare from the bearded cop on the other side of the room.
“Are you sure?” Sherman asks as he approaches me from the back, like a fox sneaking up on its prey. For a second, I think he’s going to kick behind my knees, but he only inches closer and whispers over my shoulders, “your albino girlfriend gave you this jacket, remember? Think it over. It’s either her sweet ass, or yours.”
I spin around, almost knocking him over. The devil in his eyes dances as he continues, “just an FYI: ladies have to spread their pussy lips in strip search.”
Blood rushes to my head as I growl, “son of a bitch!”
Sherman steps back a couple feet, making sure he’s out of my reach before whipping a wallet out of his pocket. It’s my wallet. My dad’s, to be precise. He digs out some cash, the leftover from a withdrawal not long ago, and starts counting, “one hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four hundred,” he lays the green bills on the table one by one, “and twenty dollars. 420.” He looks at me with amusement and adds, “Thanks for the inspiration.”
What the fuck is he talking about? I ponder for a second at his words. Wait, he was the only one that ever touched my jacket besides Abby.
“This is a fucking set up!” I roar as I close the distance between us, ready to grab him by the collar and lift him off the floor.
“Tick, tick, tick...” my entire body goes rigid like a board as a taser makes contact with my back. It happens so fast I don’t even notice the electricity running through my body. I only hear the continued rapid ticks as I faceplant in front of Sherman.
After what feel like a full agonizing minute, but in actuality perhaps only a couple of seconds, all senses come back. I am pinned to the floor, arms and legs immobilized by tight grips before a pair of cuffs snaps on my wrists, securing them to the back. Wetness runs down my nose like a broken faucet, and all I can see is Sherman's shiny boots. Fuming with rage at this man I’ve barely known for less than 24 hours, I manage to turn my head to the side and ask through gritted teeth, “you, planted the drug in my jacket, right? Why? What did I ever do to you?”
Sherman doesn’t answer, but bends over and winks at me with a devilish grin. He fucking winks at me! But before I can curse some more, he exits the room, leaving me at the mercy of the two cops.
Oh, fuck me.
Needless to say, I tell them the weed is mine. There’s no choice in the matter, really. Although the jacket does belong to me, the fact is that Abby did give it to me at the police station. I don't know what the penalty is for possession of drugs under 18, but I can't put her at risk, however small, from going through a strip search. The vivid images of her naked in the footage is still fresh in my mind. At least she was unconscious at the time. In her current mental state, however, a public humiliation in this form would be an unimaginable devastation that can push her over the edge. I just can’t let that happen.
After some physical warnings from the cops, I go through a "visual" strip search like a muted robot following programmed commands. The cop uses a flashlight to check every available “cavity” in my body, including my dick and asshole. I am also told that if I had been less cooperative, I'd have to go through a "manual" strip search in which they'll stick fingers inside. He says it like I should be grateful I get the lesser of two evils. Fuck him! But honestly, as much as I am sick of the entire process, I image poking asses all day long is not a fun job either.
After the ordeal is over, I am ordered to go in the holding cell where I wait on to be called for a review of my charges. A middle aged chatty lady in heavy makeup tries to strike up a conversation by telling me how she gets in here. Caught in prostitution sting. Figures. Not in the mood to talk, I simply ignore her and focus on my sore nose. It hurts more after they clean me up, like they mess me up on purpose.
“Nah, it ain’t broken.” she tells me, “you’re gonna get your pretty face back in a couple weeks.”
Not wanting to look like a wimp in front of a hooker, I mutter, “it’s none of your business.”
“Of course not. I just feel like offering some advice. Care to leave a number?” She asks, her tone serious like she’s ready to jot it down with a pencil.
What the fuck? Is she soliciting business here? Now?
She must’ve sensed my thoughts, because she shakes her head immediately, “no no no, I am not asking for myself. I want to introduce you to my baby girl.” She starts to sound like a normal mother at the mention of her daughter. “I know I sound crazy, but she’s an asshole magnet, and you look like a descent boy she’d be interested in. So, I am just playing matchmaker here. I bet you’ll like her too,” She adds with a professional wink, “she’s hot, like her mama.”
Oh my god, she’s interviewing for a boyfriend for her daughter in a jail cell? That’s fucking insane! And how does she know I am not a serial killer or the rapist they accuse me of?
Like a mind reader, she goes on without missing a beat, “I’ve met plenty men, and I can tell what they want with just one look,” she rolls her eyes, “except for that fucking bastard of course.” After eyeing me up for a couple of seconds, she asks with confidence, “First timer?”
I don’t know what’s come over me, but I hear myself say, “yeah.”
“What gets you in here?”
Out of respect for a mother who genuinely cares about her daughter, I answer honestly, “consuming editable at school, making child porn, and rape.”
The second the last syllable leaves my mouth, fury fills the air between her and me, followed by a hard punch on my right eye.
“I am gonna fucking kill you, you little piece of shit!” She growls.
My hand flies to the injured eye as I raise the free arm to protect my head.
“Shit! Are you nuts?” I shout after the initial shock. The pain is instant, so is my anger. The socket takes most of the impact, but the sudden lost of vision freaks me out a little as the left eye closes in sympathy with my poor right eye. Forcing them open I stand up to face the loving-mother-turned-vicious-attacker and ask, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“You fucking rapist ruined my baby girl!” She shoots me with a death glare and raises her arms, ready to pounce again.
I grab hold of her fists before she strikes again. “I didn’t rape your daughter, damn it!” I fire back in frustration.
Unable to escape my grasp, she snarls and spits on my face, “a rapist all the same! That son of a bitch got away coz the fucking lawyer said my Jenny begged him to fuck her! She was only 15 at the time, for fuck’s sake!”
I still, and relax my hold a little. As much as I feel like the victim now, she and her daughter aren’t far behind either.
“Why did the judge and the jury believe him, not your daughter?”
“His goddamn lawyer told them Jenny was a slut that slept with every guy at school, which was true but it shouldn’t fucking matter, coz that mother-fucker drugged her at a party and took her to his car! Thank God she asked him to use a condom. Who knows what that asshole had? But they fucking used it against us and said it implied consent!” The pure hatred in her eyes doesn’t falter as she recounts the sad story. I don’t think she’s heard a word I said at all, but I don’t interrupt. “She did right, my smart girl. Injustice wouldn’t kill you, but AIDS would!”
A correction officer comes by and discovers the commotions, namely my hand gripping her wrists. Before I have a chance to explain myself, I am yanked out of the cell with more force than necessary. Thankfully a witness comes to my rescue and clarifies she hit me first. So, they let me skip the line in an attempt to prevent further “physical conflict”. I am now on my way to do the finger printing and mug shot instead of being thrown back inside. My swollen eye and tender nose can’t appreciate this more enough, although this wouldn’t have happened if I were not dragged into this shit in the first place.
A skinny officer scans me as I am seated in front of him. Sitting on one side of his messy desk is a big pile of documents in manila folders. He goes through the stack and digs out what I assume is my file, and starts reviewing it. Thank fuck it doesn’t take long before he speaks, eyes still on the paper. “Possession on school ground, misdemeanor; Peeping Tom, misdemeanor.” His forehead creases as he continues, “producing child porn, felony.” Closing the folder, he spits the last part with disgust as he looks at me straight in the eye, “and potentially rape.” Before the words completely sink in, he continues in a more authoritative tone, “the District Attorney’s Office is formally charging you with these offenses based on the evidence presented by the officer on duty. Do you understand that, Mr. Fisher?”
“Yes, but...” just as I am about to clarify each offense, he cuts me off and asks impatiently, “do you have a lawyer? If you cannot afford it, one will be provided to you by the court.”
“No, I don’t.” I hesitate for a second and adds, “I can afford it. I just can’t find one yet.” If the free court attorney sucks or doesn’t fight hard for me, I’ll be screwed for sure. So now the million dollar question is: how do I hire a good lawyer from inside the jail? Can I look it up on Yelp, search Google, or ask for a Yellow Page?
Raking my fingers through my hair in frustration, I struggle to come up with ideas, any idea. If only Daniel were here. He’s a fucking genius when it comes to shit like this.
Wait, maybe I CAN ask for his help. “Can I make a call?” I ask the officer pleadingly.
He reads the file again before he answers flatly, “no. It says here you’ve used up your three calls already.”
God damn it! I start to panic. No. There’s got to be a way out. Think, Chase, think!
A donut on the cop’s desk catches my eye, and a light bulb goes off.
“Wait, the second call! Sherman hung up my second call in the police station!” I almost weep for joy at this discovery. Looks like my sobering brain is back from vacation. “You can call to verify.” I insist.
With a grunt, he dials the desk phone. Five minutes later, he nods towards the phone, “okay, go ahead.”
I let out of a breath I don’t know I’ve been holding and dial away. Thank fuck Daniel picks up on the second ring.
“Hey Chase! I tried to find you but they said no visitors are allowed in jail #1 except for lawyers. How are you holding up?”
It sounds like he already knows I am in deep shit. Abby must’ve told him already.
“Just fine.” I answer. No need to mention the black eye and bleeding nose now. “Hey, can you find me a good lawyer? I need someone to bail me out ASAP!”
“You got it. I found someone already before I went to the police station. She’s coming for you tomorrow morning.”
Wow, talk about efficiency! “Awesome! I owe you one, man. Okay, but I think they’ll ask for some bail money.” I give the cop a side glance. He throws me a number.
“$10 grand.” I tell Daniel. Do I care if this amount is right? Heck no. At this point, all I want is to get the hell out of here.
“You know I don’t have that kind of money like you do.” Daniel says in a sour tone, “how do I come up with ten grand overnight? You know my parents are out of town.”
“Just go to my room...” I give the review officer a cautious sideway glance before continuing the instruction, “...I have money in the blue shoebox in the closet. Do you remember how I cover you in Calculus, right?”
There’s a moment of silence before Daniel’s voice returns, “I see. I’ll take care of it.” He comments.
“Good. Can you tell Abby not to worry as well?”
“Of course.” He promises. “Just hang in there. I’ll see you in the morning.”
【悬疑】Mirror (11) Abby