HE WAS STANDING ON the street corner looking up and down the avenue and street. Which way to go? Which way to go? Think I/ll stroll up the avenue. Can I see your i.d. 2 officers behind him. Hard hats glowing from faint street light. (no. no.) Hey buddy, what are you doin here. The cops had a hard scowl on their faces. Nothing. Just looking around. I am afraid I am lost. Lost? Dont give me that shit. Well, it is the truth. I just got into town and went for a walk and I do not know how to get back to my hotel. Cant you think of a better story than that? Lets see your i.d.—get against the wall. He was shoved hard against the wall. Now see here officer, I am not doing anything and you have no right to do this to me. O, we dont? We/ll show you what rights we have. The back of a hand against his head. Are you crazy or something? You cannot do that. I know my rights. Listen wizeass, you do like youre told or we/ll split your goddamn skull open. I am advising you against hitting me again. Hit you, we/ll kill you. 1 of the officers reached for his gun and he suddenly hit them both on the side of the head with open hands, their hard hats clanging loudly in the night. Their eyes rolled and the gun fell from the officers hand. He banged their heads together again then took their helmets off before thudding their heads together once more. He stepped back and calmly watched them crumble to the ground. He then put them in their car and strolled away. Yeah hahahahahaha thats the way to do it. Wonder what they would think when they came to. Bet they wouldnt fuck with me if I ever met them again. Just slam them around.
Riding the subway during rush hour. Morning. Lousy mood. A lousy weekend. Crowds all jamming and pushing. Smells of newspapers, clothes, breath and bodies. Woman with 2 large bundles standing by the door. She has scraggly hair and lumpy clothes. Shes stained and has large, hairy moles on face. Looks like she stinks. An old guttersnipe. Wont move when people want to get off or on. Like she owns the goddamn subway or something. Have to squeeze past her. Shes big. Heavy. Repulsive. Should at least stamp on her foot. Kick her shin. Still there when he wants to get off. He body checks her as hard as possible. Shes propelled from doorway. Hits the wall of the station. Bundles fly from cruddy arms and contents are strewn on platform. He smiles as he walks away
he watches her bounce off the wall and fall to the ground. Makes believe he stumbles over her. Steps, hard, on ankle. Falls and knee hits her in stomach. Hand hits her throat. Adams apple. Presses hard on stomach and chest when he gets up. Shakes head sorrowfully. Sorry. Aglow inside.
When the cop drew his gun he chopped him hard on the wrist with his hand, and with almost the same motion he kicked the other one in the groin. Even before the gun hit the ground he hit the first one on the back of the neck and he fell to the ground, then the other as he was curled in a fetal position holding his stomach. Just a few karate chops and it was all over. He leisurely put them back in their car and looked at them for a moment then took their badges and guns. Walked to the corner and dropped them down a sewer. He strolled away, his grin wide. His grin was still complete as he lay on his bed, his knees bent and legs crossed. Let them explain that to the captain. Yeah. Especially when they dont answer their radio.
It was an all-car alert. A gun fight with robbery suspects just a few minutes from the corner where the 2 officers were slumped, unconscious, in their car. Their number was blasted from the radio over and over. 1 officer killed. 3 wounded. Assist immediately. Repeat. 1 dead. 3 wounded. Assist immediately. Repeat. Assist immediately. Please respond. Please respond. Pleas unheard as they remained slumped in the car. Still unconscious, badgeless and gunless. Pleas from radio roaring down the street. When questioned about failure to respond they were afraid to tell the truth. Eventually they were forced to stammer and stutter the truth, but their story was not believed. They were loathed and despised by their brother officers. The heros funeral of the officer killed that night was covered by the television and radio networks, and many times during that day, and the days that followed, reference was made to the 2 officers who were only a few blocks away at the time of the killing, but did not respond to the pleas for help. They were suspended and allowed to resign from the department. Their faces and story were known everywhere they went. Silence and disgust greeted them when they applied for jobs and when they got home at night. Their wives were ashamed to go to the store. Their kids had to leave school. Soon their families left them, unable to bear the burden of shame. The ex-cops finally disappeared and the story forgotten until the body of one is found, slightly decomposed, in a junkyard.
Yeah, yeah. With maggots and rats guzzling away. Beautiful. Beautiful. A deep smile eased through his face. He felt a happiness and contentment that was immeasurable. He could taste it and roll it around on his tongue. He could inhale it and feel it caressing him. He looked more closely at the rotting flesh and gnawed bones and eased into an ecstasy. And with the ecstasy came a brief semiconsciousness. Not a sleep, but an exciting relaxation that he immersed himself in.
But to stay so immersed too long, too deeply, would deprive him of his ecstasy and if he lost it he might never experience it again. He was too excited to remain on the bed. His eyes opened and he went to the sink and rinsed his face many times with cold water and blinked his eyes completely open. He rubbed his face hard with the towel and felt the tingle of his skin. He examined the pimple briefly then went back to the bed. An arm covered his eyes.
When the officer pulled his gun—first he warned them he was a karate expert—he hit him on the wrist, the gun falling, and jabbed his finger tips in the others adams apple. He then shoved his finger tips in the first ones solar plexus, chopped the second on the back of the neck and did the same to the first one. They fell unconscious to the ground and he disarmed them. He then went to the pay phone on the corner and called the newspaper and related the events that had just occurred and requested that a reporter be sent to the scene. Not many minutes later a reporter and cameraman arrived and they called the authorities. In the few minutes before three squad cars arrived he quickly repeated his story to the reporter while the cameraman took many pictures. When the other officers arrived, including a sergeant and lieutenant, he was asked many angry questions and looked into many angry faces. As he said later, they were incensed. He was bumped slightly and not treated too gently as they rode to the station house. He made the remark about them being incensed during an interview in the publishers office where he told the interviewer, and others who were there (the publisher, managing editor, a leading criminal attorney, a representative from the a.c.l.u., and leaders from many civic organizations) that he was certain that he would have received a terrible beating if the reporter and cameraman had not been there. As a matter of fact it would not have surprised me if they had found some way to send me to prison for many years. They undoubtedly would have accused me of attempted murder and god knows what else.
Q. Just what made you call the paper rather than just walking away?
A. Well, actually, I made that call for a few reasons. I was afraid that if I were to simply walk away I might be picked up at some future time and then I would have no way to defend myself. You see, there were no witnesses. So I decided the wisest thing to do would be to call a reputable paper, tell my story, and ask that a reporter be on hand to prevent what I am certain would have happened if he had not been there. Of course, sending a cameraman added even more insurance. And too, I did not want these so-called, quote, officers of the law, unquote, to go unpunished. They were grossly abusing their authority and that is not only wrong, it is dangerous. And that is why I called your paper. I know Mr. Preston has always concerned himself with the rights of others and is an honest and courageous individual.
Q. Well, what was it that made you do what you did to the officers?
A. Well, I guess I just got fed up with their bullying. I spoke properly to them and they continually abused me, insulted me, pushed me, and all the time I was giving them straightforward and honest answers. I even warned them to stop hitting me because I am a karate expert and would feel compelled to defend myself. Then when one took his gun out of his holster I simply decided I was not going to take any chances on being killed.
Q. What are your plans now?
A. Well, I am going to press charges against them. I do not think anyone should be allowed to abuse anyone else. I do not believe in allowing the criminal element to simply run around the streets doing whatever they want to whomever they wish. And I certainly am thankful for a police force to help protect the honest citizen. But—and this is a big but—I do not think a police officer should be allowed to do so either. There is nothing more dangerous than irresponsible authority, (yeah, thats a good one)
Q. Are you planning to sue the city for punitive damages?
A. No. Definitely not. And that is something I want completely understood. I am not doing this to make money. Of course, like everyone else, I could always use a little more (smiles and nods), but that is not the reason. I am doing this because I believe it is my duty to do so.
Q. What other plans do you have for the immediate future?
A. Well, I am going to work with Don and Stace to see if we can do something that may help prevent this from happening again. I do not imagine it can be prevented completely, but perhaps we can at least diminish the frequency and in so doing we may help save some innocent persons life. Or as far as that goes, anyones life.
Thank you very much.
It was my pleasure.
And more pleasure at the trial, orgastically squirming slightly on the bed. No, not just pleasure, or even ecstasy. This was something sublime. Yes, sublime to destroy them in a public trial with newsmen watching, the public watching, the cameramen from newspapers and t.v. watching. All watching and listening.
The first witnesses called were from the newspaper. The first was the switchboard operator who answered the call and was told that he had just knocked out 2 cops who had abused him. She said she referred the call to the editor.
He testified that he answered the phone and was told the story of what happened, briefly, and that a request for a reporter had been made.
The reporter testified as to what he was told and what he saw.
The photographer testified in the same vein and then authenticated the pictures he had taken and they were placed into evidence.
Then he took the stand and clearly and precisely related the chain of events that led them to all being there in the courtroom. And then he did a magnificent job of making the defense attorney look like a damn fool. Time after time counsel tried to intimidate him, trap him, bully him, belittle him, but he simply and calmly foiled all attempts. Of course Stacey Lowry made many objections, which were sustained, but actually it was not necessary. No matter how, and in what way, defense counsel attempted to discredit him or his testimony he was steadfast and said not one single word that conflicted with his original story. Eventually defense counsel, baffled and frustrated, gave up in disgust. He was magnificent on the stand.
And when the officers testified he made short notes and passed them to Stace showing the discrepancies in their stories. The cross-examination was brutal (all the news media commented on what a strong impression he had made while on the stand. Especially under cross-examination). Stacey had the officers contradicting themselves and each other in 5 minutes. There were times when there was so much laughter in the courtroom that the judge had to pound his gavel for silence. It took the jury 30 minutes to reach a verdict. It was a joy to see the look on the officers faces when they were pronounced guilty.
It was sublime.
And there were columns of print in the paper the next day about the trial stressing how the entire case had been won by him the way he made the defense counsel look ridiculous; and what a profound impression he made on the jury. There was even an editorial about the trial praising him for his courage to stand up to the authorities in the name of justice, and he watched the jurors filing in and taking their seats. The verdict was handed to the clerk who handed it to the judge. The defendants stood and he watched. He stared and that warm glow filled him as the judge read the verdict and they turned white or gray or maybe green, but it didnt matter, he felt good; and he stared politely into defense counsels face, fully composed and relaxed and soon he could see that counsel was aware that he had met his match and the questions were thrust, hurled and screamed, but his composure remained constant, his demeanor relaxed, calm, and the judge thanked him, personally, for bringing the case to court and hoped that more citizens would have the courage in the future to follow the example he set; and he heard the muffled splash as the guns and badges hit the water and the captains face was red as he screamed at the 2 officers and he and Stace and his wife sat in the living room sipping brandy and talking and he felt the side of his hand crash against the back of the cops neck and heard the clanging of the helmets, and he tossed them in their car and
the tumbling was starting to interfere with the enjoyment so he got out of bed and paced the floor, but not as he had before. There wasnt the previous tension. It had been replaced with an intense joy, almost a euphoria. Perhaps not as sublime a feeling as he had experienced, but none the less a euphoric one.
Actually he didnt pace, but leisurely walked the feet from the door to the wall, without counting, without trying to follow his own footsteps, without worrying about breaking his mothers back.
He looked in the mirror at his pimple and touched it gently. It seemed to be a little larger and perhaps a little more tender, but that was nothing. He simply shrugged then walked leisurely from the door to the wall not trying to regain the images or recapture anything, but just remembering and enjoying.
The first time he was ever in a police car was when he was 8 years old. The bell rang and his mother opened the door then came into his room and told him 2 policemen wanted to speak to him. He was suddenly covered with sweat. He knew why they were there. They were going to arrest him for beating up Angelo. But he only had a red mark on his cheek. Didnt he? Cant remember. Seems so. Couldnt see so good. Ran so fast. They yelled and he kept running. Somethin musta happened. Maybe he hurt his head. Maybe he was bleedin after he ran. Maybe blood was comin outta his nose or his mouth. Suppose his eyes was bleedin. Please God, not his eyes. He didnt wanna hitim. They made him do it. Maybe the cops was gonna hitim. They were gonna beat him up. Then they would take him away. He/d never see mommy again. Never.
Son…son (2 huge blue giants stood behind her. Couldnt see the doorway. They were up to the ceiling. Couldnt put his head back far enough to see their faces. Just a doorway filled with blue. And mommy standing in front. Why is she gonna let them take me away? He/d never see her again, never). Son. The police officers want to talk to you about the dog that bit you yesterday….
Dog? Yesterday? Yesterday, (he was roller skating with friends on the grainy sidewalk. They laughed and yelled as they raced down the block, their metal wheels grinding and buzzing. Suddenly a small black dog ran from a yard and bit him on the heel ((right one? left one??? yeah, the left one)). He screeched and started crying as the others yelled at the dog and a woman hurried from the house calling to her dog and yelling at the boys to stop yelling, youre scaring him, and he continued to cry still not feeling any pain and the same hysteria propelled him home as the woman called to him to come back so she could look at his leg but he skated as fast as possible and when he reached his house he didnt stop to take off his skates but clanged up the stairs, clinging to the banister, half-pulling, half-thrusting himself up the 3 flights of stairs until he reached his door and rolled into it hitting it with both hands open still yelling mommy, mommy, and when she opened the door he fell forward but mommy caught him, her face strained as she responded to his yells and hysteria as he panted and sobbed, unable to tell her what had happened no matter how much she soothed and questioned until she finally half-carried and half-dragged him to his bedroom and put his head on her lap as he stretched out on the bed and she rubbed his head with her hand and kissed away his tears until he buried his face in her lap and put his arms around her clinging desperately to mommy until the sobs stopped and she lifted her darlings face and continued to rub his head while he told her the story, then sat for many minutes until he was calmed enough for her to take off the skates and walk him to the bathroom and wash his face with cold water, comb his hair and take him to the doctor.
He wasnt nervous until the doctor told him that it might sting a little. He said nothing. Just looked at his mother. She held his hands and soothed him as the doctor cauterized the wound. Its not bad, and shouldnt give him any trouble, but I do have to notify the police so the dog can be tested for rabies.
When they got home she put him to bed and told him to rest for a while, doing all she could to comfort him, yet the look of panic would not leave his face. When he was finally able to stop his mouth from trembling he said, rabies. Do I have rabies like that boy in the movie and they gotta give me big needles in the stomach? No. No. Dont worry son. You will be all right, and she could feel his body trembling and shivering as she cradled him, rocking him back and forth as his mind whirled with images of foaming mouths and huge spikelike needles squealing into the soft flesh of his abdomen.)
They want to know where he lives. She entered his room and sat beside him and held his hand. The doorway widened and he could see their faces. (its only about the dog. they werent after him.) The cops and his mother talked with him for a few minutes and assured him that they wouldnt hurt the lady that owned the dog, they only wanted to test the dog.
As they left the building he could see a small crowd of people standing near the patrol car. He could see that many of his friends were there and staring at him as he walked, with the 2 cops, toward the police car. He felt as huge as the cops had looked. He knew none of his friends had ever been in a police car and he tried to look deadly serious as he walked to the car, wanting to wave to his friends but holding back, wanting to maintain the aura of mystery. He wished the walk could have been a hundred feet long, or even a mile, but the patrol car was only a few feet away.
One of the cops opened the door and he got in the back seat. He looked straight ahead as the 2 cops got in front, but adjusted his head just enough so he could see, from the corner of his eye, the gaping crowd. One of the cops asked him where the dog lived and he told them. As the car pulled away he could feel the stares and was sure he could hear their voices.
Then a jolt of panic almost made him bolt from the moving car. Suppose they searched him. Suppose they found it. They might send him to jail. They might tell his mother. How could he get rid of it. If he tried to sneak it out of his pocket they might see him. And if he did get it out what would he do with it. They kept talking to him. Telling him not to worry. Must be something wrong with the way he looked. Cant let them know. Maybe they do know. Maybe they saw it when they came downstairs. Maybe theyre not going to the dogs house. Its only half a block. Should be there. The car stopped and one of the cops asked him which house it was. He wanted to yell he was sorry. He wouldnt do it again. He just stared. The cop asked him again and he pointed. One of the cops got out and went into the house. The other cop sat in front, silent, and he thought everything would be all right. Maybe they didnt see it. But the cop was gone so long. Maybe he would have to go in the house and they would see it in his back pocket. Please God, dont let them see it. I/ll be good. I/ll never do it again. He was afraid he might wet his pants.
Then the cop came out with the woman and she was holding the small dog. He could see their lips moving and heard voices, but didnt know what was being said. He just sat rigidly in the back seat hoping God would protect him. The cop got in and he vaguely heard her say something about the dog just got scared by the noise—sorry little boy—good dog—tried to catch the boy.….
It seemed like he didnt breathe as they drove the half a block to his house. The cops stopped in front of his house and let him out. His friends came running over. They yelled. Asked. He remained silent until the cops drove away. He ran around the corner. They screeched questions over questions over questions. In between he shot out a word here, there, wherever, whenever. The story was told. Understood. And the whole time I had my slingshot in my pocket. But they didnt see it. They had me cold, the dumb cops, but I got away. Wow!
And he knelt on the floor and looked out the open window. Pow. Pow. Gotya. The dirty coppers had him trapped on the 4th floor and the window was flooded with lights. A voice over a loud-speaker told him to surrender. You cant get away lefty. Go tahell copper. Pow. Pow. Gotcha. Pow. Then a shot from a sharpshooters rifle hit him in the shoulder and he fell on the floor, clutching his bleeding shoulder and his mother suddenly sat up in bed and ran to him. Whats wrong son. What is it. And she bent over him, feeling soft, but he had to kill a whole bunch of coppers.
Balls. Too bad it wasnt real. Wouldnt mind having shot a few. (1, 2, 3,4, 5, 6, the door. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, the wall.) O fuck it. Cops and robbers. (find the spot you stepped in before, dont miss it. each foot where it was. follow your footsteps. 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and 5 and 6. about face. 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and 5 and 6. sometimes 1 is 6 and 6 is 1. and 3 is always 3. so that would make 5 the same as 2—no. wait….lets see. 1 is 6. 2 is 5. 3 is 4. 4 is 3. 5 is 2. 6 is 1. and vice versa, but its its own vice versa. 1 to 3—6 to 4. and 4 to 6—3 to 1. it goes up and it goes down, theres no middle, except maybe 3½. thats always the same, yeah thats it. only the ½, of 3½ is the same, all the rest goes up and down, up and down, hahaha. its just like screwing. up and down. up and down. oh fuck it. There were 3 full flights of stairs to the house. 6 half-flights. 8 steps in each half-flight. Go up 8 steps in one direction. A small landing. Turn around and go up 8 more steps in the opposite direction to the floor. 5 doors. 5 apartments. Then back the first way to the next landing. Opposite to the next floor….O balls.
motherfucking cops. Should have spit in their faces. He lay on his back, an arm over his eyes.
The mist persisted. Or was it light seeping through his arm and the closed lids of his eyes? No, it wasnt light. It was just a blur. Had to hunt. Hunt a fucking cop. Play a new game: hunt a fucking cop. 2 faces hung with crape. Guilty. The wives weep. The mothers of their children. Mothers. Mothers, all of them. The tumbling of turned backs. Despair. Pain. Pain. Hungry baby sucking on a dry tit. Swollen bellies. Despair. No direction. Only death. A gun. Pills. No. A rope. A kicked stool. Slow. Agonizing. Very slow. Pain. Yeah, pain. Slowly blue. Very slowly. Tongue swollen like the bellies. Eyes pop from sockets. A gurgle. So slow. Blood. So very slow. A little sleep
and then a little wakefulness.
Then a slipping to some soothing place in between.
Mary used to baby-sit on Saturday nights. After the people had gone he would join her. They would sit on the couch. Afraid to mess the bed. Werent sure what to do anyway. After kissing for a while he would put his finger in her snatch. Then she would open his fly and play with his joint. They would sit like that for hours, his finger up her snatch, her hand around his joint. From time to time he would push her head down and she would put his joint in her mouth. And, from time to time, he would stand and make her kneel in front of him and he would shove it in her mouth. And so passed another Saturday night with her hand around his joint, his finger up her snatch, and, from time to time, him shoving his joint in her mouth.
Then he would wash his hands and leave before the people came home, and each Saturday night when he went home he was always afraid his mother might smell his hand.
A. Well, when they told me to lean against the wall I refused and told them they could not search me, that they did not have a warrant. That is when they shoved me and I literally bounced off the wall.
I should have played stinkfinger with the motherfuckers. Take their goddam guns and shove them right up their asses. Stupid fucking assholes.
No one heard the shot over the rattling of the trolleys and the noise of the cars and trucks. The woman just fell under the marquee of the movie theater. A few people just looked for a second then went over to help her. An ambulance came and the police. She had been shot with a .22 caliber rifle. Soon after the neighborhood was swarming with cops, uniform and plainclothes. He was in his room when 2 came to the house. They explained a woman had been shot and they were searching the neighborhood for guns. They came to his room and found his toy shotgun. You broke the barrel, closed it, pulled the trigger and it went pop. He looked at them as they inspected it very carefully, minutely. They then inspected his cap pistol (tom mix) very carefully and minutely.
When they left his mother explained what had happened. He quickly grabbed his cap pistol and ran down the 3 flights of stairs. He met several of his friends in the alley behind the apartment houses. They slinked around corners, looking both ways before advancing very carefully. They could see the cops on the roof tops and tried to stay in any shadows. It was the best game of cops and robbers they ever had.
A regular bunch of Sherlock Holmeses. (brass buttons, blue coat, couldnt catch a nanny goat.) Just like that motherfucker that broke my hand. Wish I could have grabbed his goddamn club and shoved it up his fucking ass. Right the fuck up until it came out his head. No wonder judges wear black. They should be in mourning. The goddamn assholes. Wonder what happened to the kid that shot that woman. Said he was shooting at the marquee. Trying to hit the lights, but missed. Funny, when he heard that the kid was shooting from his house 3 blocks away he couldnt believe it. Didnt think a bullet could go that far—o shit. Who gives a fuck. She was probably a fucking bitch anyway.
No. Have to push that away. Cant think of it. Get rid of the smell. Oo something to get rid of it. Maybe get up and walk. Not in the mood. Feels nice just drifting. But can smell it. Maybe its time to eat or some damn thing. Maybe the door will clang open. N, NNE, NE, ENE, E. Theres a girl scout in the grass with a boy scout up her ass. Bowlines, sheepshanks, square knots. Got kicked out of the boy scouts for eating a brownie. Theres a boy scout in the grass with a boy scout up his ass. Fuck it. Mary had a nice tight cunt. Wonder what its like now. Yeah, thats better. A nice tight cunt. Get a hard on. So hard it hurts. Something to do. Mary had a nice tight cunt. Mary had a nice tight cunt. Wonder if I/d recognize her now? Seems she wasn’t too bad. Too young to screw. Afraid of jail. Mary had a nice tight cunt. Wonder what that broads name was. Good thing she was cherry. Yeah. That will keep the smell away. Away. Providence. Good name. Providence. He was 15 and had run away from home again. This time he got a job on an oil barge. It was during the war and very few questions were asked. All they wanted to know was if you were able to do the work. They had docked in Providence and he and the other deck hand got the night off and went into town. They walked around for a while, then went to a movie. It was a big movie house. No idea what the picture was. Came out and started walking around again. They were walking through a park and they met a girl. They walked and talked and Tom suggested they go behind a small house in the park. Tom led the way and went first while he waited. Then Tom said its your turn. He kissed her and squeezed her tit, wanting to do so much more but ignorant of what and how. Scared, with a painful hard on. Then the 3 of them went behind the building together and felt her up until they were sated with what they were doing, but afraid to go any further. So they started to walk to the bus stop to go back to the barge. They werent sure how to get there so she walked with them to show them the way. They were walking down a dark, narrow street when suddenly a car stopped beside them and 2 men jumped out and grabbed them and told them to get in the car. He trembled as the man held his arm. He tried to ask what was going on, but couldnt speak. The men showed them badges and told them they were police officers. He was told not to worry, that they just wanted to check up on the girl. We think shes a runaway. They rode to the station house in silence. The girl was taken to one room (guess I never did know her name) and they to another. Their pockets were emptied and the contents put in envelopes. Then they were separated and questioned. them where he came from, what he was doing in town, etc. He was asked what he was doing with the girl.
Nothing. She was showing us the way to the bus stop.
You were picked up at 2 in the morning. What were you doing all that time?
Just walking. We went to a movie then walked around.
With the girl?
Part of the time.
Dont bullshit me, punk. I know what you did. Your friend already told us. You took turns with her. Didn’t you?
He almost cried with panic. He tried to speak but only stammered. He knew he was wrong and his shame made it impossible to say anything. He nodded his head.
You punks make me sick. Im personally going to see that you get 20 years for this.
The tears started to well in his eyes, but he couldn’t let them see it. He could only think of his mother. What would she say. Twenty years. What would his mother say. He wasnt aware of them taking his belt and the laces from his shoes. His daze didnt start to clear until he heard the door of his cell clang shut.
He sat on the steel slab that served as a bunk. He looked out the bars up at the window in the wall across from his cell and could see the faint glow of a street lamp. He stared at the bars for many long, long minutes. What would his mother say. Twenty years. The tears finally seeped from his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. He didnt brush them away. He couldnt feel them. He stared and the tears rolled as he tried to imagine what it meant to go to prison for twenty years. It seemed like he had been alive for so very long, yet he was only 15 years old. He tried desperately to conceive of twenty years yet couldnt. It was an eternity. He soon stopped trying as he no longer had the energy. He sat with his head lowered staring at the floor watching it darken as the tears fell from his face. There was no reason to stop them from flowing, even if he had been fully aware of the fact that he was crying. He was alone. All alone. And as the tears flowed from his eyes, the energy flowed from his body. He slowly, unknowingly, lowered himself on the slab and lay on his side and slept.
He had to fight his eyes open as the light from the street-level window opposite his cell scraped his eyes. When he adjusted his eyes to the light he became aware of a stinging cold in his body. The steel slab felt like ice. He sat up trying to convince himself it was just a dream, but the truth was undeniable. He was sitting on that slab and there were bars on the door. It was all as real as the light coming through the window. He sat.
Then a jailer came around with a small cheese sandwich and a tin cup half-filled with black coffee. He took them, set them on the slab and stared at them for many minutes. The bread was hard as was the cheese. He put his hands around the cup to warm them and wondered if he should drink the coffee. He had never had coffee before except for a few drops in his milk as a special treat. He warmed his hands then rubbed his body with them. Then warmed them again. He didnt know why, but he forced down the sandwich. Not through hunger, but some sort of habit. He sipped the coffee. It was worse than medicine. He took a few sips then left it, just using the cup to warm his hands.
He looked up at the window and could see a small portion of the legs of the people who walked past. For a while he simply stared then he started noticing the small portion of leg and wondered what the people looked like. He wasnt really interested, but it was something to do. It helped pass the time. Twenty years. How could he pass twenty years? How could he live twenty years? It was beyond comprehension. Too far beyond. It was unreal. But what would his mother say. He had to play a game. What do those people look like? Those people who belong to the 18 inches, or so, of leg he could see. How could you tell how tall a man was, or how heavy he was, or what color his eyes and hair were. How could you tell what he looked like when all you could see was a few inches of his pants leg. There was just no way of knowing or imagining. But it was different with the women. Of course he couldnt really tell, but at least he could see the shape of the leg and could imagine. He could even imagine what type of shoe they were wearing, especially if he could hear the click, click of heels. They had to be high heels. And if the leg were attractive, exceptionally attractive, then she was young with a nice figure and large tits. Firm and round and soft. The kind you rest your cheek on. The kind that had large, dark rosy nipples. And some had dark hair, some blond hair, and some had to be redheads. And they all had red lips and long painted nails, and their asses wiggled when they walked. But what color snatch hair does a blonde have? Redheads and brunettes were easy, but blondes???? Was it blond like their head or was it darker? Could they have black snatch hair or was it just sort of brown? If he could get close to the window he could look up their skirts and maybe some of them wouldnt have any pants on. He had heard of girls who didnt wear pants. But even if they did he might be able to see something. Anyway, that wasnt too important, the color, it would be great just to look. And they wouldnt know. He could just stand there all day and look. But not for twenty years. But he could look for now, anyway. He continued to watch those inches of leg walk by, then slowly became aware of a slight pain in his groin. He had a hard on. It scared him. Suppose the guard came and saw it. He had to get rid of it. He pushed it with his hand, almost shoving it back up in his crotch. It seemed to be made of the same steel as the slab he sat on. It ached, but he had to push. He placed both hands on the head of his prick and pushed even harder. For a brief second he thought it would put a hole in his hands, but eventually it started to bend and slowly it softened. He stood for a moment to make sure there was no visible bulge. All was flat. He sat down on the slab and turned his back to the window and didnt move until the guard called him and gave him another cheese sandwich and a tin cup of hot coffee. He slowly ate his sandwich, taking small bites and chewing as long as possible before swallowing, his back still to the window. He waited as long as possible, then took another bite and chewed and chewed. When his mouth was as dry as sawdust he took a few small sips of coffee. Then back to the sandwich. Cheese and bread dry and hard, coffee bitter, but it passed the time.
Sometime in the afternoon his cell door clanged open and the guard told him to come out. They went to the office he had been in the night before and Tom and 2 detectives were there. He sat in the seat pointed to. Sweat seemed to cascade from his armpits. He could feel it dripping down his sides.
The doctor examined the girl and shes intact (he stared at the detectives face, conscious only of the sweat covering his body, his scalp itched with it.) So we/re going to let you go this time. But if I ever see either one of you in here again I/ll break your head. The detective looked directly at him.
Why did you say you fucked her?
He blinked his eyes and it took him many seconds before he could mutter he didnt.
You calling me a liar?
He shook his head and blinked more rapidly. No sir. (He was trying to think, but his mind just wouldnt function. He tried to remember if they had asked him if he had fucked her, but couldnt. He was sure they didnt, but he couldnt remember.) He started to stammer something, but the detective cut him off.
Never mind the bullshit. Here, take your stuff and get out of here. I have work to do.
The envelopes with their personal items were dropped on the desk and Tom said his was the one with the most money. He stared at Tom and the smirk on his face, and almost panicked again. He felt like telling him to shut up. All he wanted to do was get out of there. Nothing more.
The detective looked up at Tom. Dont give me any lip punk or youll find yourself in the hospital.
They signed the receipts, put their stuff in their pockets and left as fast as possible. All the way back to the barge Tom joked about it, but all he could think of was he was going home. She would never know.
Couldn’t get rid of the smell. Still there. So strong he could taste it. He couldnt tell her. How could he tell his mother. He didnt know exactly what it was, but he sensed it somehow. He knew it was her and it was something he couldnt, or shouldn’t, talk about. All he could do was sit at the table toying with his cereal, pushing it around with the spoon. Whats wrong son, why dont you eat your breakfast. I dont know mom. Just not hungry I guess. Do you feel all right? Are you sick? No, I feel all right. Just dont feel like eating. Maybe I/ll be hungry later. But you havent even taken one spoonful. Why dont you try some and maybe youll feel like eating? Im not hungry I told you. Why dont you just leave me alone, jumping up from the table and going to his room. He sat on his bed knowing his mother was still sitting at the table staring at his empty chair with that look of sadness in her eyes. The smell was still so strong he could taste it.
Stupid son of a bitch. Didnt know. Just didnt know. O fuck it. FUCKIT!
The car stopped in front of them and 2 men got out and one grabbed him and he hit him, knocking him against the car and was about to hit him again when the other one took out his badge and said they were police officers. He stood still and looked at them. Why didnt you say so. What do you want with us. We just want to check on the girl. We think shes a runaway. O.K. Im sorry I hit you, but I thought you were trying to rob us. The cop he had hit stared at him and he stared back, unafraid.
He sat on his bed with the smell. He was getting sicker. He wanted to go out in the fresh air and rid himself of it, but he would have to go through the kitchen, past his mother, to get out. He didnt want to, but he had to leave the house. If he didnt he/d be sick and his mother would start worrying and be all over him. The desperation forced him to his feet. He wanted to run out of the house, but he forced himself to walk as slowly as possible, telling his mother he was going out for a while and hurrying on before she could protest too much. He walked rapidly along the street breathing deeply and exhaling completely. Why didnt she know? Couldnt she smell it? Its hers, why didnt she smell it? Worse than Mary.
The cop he had hit glared at him and continually dabbed at his face with a handkerchief. He could see, from the expression on Toms face, that he was afraid, and he smiled at Tom reassuringly. When they arrived at the police station the cops started shoving him in front of them so he just stood rigidly still, and silent, and stared them in the eyes until they walked away and told him to follow them. He answered their questions calmly and firmly. When they asked him again about the girl he repeated that nothing had happened. Why dont you have her examined, now, and save all of us a lot of time and trouble? They yelled at him to just answer the questions and he simply stared at them, calmly. Either have her examined, now, and release us, or charge us with something and let us make a phone call. They continued to yell and threaten, but he simply told them he had nothing further to say. When they were released, a few hours later, he looked at the cop he had hit, coldly, and said goodbye, chuckling as he left the police station.