The Stick Up Kid

Too Late

Thirty minutes later Tymark, Raquan, and I were in handcuffs. After the officers discovered our weapons, they called for back up. Now there were several police cars at the scene, all with flashing blue lights.

            The police had separated Tymark from Raquan and me. They took him across the street where they drilled him with countless questions, like they did us. Everything we had in our pockets was on the hood of a police cruiser, including our pistols.

            I stood quietly, wanting to punch myself for not listening to the many warnings that came my way. I messed up big time. An officer stepped to me with a walkie-talkie in hand.

            “Taking them in now,” he said, speaking into the portable radio. A voice replied to him, but there was so much static on the line I didn’t hear what it said. “Copy that, 10-4.” The cop opened the back door and escorted Raquan to the seat. “Time to go boys,” he told us.

            I slid into the back of the cold police car with my hands cuffed behind my back. The officers that arrested us got in their seats and drove off. The driver took a sip of his soda while his partner was texting on her phone. They seemed so relaxed as they cruised up the road to take us jail. But then again why wouldn’t they? It’s not their lives that’s about to be ruined.

            We arrived at the Nash county jailhouse after what had to be the longest ride of my life. Neither Raquan nor me spoke during the trip. It was the first time I’ve seen my best friend speechless. The officers parked the car on the side entrance of the jail and opened the back doors. They watched us slowly exit the vehicle and marched us inside.

            Raquan and I were escorted to the front desk, where the correctional officers took control from there. The two correctional officers were a white and black guy. The black guy motioned me to follow him while the other officer entered Raquan into the computer’s system.

            I followed the large man to a small room and stopped inside. “Take your pants, shirt, shoes, and underwear off.” He instructed. “I’ll be right back.”

            I sighed in annoyance as I began to do as told. When he came back I was completely naked. The correctional officer held a two-piece jail uniform in hand. He tossed the dark blue clothing on floor and looked at me with tired eyes.

            “Alright, put your hands on your head and squat,” he said. I slowly placed my hands on top of my braids and squatted. “Cough once,” he added. I opened my mouth and let out a cough.

            This was ridiculous. I could only shake my head as I turned around and repeated the process. Only in San Tera would they make you follow prison procedures for a jailhouse. I stood up straight and lowered my hands to my side. The officer picked up my clothes, put them in a bag, and threw me the inmate outfit.

            “Hurry up and get dressed,” he commanded, leaving the room.

I got dressed slowly and walked out of the room. From there Raquan and I switched places. While I had my fingerprints scanned, Raquan was forced to strip.

            By the time the whole admitting process was over, I was put in an ice cold holding cell. The small room only had a steel toilet and a concert seat that was fused to the wall. I put my arms in my too large v-neck jail shirt and curled into a ball. There was no way I was going to get any sleep tonight.

            The next morning a different correction officer unlocked the door to my cell. “Put hands together in front of you and get on the wall,” he ordered, entering the room. Tired, and weary, I stepped to wall and placed my hands before me. I felt the metal handcuffs lock on my wrist.