Letters From Will

Chapter Thirteen

Percy

I'm back... back in juvie time-out... or solitary confinement. Here, it has another name: protective custody... From whom I need protection? From myself, apparently. It is a bare cell, the walls are crude concrete, and the cot is also concrete with a thin mattress on top. There is nothing to see, nothing to do, nothing... just me and my thoughts... me and my feelings... And it scares the shit out of me, this box I can cover in three steps.

I lie down on my side on the mattress and pull my knees up to my chin, a fetal position. I try to stop thinking, but it's impossible. I try to stop remembering, but it's impossible. I can remember everything with crystal clarity: the moment I felt the female cops' hands under my arms, the way they pulled hard on my wrists to cuff me, the look on everybody's faces and his eyes... Tom's eyes... haunted, really... and scared... as Ben and Luke held him sitting down.

As I lay down all curled up, I remember every step of the humiliating way I ended up here. Humiliation is a weapon... In fact, everything is a weapon for law enforcement, and they use them expertly: humiliation, silence, noise, physical restraints, room temperature, what they reveal or don't reveal to you, how much and what about they will lie to you, everything.

After I was dragged away from one of Beverly Hills swankiest eateries in front of quite a few crowned heads in the entertainment industry, I was pushed into the back seat of a patrol car, one of the female cops holding my head down. There were other cars, both patrol and unmarked, in front of the restaurant. It looked like an operation to arrest Pablo Escobar. The car stunk of sweat and fear. After the fat cop sat in the passenger seat, we took off, I didn't know where to, and we rode in silence. One thing I learned in juvie all those many years ago: you keep your trap shut!

The patrol car stopped at a nondescript building somewhere in the city and I was yanked out and pulled in. And I was paraded past the cops, the civilians, and the people under arrest or detained for questioning. The lecherous looks I got made me aware of my outfit, the infamous red dress of seduction and red, pointy, fuck-me stilettos. When the fat detective pulled me up to the sergeant on duty, the man asked him if I had been busted for prostitution. "No, possession and distribution of child porn," the fat man answered loud, so everybody could hear him. Felons who commit crimes against children do not fare well in lock-up.

After I got my shoes taken away, for the pointy heels could be used as a weapon, I was taken to the holding cells. There were three of them, two for males and one for females. They put me in that one and I had to stand with my back to the bars as a cop ran his hand down my arm to remove my cuffs. The touch made me gag.

I was lucky, there were just two women already in the cell. One of them was sprawled on the dirty floor, sleeping it off, and she stunk of alcohol to high heavens. The other was an obvious hooker, black and big, hair straightened and dyed yellow. I looked at her with dead eyes, trying hard not to seem frightened, and headed to the farthest corner of the cell, away from the men next door and my "roommates". She studied me as I passed her by and came to squat by my side. "My man's always looking for new meat. Wanna work for him? He protects good."

I lifted my eyes to the woman. I know I have to take her off my case, so I boast. "I have a man, bitch. And he is coming for me. Now, fuck off." If only that were true, but I know it isn't. My "man" is most certainly gone. And I rested my head against the concrete wall, closing my eyes and trying to breathe... just breathe.

I couldn't say how long I was kept in that holding cell. There were no windows and the light was always on, never changing. It warped my sense of time. Food was brought sometimes, but I couldn't eat the bologna sandwiches they fed us. Other women came and went and I waited... and waited... Nobody told me anything, all I knew was some cops from New York were coming to get me.