Pride House: The Quest for Vainglory

by Rob Summers

Chapter 18 The Night Pride Spent in Jail

  Doubt answered the telephone in the middle of the night. Pride, sounding as if he were on the verge of tears, told her she must come bail him out of jail. He had been arrested, he said, mistakenly. If she did not come, he must spend the night in a cell. Doubt listened to all this quietly and then, without a word, replaced the receiver.

  The police took away his clothes and possessions and dressed him in a prisoner’s bright orange jump suit. They put him in a cell with several other prisoners, all of whom were awake even in the small hours of the morning. Rough looking characters, low life, the scum of the city; they looked him over with cool contempt. The room was lit by a brilliant bare bulb in the ceiling. All around, bunks were built into the walls, and in one corner, in plain view of everyone, was the toilet. All the bunks were taken, so Pride, desperately tired, sank down on the floor.

  From the bunk opposite him, one of the prisoners eyed him closely. He was a mean-faced man with a ponytail and a wild beard, bad teeth and a nose so ugly it looked like a Halloween trick.

  “First time for you, huh? What’d they get you for?”

  Pride felt he had better answer. “I’m charged with assault and disorderly conduct,” he said, breathing hard. “But it’s a frame up.”

  “Yeah? Who framed you?”

  Again he was intimidated into answering, although he felt he should not. “Mr. Power,” he said.

  The prisoner swore. “Then you ain’t got no chance. You’re convicted. Your life’s gonna be hell from here on in. You just don’t get on the bad side of Power. All the judges are in his pocket. Don’t bother praying, neither. God Almighty couldn’t get you out of this one. Better plead guilty.”

  “Anguish is right,” said a thin, light-haired man with a sunburn. “You blew it bad. Who was it you worked over?”

  “I didn’t,” said Pride. “I just held my girlfriend by the arm.”

  “Who’s she? Somebody important, right?”

  “She’s—Fame Vainglory.”

  At these words a black man at the end of the room turned and stared. Another prisoner hooted loudly from an upper bunk, a pudgy and unshaved man with owl-like glasses.

  “You beat up Fame? Who’d you think you are, the blinkin’ President? Look at ’im, this kid thought he was gonna be boss man to Fame Vainglory.” He laughed again cruelly.

  Pride wanted to scream at him to shut up, but he was afraid. No guard was in sight.

  “You gotta be Pride, if you’re tellin’ the truth. I seen you in the paper with Fame. Geez, you was sitting perty, weren’t you? Looked like the Prince of Wales in them pictures. Well, now you know you’re no better than the rest of us, probably worse. Or maybe you still think you’re somethin’. Watta you think, Regret? Don’t he look like he think’s he’s somethin’, sittin’ over there as far from us as he can, like we was infectious?”

  “Yeah, he thinks he’s somethin’, Mockery.” The sunburned man leaned forward and looked into Pride’s face with revolting intimacy. “And you could of been something. All you had to do was keep your head on straight. All you had to do was play their game, and you’d of been on top of the heap. And you know you don’t get no second chance, not with Fame.”

  “Your name’s gonna be dragged through the mud now,” added Anguish. “It’ll be on the TV news tomorrow, and everyone you know will see it. And they ain’t gonna never forget. You’ll carry this to your grave.”

  Pride slid back against the bars. He was sick, dazed. In his pursuit of Vainglory, he had thought he had known the limit of suffering. He had known nothing. Those were happy times compared to this.

  The black man now spoke.

  “Come over here and let me talk to you,” he said, pointing to the end of his bunk.

  “Sure, that’s what you need,” chirped Mockery. “Go confess your sins to the Reverend. Then you’ll feel all better.”

  The black man seemed less threatening than the others, so Pride dragged himself to the bunk and leaned back with his head against the wall.

  “Why do they call you the Reverend?” he asked.

  “I’m a pastor,” the man answered. “I’m in here for street preaching.”

  Slowly Pride’s mind made the connection. “You’re the man Reason was seeing for her eyes. And she was claiming you were a doctor, but then I read about you in the paper this morning. It seems like weeks since this morning.”

  “It was yesterday morning, man. We’re all gonna be led over to the courthouse at nine o’clock, and that’s just a few hours away. It’ll be light soon.”

  Pride had not imagined that his case would be heard so quickly.

  “Is it true that Power owns the judge?”

  “It’s a fact. But you’ve got worse facts than that to contend with.” Truth caught and held Pride’s eye. “You got to face it, you never should have taken charge at your house. Sure you got freedom, but look what comes of it. Shame, man.”

  “You’re right,” said Pride. Then he had to pause, for his voice was breaking. He took some deep breaths. “I should—have put—Reason in charge,” he gasped.

  “No man, not her. Humility. Faith. Those are the right people. Reason, too, but not without them.”

  “Those—those con artists?”

  “They’re the best people in town,” Truth said. “They could have kept you out of this.”

  But Pride was already moving away. He sat down in his former spot, back to the bars. Immediately, the other prisoners took up where they had left off.

  “Did you get all your sins washed away?” asked Mockery.

  “It’ll take more than a jailbird preacher to save you,” said Anguish. “You think it’s bad in here? Wait till that judge looks you over, and you’ll wish you was back in this cell.”

  So went the night.