Even Sinners Still Have Souls

by Joy, E. n.

  Maybe some of these guards should read this thought Kemo.

  Kemo stood there for a short while longer and then noticed that he was beginning to nod off. He looked at the filthy floor and couldn’t believe what he was actually considering. But he knew that there was no other way to get some sleep. He walked to an area of the cell where there seemed to be barely enough space for him to lie down. I’m gonna need a good shower after this, thought Kemo as he bent his knees down, sat on the floor and then stretched out his entire body across the stain covered floor. He got as comfortable as he could and then had a sudden thought. He looked at the Bible the officer had given him. “Guess you gon’ come in handy for something besides reading after all,” he said and then placed the Bible on the floor and rested his head on it. Almost instantly he fell asleep.

  One hour later, everyone in Kemo’s cell was awoken by the sound of several dangling keys scraping the door. A deputy opened up the cell to begin issuing the inmates’ wrist bands that would show both their photo and their PFN, which stood for prisoner file number.

  “When you hear your name, step out and walk to the photo area to have your picture taken and to be given your PFN wristband,” said the deputy.

  “What’s a PFN?” Kemo asked the big, friendly inmate.

  “It’s like a social security number for criminals. Anyone who ever sets foot inside a Jail gets one,” the big inmate informed Kemo.

  Once everyone was fully awake, some inmates began talking amongst themselves about the system, their crime, or about the condition of which ever city they belonged to. When everyone was tagged, the officers closed and locked the door on the cell. Several inmates tried to resume sleeping, including Kemo, but found it to be a little more difficult this time around because of the sound of the voices that the other inmates made as they continued talking to one another. The talking inmates soon tired, and also began falling asleep.

  Another hour later, the cell door came open once again and a deputy who was holding a sheet of paper began saying, “Okay, listen up for your name. When you hear your name, step out; give me the last three numbers of your PFN and step inside the bus.” It was time for the inmates to be transferred to County to await court.

  Once the front area of the bus where Kemo and his cellmates were riding in was completely filled to the max, they began bringing in all the protective custody inmates and the female inmates. The back of the bus had several caged in seating areas. There, gang members were placed to avoid conflicts with rival members. High profile inmates were also placed in those cages along with “J Cats” or category J inmates. Those were the mentally unstable prisoners.

  The last group to step inside the bus was the female inmates. Several male inmates began hollering and cat calling at the nice looking female inmates, while insulting the bad looking ones.

  “What’s wrong, li'l mama? Why you look all sad? The game ain’t gon’ stop cuz you got caught. You’ll be out soon enough, making that paper once again, girl,” said a young male inmate to a young female inmate who appeared to be a prostitute because of her revealing clothes and high heels. “This ain’t nothin’ but a li’l bump in the road. Ya feel me, sweetheart? We all go through it. Don’t let it discourage you; let it encourage you to make you that much more slick out here in these streets, li’l mama,” continued the young inmate.

  He soon had her smiling, talking, and laughing. They exchanged info and promised to hook up later in the streets. Down the road, the young inmate knew she would be working for him.

  All the while, the other inmates were busy laughing as a few inmates hurled insults at the old and unattractive female passengers. “Oh no, wait. We got one that’s been wounded. Her face all messed up. We have a medical emergency officer,” said a chubby inmate as an old, crack addicted woman stepped inside the bus.

  “Whatever sucka,” said the old woman in a raspy voice. Then all the male inmates began laughing hysterically.

  “Show us something,” asked a young male passenger. A pretty chubby young lady was stepping in when she heard the comment. She looked like she hadn’t slept since they took Arsenio Hall off the air. She curled a smile, revealing a few missing teeth, as she flashed the fellas in the bus. Her large sagging breasts flopped out of her bra and rested on her stomach.

  “Uggggh,” said almost all the front passengers in unison when they saw her stretch mark covered breasts come down.

  “Aw, naw, that broad don’t belong here. She belongs in a circus,” said someone out of Kemo’s view.

  “She in here fo’ murda! She slapped her man with one of them and tore his head off,” said another elderly passenger. They continued their verbal assault until the bus was turned on and the driver pulled out of the city jail building.

  “Turn the radio on,” hollered out a fellow passenger who was a few rows behind Kemo. The deputy driving hit a switch and an old school R & B station came on. Almost every passenger was busy talking to someone else. Kemo only stared out of the bus’s barred up window, as he wondered how different the world looked from the inside of a jail bound bus.

  When they arrived at the county jail, Kemo and several other passengers stood up and stretched their bodies. The seats in the bus were made of metal. They were not built for comfort. Once again, names were called out by the officers, and PFN numbers were given by the inmates. The same group of men that were with Kemo in the city jail cell were all placed together in a cell along with Kemo.

  They were moved from room to room until they made it to the nurse’s office for a T.B shot. She robotically gave them all their shot without a trace of gentleness. Afterwards they were moved to the last room before they were assigned their sleeping quarters. It was the dress-in room. It was the largest of all rooms that Kemo had been inside since being arrested. There, every single person who set foot inside a city jail that night was placed in that room to wait for the County jail issued uniforms. The room was almost identical to the first cell where Kemo was held. The only differences were the appearance of more graffiti, its size, and what looked to Kemo to be a gated down small window in the corner of the room.

  Almost an hour later nearly fifty men stood in that room. Some had their shirts off due to the overwhelming body heat, and others with their shirts wrapped around their faces to ward off the intoxicating odor of men who hadn’t bathed in a while. The gate to the window where they received their uniform finally came open. Once again names and PFNs were exchanged. The inmates were handed a clear plastic bag that contained a uniform, socks, boxers, rubber sandals and a hygiene bag.

  Soon, everyone undressed, stuffed their street clothes in the plastic bag and handed it back to the officer on the other side of the window. Soon afterwards, they all had on their freshly acquired county blues, some highly used, smelly rubber sandals, and a hygiene pack that contained a toothbrush, soap, comb, and a small razor to shave with. The razor was far too thin and flexible to be used as a weapon.

  A deputy then came to the door, opened it, and said in a low voice, “Listen up for your name. When you hear your name, give me the last three numbers of your PFN.” Everyone was chatting with each other loudly, so no one was able to hear what the deputy had said.

  “Noise check, y’all!” said an inmate who appeared to have entered many prisons in his lifetime. He was big, tall, muscled up, and tattooed up. But even his plea to quiet down fell on distracted ears.

  “Okay, you guys don’t want to go to a nice bed; I’ll leave you in here for another hour, how’s that?” said the deputy as he shut the cell’s door and walked away.

  “Come on, y’all! Keep quite when he shows up, so we can get up out of here, man!” yelled the buff inmate. Everyone stood in silence for a few seconds, then resumed chatting.

  A few minutes later, the deputy appeared again with several sheets of paper in his hand. He opened the cell door and said, “You buttholes ready now?”

  “Noise check!” screamed the buff inmate. Everyone quieted down that time around instantly, exc
ept for an old paisa who was still talking to another paisa in Spanish about his case. The buff inmate turned and looked in the direction of the two talking Piasas and said, “Piasas! Noise check!”

  “Sorry my friend,” said one of the piasas in a thick Spanish accent. Everyone, including the deputy, chuckled at the frightened Piasa’s comment.

  One by one the inmates stepped out and were handed bed rolls that contained two sheets, a wool blanket, and towel. Every inmate now stood in line outside of a long hallway waiting for further instructions.

  “Keep your mouths shut as we walk down the line. I hear anyone talk while we’re still in the building and I’ll bring every one of you back here and you won’t see a bed ‘til tomorrow. Right shoulders to the wall. Let’s go,” hollered the deputy.

  All that was heard as the inmates marched down the long hallway was the sound of several rubber sandals slapping the shiny waxed white floor. When they made it to the end of the hallway, a large blue sliding door began to open. Beyond the door was the mainline recreational yard. Kemo was surprised to see that it was actually quite large. The yard had four separate basketball courts, a volleyball area, a baseball field, a hand ball wall, a workout area with several pull up bars, and a walking path on the edge of the entire yard.

  The inmates and officer stayed on that walking path. They kept stopping at different doors that were located on one side of the yard. At every door stop, a small group of men were called out and told to step inside. They were all being assigned to the different units of the jail. When Kemo’s name was finally called out, he stepped through the door and was told by the deputy to leave his roll outside in the hall and to step inside a tiny room where a small group of men waited with him to be taken to the place where the beds were kept. The room looked the same as the others, but with no benches. There was only a metallic incased T.V in the front middle side of the white room.

  A few minutes later, another deputy arrived. He opened the door, stepped inside, and commanded, “Turn the television off and line up.” They did as they were told. “Listen to me very carefully, so we can get this out of the way. Take all your clothes off and toss them right in front of you.”

  All the inmates began stripping away. Soon they were all standing completely naked, facing towards the deputy. “Now stick your hands out, and wiggle your fingers.” They followed his instructions. “Now open your mouth and lift your tongue up.” The deputy pulled out his small flash light from his belt and inspected every inmate’s mouth. “Now run your fingers through your hair.” Those with hair that was capable of hiding things ran their fingers through it. “What are you doing?” the deputy asked a bald headed man who was rubbing his fingers on his head.

  “What?” the bald man asked, thinking that he was just following instructions.

  The deputy could only smile at either the man’s nervousness or his stupidity as he continued shouting out orders. “Now turn around and face the wall.” They all turned around. “Lift your right foot up and wiggle your toes.” The deputy scanned all the feet. “Your other right foot buddy,” said the deputy to a man who had lifted his left foot instead. When the officer was done checking the inmates’ feet, he commanded them to do something that Kemo found to be funny and humiliating at the same time. “Now spread your cheeks, squat, and give me three good coughs.” Several coughs were heard all at once, including a fart that had managed to rise above the sound of the coughing men. Everyone laughed, including the deputy.

  With a smile on his face, the Dep then said,” Now turn around, pick up your underwear, and stretch the elastic part. When I’m done checking them, you can put them back on.”

  A short time later when all the clothing had been inspected, the inmates were told to step out of the room, pick up their roll, and then led down a short hallway. Everyone, including Kemo, was given a Pod number. That’s where they were supposed to go to find their bed.

  There was a control room in between two large sliding doors. Above the door to the right was the word WEST, while the other door had the word EAST above it. Everyone was told to pick up a mattress off the floor next to the control room. Kemo couldn’t believe that they actually called it a mattress. It was no thicker than three inches. Kemo and a few others were told to step through the Westside door. The door made a loud click as it slowly began sliding open. Beyond the door was where all the mainline inmates of that unit where held. Kemo and his group walked inside holding a mattress and their roll.

  The unit had two tiers that slightly curved along one side of the area. Kemo stared up and down at it and saw that the inmates were not caged in with bars or doors, but what seemed to be to Kemo like orange plastic fences. In front of those fences, on the outside, were several metallic tables permanently stationed on a carpeted floor. On opposite sides of the unit, were two identical rows of unmovable concrete benches. In front of those benches was a small television set like the ones he had been seeing throughout his visit of the adult jail system.

  Almost immediately after stepping foot inside the unit, many inmates began standing next to the fences and shouting. “Ay, Moe, dude going in your pod ain’t cool. He stole my little sister’s bike,” yelled an inmate at another inmate who was on the other side of the unit. A guy who was in Kemo’s group was entering the pod where the guy receiving the message was. The new guy entering the pod looked unmistakably nervous.

  “He’s just playin’ wit’ you, mang,” said Moe, when he saw that the new inmate looked all shook up. The entire purpose of the shouting was to see who was scared and who wasn’t. Kemo only smiled at the shouting. It was funny to him because he already knew of the tactic from Juvenile Hall. But this was on a much larger scale.

  “I want the blonde one; he looks cute,” said another inmate from the top tier in a manly rough voice.

  Kemo walked up some steps and came to his assigned pod. The door popped open and he nonchalantly stepped inside. He looked around and saw that the pod reminded him of a summer camp or an Army bunker setup. There was a row of bunk beds lined up side by side a short distance from the other side of where the fence was in the pod. Next to those beds were slim vertical windows that had a view of the country side. The pod was swarming with activity despite the time of the night. The lights above were set to be dim, because of the time of the day, Kemo guessed. Kemo also noticed that there was not as much graffiti on the walls as all the other rooms he had been to. There were also a few beds against the side of the pod where the fence was. In the middle of the long pod was a walkway that led to the pod’s restroom area.

  “You a Piasa? an old Hispanic gentleman asked Kemo in Spanish.

  “Yup,” replied Kemo.

  “Your bunk is over here,” said the old Piasa as he led Kemo down the walkway towards the restroom. “Put your mattress here,” said the old man as he pointed to an empty bunk that was located on the fence side of the pod.

  Kemo looked back at the other side of the pod and noticed that area of the pod had mainly black inmates staying on that side, while the side where Kemo and the old man were had mainly White and Hispanic inmates. The pod seemed to be voluntarily split up by race. Kemo didn’t want to waste time thinking about why that was. He began setting up his bed area by lying down the sheets and blanket across the mattress on the upper bunk. Then for the first time in a long time, he prayed. He prayed that he would hurry up and get out of there. But would it be soon enough?

  Chapter Three

  “This is your locker, alright?” said Kemo’s lower bunky. He was a young Hispanic inmate. He was pointing to a locker drawer that was located at the bottom of the bunk bed.

  “Oh, okay. Thanks,” said Kemo as he slid the drawer open and tossed his hygiene bag inside.

  “Every new booty has to take a shower as soon as he gets here,” the young Hispanic informed Kemo.

  “Ah yeah, trust me, I want to. After being in those smelly rooms for hella long, I think I’m gonna take the longest shower I’ve ever had in my life.”

  �
��Yeah, I feel you,” said the young guy. “But before you do, come on. I have to tell you the house rules.” He stood up and walked with Kemo to the restroom area. “First, you could only take a piss in the pisser,” he said as he pointed to a male urinary toilet. “And on the first toilet too,” he said as he then pointed to the area where there was two toilets stationed next to one another. Both toilets were separated by a short wall. “But the last one is strictly for pooping, okay?”

  “Alright,” responded Kemo.

  “When you brush your teeth, you can only spit in the pisser or in the garbage can, not in the sinks. Now, for the most important rule of all and it’s more for your safety than for ours, never take a shower with your sandals off, okay?”

  The shower was made to only accommodate one person, so Kemo pretty much knew why they had made up that rule. “We just don’t want you stepping barefoot on our babies,” said the young Hispanic inmate with a smile. Kemo had to laugh at that comment. After Kemo was told all the rules to the pod, he cautiously showered, brushed his teeth, and then laid down on his bunk to get some much desired sleep.

  Fifteen minutes into his slumber, the bright lights in the pod were all turned on. Kemo was then abruptly awoken by a loud woman’s voice coming from a distorted sounding P.A speaker. “The following people have court today.” Kemo heard the lady call out name after name. Half way through the list, Kemo heard his own name.

  What the…? What time is it? thought Kemo as he sat up to look at the clock on the wall. It was four in the morning. “Man, they have court at four in the morning?” Kemo asked the old Piasa who was, oddly, still awake.