“Empty your pockets on the table and take out your shoelaces,” demanded a seasoned gruff-talking man from the opposite side of a stout wooden table, which was old and unfinished, splintered and rough like the gruff talker. Both had undoubtedly outlasted their welcome.
Marvin did as he was instructed, flipping his pants pockets inside out, followed by the tedious task of wrestling shoestrings from his leather high-top sneakers. “What, y’all think I might hurt myself with these?” he said, merely as an audible thought and nothing else.
“Probably not,” answered the senior officer standing at the table. “But there’s always the outside chance somebody might decide to use them to hurt you. And that fancy timepiece of yours, you might want to hand that over too. Some folks will fight over anything when they get bored.” Upon hearing that, Marvin’s leisurely pace increased to the point of breakneck speed. In the blink of an eye, he quickly complied, thus completing his check-in to what many called the “gray bar motel.”
The cell he was shown to wasn’t accommodating, to him or the other fifteen or so men camped on the bolted-down bench and dirty cement floors. The only toilet they had access to was a stainless steel bowl, filthy, reeked of urine and bile, and was positioned out in the open against the furthest wall. Privacy was not an offered amenity for a kennel packed with stray mutts. Marvin’s temper flared then, feeling helpless and enslaved. He grabbed the nearest bench to the cell door and plopped down on it.
Not fifteen seconds had passed before a country mouse scurried across the floor. Two young white men, who both appeared to be around nineteen, darted after it, swiping at the frightened animal with their rolled up T-shirts.
“Grab it!” one of them yelped. Trap that thing with your shoe!”
“Then what?” the other hollered back. “Let it bite me?”
“Don’t worry, it won’t put its mouth on your funky butt.”
“Why not? Your sister did last night, twice!” his companion quipped. As quick as that, their focus on catching the rodent disappeared. A real live Texas Cage wrestling match broke out between them. Several of the men looking on began hollering helpful suggestions. Marvin was one of the few not at all interested in the free floor show. Two skinny teenagers scrapping for the heck of it wasn’t his idea of entertainment. Before either had sustained a single bruise, the corrections officer swaggered down the block to take a look.
“Uh-huh, just what I thought,” the broad, muscle-bound black man grunted through the cell bars. “If y’all want to wear yourselves out, be my guests, but if one of you gets hurt, I’ll have to fill out a report, and believe me, you do not want me to put down my newspaper to fill out a report.” Before he turned and marched off in the same direction he came from, the scrawny young men had clothed themselves and found a quiet place not far from Marvin’s feet.
“You better be glad the CO saved you,” one said to the other.
“Whatever, if that’s what you want to think,” his partner replied. “Know what? I’m hungry.”
Now that was something Marvin agreed with. “Hey, when do they get around to feeding us?” he asked the harmless scrappers in particular, hoping that anyone with knowledge of the dining schedule would answer.
“I don’t know,” they said in unison, before chuckling about it like boys in a gymnasium. “We only just got here ’bout two hours ago.”
“And they haven’t learned jack yet,” offered a heftily built man, raisin brown, waking from a nap. “See, I done told them once to sit down and be still. If I have to say it again, ‘the man’ is gonna be writing two reports, serious injury reports.” Both teenagers huddled up closer to each other. Marvin had no reason to discount his gripes, the scrappers didn’t chance it. There wasn’t another peep out of them for hours.
During that time, the cell had evolved into a mini-community with separate factions debating sports trivia and which female movie stars they’d get into bed if the opportunity ever presented itself. Although Marvin refused to join in and toss another worthless opinion on the heap along with theirs, it did get his mind off of the fix that held him in check like a school yard bully. He even noticed laughter pouring out of his mouth when the mountainous raisin called dibs on Halle Barry after Vivica Foxx’s name had been passed through too many lips. Like the giant ever had a chance with either of the screen sirens, Marvin mused quietly, until he realized that he had actually entertained sleeping with a woman other than Chandelle. Then he was angry with her all over again.
The squeaky wheels of the dining cart caused him to salivate. He couldn’t remember having been so ravenous. Whatever they were handing out, he was determined to wolf it down without wasting a crumb. Unfortunately, his determination and appetite waned as soon as the trustee handed out styrofoam cups of watered-down Tang, and then tossed out ziplock baggies stuffed with sandwiches, every last one of which was baloney.
Marvin didn’t know it, but he was being watched, observed. Several of the men sharing the den with him noted how he passed on the entrée of the evening. They had previously discussed the fact that he’d been standoffish and reluctant to become a functioning part of the group.
Eventually, he was forced to account for his presence among them. Minutes after the remnants of their meals had been collected, Marvin smelled the most rancid odor brushing by his face. He groaned sorely, holding his hand over his mouth and nose. Tears filled his eyes when they began to burn. Both of the young men sat closely together, glaring at the man on the toilet, the one who’d taken their sandwiches for his own as a penalty for disturbing his rest. It was the strangest thing, Marvin thought, when they were summoned to the raisin’s throne to provide amusement while he used the facilities.
“Go on and make me laugh now that I done ate,” he commanded them with a broad, majestic gesture. They didn’t have the energy or nerve to defy him, despite his cruel and unusual request. Incredibly, they belted out the lyrics of one rap song after the next, while holding their noses. Marvin, viewing the spectacle, was opposed to the way both men had been degraded for sport. It was just plain wrong he reasoned, and he’d be willing to risk his health before giving in like them.
“Hey, you!” the big man yelled in his direction. Marvin didn’t look his way so he yelled a second time. “Hey, you, college boy! Yeah, I can tell ’cause you think you’re too good for pimp steak! Come over here.”
Marvin looked at the man with his pants gathered around his ankles, then at the others betting he’d do as he was told. “What you want with me, man?” he shouted back, buying time more than anything else. He’d already decided he was going all right, but he had to make it appear that he had a choice in the matter.
“Right now, I just want to rap with you,” the big man answered, with his words trailing off at the end. Before he’d explained what might be up for discussion later on, Marvin dragged his feet across the cell floor.
Avoiding eye contact, Marvin coughed and sputtered. “Hmmm…What is it, man?”
“I’ve been wondering something every since you got put in here with us. What’d did they get you for? I mean, a clean-cut fella like you couldn’t have been doing too much of nothing to get locked up on a Sunday afternoon.” The begrudging frown Marvin wore then caused the “king for a day” to chuckle. “Man, don’t be shame. They got all of us in here for something. You the onliest one we don’t know what for.”
Marvin ran down the giant’s rationale, thinking why he should tell them anything about this private life; then he factored in the ridiculousness of his current plight. He was in midst of a pantless terror-wielding tyrant and his court, all awaiting his response. Marvin couldn’t see himself still standing there once the man finished his business and then proceeded to get up, so he answered, although with an ounce of trepidation, “Man, they picked me up on some bull—”
“Yeah, you and me too. So, what did they bust you on?” he asked, his patience wearing thin.
“Domestic abuse,” Marvin sighed, so quietly no one was sure what he
said.
“Come again, college boy?”
“I said they brought me in on domestic abuse.” No one made a sound for a few seconds, then as if on cue, the entire cell erupted into riotous clamor. Marvin didn’t understand it until the laughter subsided.
“No disrespect, college boy, it’s just that we all thought you said you got popped for beating on your old lady.”
“Uh-huh, some bull—”
“Move back, college boy,” his majesty huffed finally. “I figured you for a meth’ dealer out in the suburbs. We already got three of those, two armed robberies, a whole bunch of grand-theft autos, and one assault with a deadly weapon.” The way everyone was staring at Marvin, he knew who the most serious crime belonged to before the tyrant claimed it. “I’ll be sent up tomorrow if that dude I shanked don’t make it out of surgery. He should have kept to mail handling instead of trying to backdoor my old lady. She’s got us both facing life now. Mine for his.” Marvin’s eyes dimmed when he heard the bully gasp to keep from bawling. He waved Marvin away, dismissing him once and for all.
Three detention officers appeared just after midnight. They came to segregate the tyrant for early transportation when his victim died on the operating table. He didn’t fuss when they shackled his hands and feet with chains, but he did take a minute to say his good-byes. “Don’t ever let your love for no female get your freedom papers revoked, college boy,” he said jokingly to Marvin, who stood instinctive as a salute.
“All right, then,” he answered solemnly. “Take care up there.” Not that Marvin knew exactly where up there happened to be, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to say.
Not another word was spoken throughout the night. Those who couldn’t sleep traded uncomfortable glances and an unexplainable level of sadness for the man who intimidated them. A death row inmate was hailed as a man among boys in the joint, and they were there to witness his rise into the big time, an honor that no one aspired to.
11
Somebody’s Lying
As soon as the breakfast wagon made its run, Marvin gobbled up a runny egg sandwich and cold sausage patties, which he was glad to have. He didn’t even mind it when some of the other men teased how “college boy” had found his appetite. Marvin’s stomach was satisfied, but his nerves had worn thin. Having Chandelle come and bail him out wasn’t an option as far as he could see. She was the reason he’d been incarcerated among felons and murderers. There had to be another way to turn.
The long line for telephone privileges provided him time to think. Who could he call to help him, he wondered, with enough money to make a difference? Five minutes before his turn came, so did his answer. Marvin discovered a piece of paper stuffed in his back right pocket. He hated to put someone in an extremely awkward position, but having to deal with Chandelle before he was ready weighed in as an ugly alternative. After flicking the small rectangular card over and over again in his hand, he lifted the phone receiver and made a collect call that changed his life.
With a long line of inmates stacked behind him, Marvin punched the numbers in a slow, methodical manner. He didn’t think he’d get an answer, but the third ring proved him wrong. “Marvin,” he announced, when prompted by the automated operator to do so. Suddenly, his face softened when he heard her voice. “Who, Felton?”
“No, it’s Marvin Hutchins this time. I don’t know why I’m here, but I am. No, I’ve never been locked up before. Huh?” he said, turning to glance at the men trying to listen in. “It’s hard to go into right now. So, you know I don’t have a lot of time on this phone, but you’re gonna make me come with it.”
Marvin had no choice if he wanted a shot getting her assistance. It was a discussion worth having despite its disparaging nature. “Okay, me and Chandelle got into it over me working so much and hanging out to blow off a little steam. Playing around got out of hand and the neighbors called the law. No, I didn’t hit her,” he explained fervently. “I’ve never hit a woman and I’m not trying to start now. I don’t know what to do. We have about three grand in savings after the down payment on the house, but that won’t get a decent lawyer.” There was an interruption on the line, a beep signaling there were only ten seconds left before the call terminated. “Look, they’re saying I gotta get off, but thanks for accepting the charge. I didn’t know who else to call. Bye, Kim.”
Marvin stepped back from the phone, turned, and walked way. He’d learned from the attending CO that his case wasn’t due to go before the judge to be arraigned until later that evening or on the morning of the following day because the men arrested ahead of him were awarded earlier appearance slots. Prepared to sit and wait, Marvin was surprised when an officer walked up to the cell door before lunch and called his name.
“Marvin Hutchins, you’re up.”
“Whaaaat?” came from every direction at once from the others booked before Marvin. “I’ve been here since Friday night,” one of the men protested.
“And me since Saturday morning,” another yelled.
“He’s on the fast track,” the detention office said, guessing mostly. “And you’re not. So shut up and move back,” he warned when they crowded behind Marvin.
At a loss for words, Marvin shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, fellas,” he muttered.
“Yeah right, college boy,” someone heckled from the pack of usual suspects.
Marvin walked in front of the man who’d arrived just ahead of the baloney sandwiches. “Hey, man, can a brotha get a toothbrush before I see the judge?” he asked.
“What, are you trying to get a date? This is jail, homie. Funky breath comes with the territory.”
“I’ll take that as a no,” Marvin concluded. When the officer scoffed at his question, Marvin felt foolish for asking it. “Thought so.”
“When we get inside, keep your mouth shut and don’t do anything unless you’re told. I’ll hitch you to the chain and someone will unhook you to go in front of the judge.” Marvin nodded that he’d understood. “They told me a lady pulled some strings to get you kicked this soon. You must be somebody.”
Marvin entered the cluttered courtroom thinking how insignificant he had become in such a short time. Then he remembered how Chandelle’s boss Grace was married to a high-priced lawyer. Wallace was likely his ace in the hole. Who else had the clout to get him pushed up in the chain gang wading pool? After Marvin had taken three steps toward the pew of detainees, all connected to a metal wire running through their handcuffs, he caught a glimpse of a familiar face in the rear of the room. Kim Hightower was sitting in the last row near the door. Chandelle wasn’t there, blubbering like the remorseful wife he wanted her to be. There were no “please, let my man come home” theatrics like he’d imagined a million times throughout the night. Chandelle wasn’t anywhere to be seen. On the other hand, Kim’s hopeful smile warmed Marvin’s heart.
Thirty minutes later, after hearing one defendant after the other plead not guilty for a myriad of crimes, it was Marvin’s turn to add his as well. “I’m innocent, your honor,” he said, to the chagrin of the judge. Marvin’s public defender, an overworked 28-year-old-almost giggled. The arraignment segment of the process had been the most boring and uneventful, so his comment was actually funny.
“We have a habit of letting juries decide that, Mr. Hutchins,” replied the balding man behind the broad bench. “A simple plea of guilty or not guilty are your options this morning, your only options.”
“Not guilty, sir,” Marvin said, as assuredly as he could.
“I figured as much,” replied the judge. “Mr. Hutchins’s bail has been procured, I take it?”
A uniformed bailiff flipped pages on a clipboard before speaking up. “Yes, your honor. His papers are in order.”
“Good, we’ll set a trial date and get back to you, Mr. Hutchins. You can come back then and meet the jury,” he joked. “Next case, Houston Escobar come on down.”
“Your judgeship, I’m innocent too,” the defendant shouted, as soon as he faced the
judge’s bench.
“Yeah, us too,” the row of chained inmates cackled like an off-key choir.
“Thank you, Mr. Hutchins,” the judge said sarcastically, as Marvin eased out of the side door with an armed guard trailing him.
The checkout process took less than fifteen minutes. Marvin signed some documents promising to appear for trial; then he had his wallet and keys returned to him in a manila envelope. Kim was pacing in the hall when he exited through the inmate release doors. “I don’t know what to say,” Marvin told her.
“You’ve already said thank you over the phone,” she replied.
“No, not for this. I mean, I wasn’t even supposed to be in court until maybe tomorrow. How did you pull that off?”
“You’ve forgotten.” Kim blushed, with a soft smile. “My brother Felton, remember. I’ve met a lot of good people down here. Some of them owe me.”
“Now I do, too. How can I pay you back?” he asked, calculating a payment plan in his mind. “Hold up, how does a bond work anyway?”
“You don’t belong in here, do you?”
“God, I hope not. I’ve seen some things that I’m ashamed of.”
“Then I don’t want to know anything about them,” Kim said, passing on the chance to play catch up. “I have a long day ahead of me, but I can make time to take you home.”
“I’m not ready to go there yet, but I could use a decent meal and a bath.”
“And…a tooth brush,” Kim quickly informed him. “Yep, kinda stale.”
Shamed, Marvin placed his hand over his mouth. “I know I’m busted right now, but I’m going to prove myself worthy of your trust and all you’ve done for me. Besides, you must have believed I was innocent or you wouldn’t have stood up for me.”
“For one, it’s not guilty. Two, you didn’t strike me as the wife-beater type. I can usually spot those. Three, you sounded like you really needed a friend. And four, you and Chandelle seem like a happy couple. Despite whatever happened, and it’s none of my business, you should get a real lawyer and patch things up with your woman.”
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