by Mike Gomes
“Bring it here.”
The younger, fitter man came over and handed the camera to his boss.
“Pictures? And what do you need these for?” questioned the leader of the guards. “Can’t you people just leave this kid alone? He was found innocent, but you all need to keep following him and his family. No more!!”
He dropped the camera to the ground next to Falau’s head and stomped his shoe down hard on it, breaking the lens off the camera. Kicking down over and over again, the camera smashed into a hundred pieces exposing the electronics inside. Reaching down, the leader plucked the SD card from the rubble.
“You’re not going to be needing this anymore,” he said, tucking it into his inside jacket pocket.
A siren filled the air from the distance though it was unmistakably getting closer. Falau let his body relax, knowing the police would give him some level of protection from the thugs who were insistent on beating him to within an inch of his life.
“Good, police are on the way. Perfect,” said the gunman sarcastically as he turned back to Falau, who had now pulled himself to his knees. The gunman smiled and kicked as hard as he could into Falau’s stomach. Blood spewed from his mouth as he dropped face down onto the ground. Gravel from the ground decorated his cheeks as he struggled to lift his head.
The police car came to a screeching halt as Falau slowly made it back to his knees. A middle-aged police officer jumped from the car, moving quickly to the leader of the guards. Trying hard to push himself into a standing position Falau fell again as vertigo struck him while trying to find his balance.
“So, this is the guy?” asked the police officer pointing down to Falau. “Get him on his feet.”
Two of the guards lifted Falau up, causing extreme nausea, his legs wobbling from the beating he had just taken.
Grabbing Falau’s face with his hand the police officer pulled himself in close. “You have a problem with authority, don’t you? Well lucky for you I specialize in fixing things like that.”
“He broke into the house and attacked the family. He seems like he might be a good candidate for a night time trial with Judge Steinburg,” commented the guard leader.
“Consider it done.”
The guards gathered their things and started to leave as Falau was pushed into the back of a patrol car by his face.
Sitting in the back of the car Falau looked out the front window and saw the leader of the guards talking with the police officer. Then he handed him an envelope, and Falau realized that a payoff was taking place and it was all about him and whatever the night time trial was. Falau only hoped it wasn’t code for being taken out into the country and shot in the head.
Chapter 13
A hand reached out, grabbing him hard by the collar of his shirt, and shoved him forward toward the door of the police station. Trying to resist the shoving Falau bristled, but was easily controlled by the police officer.
Entering into the back door of the police station Falau took notice of all the security cameras. Anyone coming in or out of the station was caught on camera. The building was modern, and an influx of money to the suburbs for municipal improvement projects had resulted in new fire and police stations. The door to bring in a prisoner was far removed from the movies of the past, where a man would be dragged in and banged against the sergeant’s desk. Falau was being taken in a door, far out of the public eye, and lower than the ground level at the front of the building.
Banging through the door he noticed the booking area set up for fingerprints and pictures was dead ahead. In the background behind a steel door he could hear the echoed muttering of men and women in cells, spouting off about how they were not the kind of people who should be in there.
Shoving him against the fingerprinting table the police officer leaned up against Falau’s back and spoke directly into his ear. “I am going to take your cuffs off now. If you try anything, there are more than fifteen armed police officers on duty tonight. One of us will kill you if you try to run. Is this clear to you?”
“Yes. You will get no problem from me.”
“Good.”
The key turned and the cuffs popped open. Falau made sure not to move his hands, and left them behind his back, motionless. The officer pulled back.
“Well done. Now place your hands on the fingerprint station.”
Falau strictly followed the directions of his captor, making sure not to go astray.
“Why are your fingerprints inconsistent? The patterns have been disrupted,” remarked the police officer.
“I’m a metal worker so my hands get cut up a lot.”
“So you say. Sometimes career criminals or people with something to hide change their fingerprints.”
Falau grunted, dismissing what the officer said as if he had never heard anything so ridiculous. “Can I see a nurse or doctor? I have some bad injuries.”
“You should not have attacked them.”
“Attacked them? They beat the shit out of me, and I got arrested. I’m shocked you didn’t fine me for littering because I bled on the ground!”
“You better not forget who you’re dealing with! You keep yapping your mouth you’ll get more of what you got on the street. You’re screwing with the wrong people. Mr. Wise is a pillar of this community. He built this new station for us. He helps the locals. The trial proved his son was set up and the investigation was faulty. You remember that, and what he can do to you if he wants.” The officer banged his fist down hard on Falau’s fingers, breaking two against the table.
“AAAAHHHHHH!” screamed Falau, pulling his hand close to his body and hunching over it. “Why?”
“Shut up!”
Grabbing him by the shirt the officer pushed Falau forward, crashing him against the door frame. Pounding his body again, the door triggered open and revealed a bank of cells holding a selection of prisoners. The cells were segregated by sex and ethnicity.
“Looks like you need to make some new friends,” said the officer with gritted teeth as he opened a cell with only African-American men in it. “You take your KKK march and shove it,” he said, loud enough for all the prisoners to hear, and causing several of the African-American prisoners to turn and inspect their new cell mate.
Chapter 14
FALAU HIT THE FLOOR hard and face first. His battered body struggled hard to fight against the impact, but the cold unforgiving cement of the floor did little to sooth the injuries as his cheek pressed against the harsh ground. His facial wounds reopened and blood started to flow again.
Rolling over Falau’s eyes opened, taking in the whole room. Several large African-American men stared down at Falau lying on the ground. Two other men appeared to be passed out on benches, most likely sleeping off drinks from the night before.
A strong, slender black man wearing jeans and a t-shirt tucked into his pants stood up and walked over to the new man lying on the floor.
“So, you’re a white supremacist. Always figured you guys were a lot taller.”
Falau pulled himself into a sitting position and raised his hand, rubbing the back of it across his cheek. Looking down he could see streaks of blood on his hand, and figured he must be an odd sight for his cell-mates.
Falau’s eyes shifted up to the man that now stood over him, looking down with cold, hard eyes.
“You ever hear of a white supremacist that gets beat up by the cops? Especially in a little white town like this?”
The man above him laughed while nodding his head in agreement. “I see what you’re driving at, but me and the brothers can’t take any chances that we’re going to be sharing time with a Klan boy. I’m sure you can understand that.”
“Ya. I guess I can understand that. I’m surprised you’re going to listen to the blonde-haired, blue-eyed cop that dragged me in here.”
Giggling at his own joke Falau looked down at his arm and pulled up his sleeve. Raising his hand up toward the face of the man, he asked, “How many white supremacists or neo-Nazis have olive s
kin?”
The man grabbed Falau by the arm and inspected it more closely, like a teacher looking for a mistake on an exam paper.
“I would get kicked out of their meetings with skin like this.”
Crouching down next to Falau the man dropped his arm. He drew close to Falau and, looking him in the eyes, he smiled. “You make some good points. But we still have the problem that the cops beat your ass and said what they said. How can I let that go? I have a reputation at stake here. Some of these fine men look to me on the street. I can’t just let this slip by.”
“What will it take for you to believe me. How can I prove that I’m not one of those animals?”
“Well... we could just beat you until you tell us, but my guess is that’s what the cops want us to do with you. I have a better idea. You’re no kid. What are you, late twenties, early thirties? Ain’t no guy I’ve ever known that’s been down with a gang or group that didn’t have a tattoo by that age, so he could fly his flag if he had to.”
The man stood up, nodding his head at Falau. “Be cool, this will just take a minute and will make everything fine if you’re telling the truth.”
The man snapped his fingers and the three seated men stood up and approached Falau without hesitation. Two of the men grabbed one arm each and lifted him to his feet in an unceremonious manner.
“Strip him,” demanded the leader, looking Falau in the eye and waiting to see if there was any sign of shock or a struggle.
As the men pulled the shirt up over Falau’s head and pulled down his pants, he held still, not breaking eye contact with the lead man. As a pair of hands grabbed the -band of his underwear Falau cracked a small smile and then stood completely nude in front of all his cellmates.
“I guess you could call that a dick,” said the leader, attempting to be funny but getting no reaction. “You were telling the truth. Sorry for the inconvenience, man. My name’s Tips. At least that’s what my boys back home call me.”
Tips extended his hand and Falau reached out and took it in his own. “Nice to meet you, Tips. My name’s Falau. Not to sound disrespectful, but normally someone buys me dinner before taking my clothes off.”
“Ya, well what can I say? I move fast. Put your clothes on man.”
Falau got dressed in a calm and methodical manner, not wanting his cellmates to think he’d been intimidated by their actions. He still had no idea who they were or what they thought of him.
Tips walked over and sat down with the other men. Waving his hand, he invited Falau to join them on the far side of the cell. Evaluating the cell Falau knew there was no way he could avoid anything. If the men made the choice to take him down he could only fight them off for so long. There was nowhere to retreat to. It was better to make friends with his cellmates and join them, and accept the fact they were all being held in the cell regardless of their skin color.
Sitting down next to Tips Falau looked at the others, who stared back without a word. “Thanks for asking me over,” Falau said in a hushed tone.
“You seem cool,” replied Tips. “Besides, you’re like one of us. Cops beat the shit out of you for nothing. No tattoos at all. No gang, no Aryan nation, not even one for the Red Sox. The only marks on you are the black and blues the boys in blue decorated you with. What did you do to make those boys put such a beating on you?”
“It’s a long story, and honestly I’m not sure why they went so nuts on me.”
“Well if it’s a long story that’s good because we don’t have nothin’ but time in here. It’s the weekend and we don’t even go to court until Monday, and we will all be good friends by then. So what’s the story.”
Falau leaned back and glanced at Tips, a small smirk crossing his face. Could Tips be a plant to get information out of me? he wondered. How much should I give up to a person I just met? Worrying that he’d been given so much slack from his cellmates so quickly made him wonder what their motivation was for wanting to know the story. Maybe it was just to fill the time, but then again, maybe it wasn’t.
“Remember that kid on the news that killed that girl? His name is Wise.”
“Ya. I remember it. Everyone knew he was guilty but he got away with it. Just like OJ. Money talks.”
“I was thinking that I would go over there and check the place out. I took some pictures and hung around for a bit.”
Tips sat up straight up in his chair and shook his head at Falau. “You fuckin’ nuts boy? You don’t go anywhere near that house. Old man Wise is one of the most connected people around. On the street everyone knows Wise has power and money.”
“I know. When I got here I saw they had me down for breaking and entering, but I didn’t get within two hundred yards of that house. Once the cops got there they put the beating on me and brought me here. Guess they didn’t want any resistance.”
Holding back the information that the guards had come out and did most of the beating to him gave Falau a moment to read the reaction of Tip’s face. Did he know about the guards? His reaction was genuine and plain, as if he were hearing the full story for the first time.
“You need to be very careful about what’s going to happen to you next. I got in a fight with the cousin of the Wise kid. Next thing I know three cop cars pulled up to my house and dragged me out. I end up in court with a lawyer telling the judge that I used a bat on the kid and he was in the hospital. They wanted me facing an attempted murder charge. The truth is that I bumped into him at a club and spilled his drink on my shirt! He shoved me, so I punched him. Bunch of dudes jumped in and stopped the whole thing. Next day the cops came. I did three years at county lockup for that shit! Three years for a glancing punch in a night club. Worst thing is they wanted me away for life.”
Falau read the lines on Tip’s face as he spoke, and the passion in his voice was that of a man who had been done wrong. If he were acting then it was the best performance he had ever seen. When Tips spoke of the Wises there was fear in his eyes and he even glanced around the room to see who was listening. If the street was so well aware of the power and underworld ties that the Wise family had, then the police had to know as well.
“They don’t care who they hurt. The father lets the kid kill that girl and who knows how many more, and pays to get him the best legal team in the world,” Falau stated, trying to secure his bond with Tips.
“Man, that trial was over before it ever started. The jury the judge and the DA were all in the bag. Everyone knew it. It’s only the guys in the press that don’t know. And their ain’t nobody in the know that will say a word about it. Too risky.”
“I’m screwed,” said Falau in a hushed tone as Tips nodded his head in agreement.
“Falau! Come on, you’re up,” said a new police officer as he unlocked the cell door.
“Did I get bailed out?” questioned Falau.
“No. Time for your trial.”
“Trial? It’s 8:45pm on a Friday night. How can I be having a trial now?”
“Just shut up and get moving,” said the officer, grabbing his shirt and pulling him from the cell before he closed the door.
Falau looked back at Tips, who had stood up, his eyes wide. He quickly moved to the door of the cell and reached out his hand.
“Good luck, man. Be safe.”
Chapter 15
Falau was ushered hard into the door that led out of the cell block. The guard had little tact, and used Falau as a battering ram to push the door open. With all his knowledge and training Falau instantly felt the police were sloppy for leaving the door open to their cells.
“Get moving, meathead,” snapped the guard who had made his feeling for Falau clear by way of a harsh push into the small of his back. The man was enormous, standing six-feet five-inches tall and weighing 270 pounds, though his weight was not that of a fat man. It was muscle from years of working out. The man resembled a large refrigerator with a head, and his level of tact matched just that.
“The door on the right, and make it fast.”
Not saying a word Falau stretched out his hand and turned the handle quick to open it. He knew that if he had not kept up the pace walking through the door there would be a clear chance for the guard to strike him again, and this time it may be more than just a push.
The door opened into an ordinary office that lacked sophistication in any form. The room had a large two-way mirror covering one wall, and two metal fold-out chairs in front of a basic desk. On the desk sat a phone, a legal pad, and two sharpened pencils. One office chair on wheels sat behind the desk.
The guard grabbed Falau by the shoulder and pushed down hard. “Sit!” he commanded, making Falau’s knees buckle and dropping him hard into the chair. A discernable giggle came from the giant guard as he man-handled Falau. “Hands behind you and through the chair.”
Falau did as he had been instructed knowing that any attempt at escaping would be futile. The only way out would be the way he came in. Between him and that door were several officers, all of who were well-armed. It would be like fishing in a barrel for them if he made a run for it.
The guard grabbed at Falau’s hands hard, pulling them down and through the opening in the back of the chair. Applying the handcuffs he tightened them to the point they were digging painfully into the wrists of his prisoner. “You just keep your mouth shut and this will all be over soon. But you decide to shoot off your mouth, and you will be giving me all the excuses I need to knock all your teeth out. The boys in prison like newbies with no teeth... understand?”
“Yes,” Falau said softly in an attempt to convince the guard he was in a weakened state emotionally, as well as physically.
The door to the office opened without a knock. Another man in a police uniform entered the room, but he had earned stripes on his arm, indicating he was a sergeant on the force.
“Is this the dirt-bag we talked about?” asked the sergeant.
