by Bob Bidecant
2.11
The Sergeant looked at the officer,
‘What make you think he is part of the gang involved with these missing immigrants, Sir?’
‘Well when we arrived we found the girl dead and him out cold on the floor, at first we thought he was a victim. One of the lads shook him awake to find out what had happened but as soon as he came around and saw the uniform he went berserk and stabbed him.’
‘So that is what makes you think he was in the gang?’
‘If he wasn’t guilty why did he attack us? He was attempting to escape. Maybe they fought over the girl and then got into a fight with each other. It has happened before when a woman is involved. Maybe the other gang members did him over and left him for dead. Anyway even if he isn’t part of the gang that killed the girl he murdered one of my men and he will hang for that.’
‘Maybe he thought he was still being attacked when he came around.’ Said the sergeant quietly to himself
The window in the door crashed open and a guard shouted at Jaak to place his hands where they could be shackled. They then opened the door and took Jaak by the arms to the commanding officer who was also the local magistrate. Jaak had no idea what they spoke about, he watched as several soldiers and one civilian point to him, the soldiers all nodding their heads and the civilian raising his arms and shrugging several times. Then they all looked at the magistrate who spoke loudly and then hit the desk with his wooden gavel.
‘He is to be kept in custody without bail, move him from the holding cells to a more secure prison first thing tomorrow. When the commissioner returns we will set a date for the trial.’ he said formerly,
‘Get the artist to create a picture of his face and get it sent out, maybe he is wanted somewhere else. Take him down.’
2.12
‘You’re fucking late again, you fat git.’ the guard shouted at Jim.
‘Sorry, I have been away for a few days, where is Morris?’ said Jim without giving a further reason why he was twenty minutes late.
‘Morris is sick, so you’re on your own tonight, there’s only one prisoner tonight in cell three, and I hope the noise of his wanking keeps you awake all night.’ the guard left slamming the door leading to the street behind him.
‘What is he in for?’ Jim called after him.
‘Make sure you don’t open his door.’ He called back. Jim didn’t hear him, he emptied his left coat pocket and placed a large pack of sandwiches on his desk. Then he emptied the right one and removed a large bottle of cheap gin. He was very overweight, always hungry and had an alcohol and drug addiction. Normally Morris and he took it in turns to nap during the night shift and about eleven every night he went out to buy food for them both, taking the opportunity to smoke the cocaine he always hid in his inside jacket. Tonight he had to make his sandwiches last all night, shit why hadn’t he made more. Jim had been drinking all day, normally the night shift was so easy that there was plenty of time to sleep. He tipped a large glass of gin into a dirty metal coffee cup and took a sandwich from the pack. He rolled up his jacket and pushed it behind his back to make the wooden chair more comfortable then bit into the bread. It was going to be a long night. After two sandwiches and three cups of gin his head started to drop as tiredness overtook him.
‘Fuck it.’ he said loudly, he needed his cocaine. He locked the front door leading out to the street and then went out to the cells where the toilet was situated so nobody could see him from the outside. He took his cocaine and wiped his nose. A feeling of euphoria came over him and he giggled to himself as he began to walk back to the office. As he passed cell three he opened the small window and looked inside. Jaak was asleep on the small uncomfortable bed. Jim stared at his face.
‘Mikael, Mikael Bloody Buitekant.’ he shouted. ‘What the fuck have you been up to?’
Jim couldn’t believe that his old friend was inside the cell. He and Mikael had been school friends and served together in the militia years before. He immediately put the key in the lock and opened the cell door. These cells were for drunks to sleep it off or the odd thief. He entered smiling,
‘Mikael, were you drunk or have you been fighting again.’ He pulled up the chair and sat opposite Jaak, the drugs and drink combining to relax him. Jaak sat up on the bed and looked at the open cell door, then at the fat man smiling at him from the chair opposite him. Jaak smiled back and stood up.
