The Clay Head Benediction
Page 29
positioning their bodies, when the heavy metal doors open again, four police officers come in, and wrestle both of them to the ground. Then, Chip Brady starts to yell “No! No! It was him…fucking Luke! Luke Kolbe!” and the guards lead him handcuffed from the room, and also take the Mouthwash Man away, who is patent and compliant as he is escorted away, and when he reaches the door he turns his head to me and says “see you around.”
After that, the next day in the cell is quiet. The drunks start to sober up, and the ones that are loud a quickly reprimanded by the other more experienced prisoners. Three times they come to feed us, but at some point during the night, both of the toilets broke, and the guards tell us to use the sinks instead, so I decide not to accept any of the meals to avoid having to use the broken toilets. The next morning, the guards begin to call the names of prisoners who will be arraigned. When my name is called, I am escorted into a small room to meet with a woman who does not look old enough to drive who explains that she will be my defender.
“They are going to do everything they can to make this stick to you.” She says
“Can I just plead guilty” I ask
“Not now, I probably wouldn’t recommend it any time soon actually. I looked over your file, and the statement you gave to the police. In general, it is never a good idea to give those types of statements.”
“Oh” I say
“Nothing you can do about it now, but the whole thing comes across as a little glib, so I don’t know how that will play to the court”
“I honestly didn’t think...”
“I know” she says “I actually talked to the Detectives. This whole event was pretty big news as I’m sure you’re aware”
“I wasn’t” I say
“Oh yeah, it was the top story on every local newscast the other night.”
“Really?” I ask
“A lot of people thought it was a legitimate terrorist attack”
“That is what the detectives said” I say
“So, you see, that is why that statement is damaging. There were a lot of people who were genuinely shaken up by this whole thing” she says
“Does that mean I am going to jail?” I ask
“Maybe. We will do our best, but what I can say is maybe. You are definitely going to get a fine. I also see here that you make your living as a real estate agent is that right?”
“Mostly during the summer, yes.”
“Well, that could actually help us. We could argue that since you will lose your license, that...”
“Do you think I will lose my real estate license?”
“I don’t know a lot about it, but I would think so…”
“Wow.” I say
“This is quite a serious thing” she says
“So I’m discovering” I say
“All right, for now, they are going to set your bail...”
“Do you think that could be a lot?” I ask
“It could be” she says “you will need somebody to sign for you. Do you have family in the area?”
“Some, but none that I would want to call” I say
“Well, if you can’t find anybody, you will be moved to the jail, and you will have to wait there until your trial” she says
“Maybe I could ask my boss” I say
“We will see what the judge says first” she says
After that, I am escorted into a small courtroom with another prisoner. The judge is polite to both of us, and when it is my turn, my lawyer makes a quick statement, and the judge launches into a long explanation about the risks of the sort “stunt you pulled”, and then he sets my bond at $10,000. After that, I am lead into a little room where I am given the opportunity to drum up somebody who will come and get me. When I call Ron Reinhold, he is upset, but I explain the whole story to him. For the most part, he isn’t sympathetic, but by fortunate coincidence, he has also been the landlord for a bail bondsman for a number of years, and I manage to convince him that it will a good exercise in customer relations for Ron to make use of the bondsman’s services. Ron agrees, but he also insists that I agree to pay him the $1,000 he will have to pay to the bondsman with 20% interest. After the phone call, I am returned to the holding cell for a few hours, and then finally a deputy comes, and leads me into another room where Ron and the bail bondsman sit grinning at me. There, I sign some papers, and am taken into a different room where I am given a copy of a bunch of documents, and have the property that I taken from me on New Year’s eve returned. Everything is there except for my shoelaces. I decide not to complain, and instead quickly sign the form verifying that my property was returned, and I walk out of the jail to meet Ron.
It is dark when I get outside, and at first, it is hard to find him amidst the little groups of smokers milling around outside, and then I see him, standing alone in his heavy coat.
“Where did the bondsman go?” I say
“He had to leave...he was having a great old time, laughing. ... Telling jokes.”
“See, Ron…like I told you, good customer relations” I say
“I’m not in the mood for jokes” he says
“Sorry, Ron. That is my mistake. Really, I want to thank you so much for doing this for me. The whole thing has been such a mess. I never would have…”
“You are paying me back every bit of that money”
“I know, Ron. I promise. “
“I will take it out of your commissions” he says
“Yeah…about that. The defender said I might lose my license”
Ron throws his hands into the air, and spins around a full revolution on his heel “you have got to be fucking kidding me” he says “then, how the hell am I supposed to get the…”
“I will still work, Ron”
“Yeah, but I didn’t bail you out because you are going to go work for someone else”
“I never said I was going to work for someone else, I’m still the super of my building aren’t I?”
“You better believe you’re the super, and if you can’t the rent apartments, I’m putting you to work on the painting crew until you can pay me back” he says
“See, well there you have it, Ron. A solution”
“..It's a shit solution, and I am going to lose a good rental agent too”
“I might not lose my license” I say.
“No, you probably will. This is just great. This is the kind of thing that always happens to me” he says
“If it's any consolation, I just spent two nights in a holding cell with a broken toilet” I say, smiling back at Ron
“What did I tell you about jokes?” He says
“Sorry”
“You’re the best agent I ever had. I now, you’re going to be a damn felon”
“Does that mean I can’t be the super?”
“Every super I ever had is a felon…normally bullshit from when they were kids..stolen cars when they were eighteen, shit like that…people tend to stay longer and work harder when they can’t just go out and get another job.”
“See. There you go, then” I say “we’re together forever”
“The only one I had that wasn’t a con ended up getting popped for stealing panties out of the girl’s apartments”
“Really?”
“Yeah, it was a big fucking disaster, Luke. Just like this is.” He says
“But you didn’t bail the other guy out?”
“Fuck no, I didn’t bail him out…I almost didn’t bail you out”
“Well, thanks” I say “do you mind if we get going? It is getting kind of cold out here without a coat”
“We aren’t going anywhere…I have dinner plans. ...you are going to have to get another ride home” he says
“Then why were you waiting out here for me?” I say
“To see how you were going to pay me back”
“So, are you satisfied, then?” I ask
“As satisfied as I can be” he says
�
�On the bright side, this thing could string out…maybe it will be a long time before they revoke my license”
“Or maybe I will just let you show apartments without the license because all those license guys can go fuck themselves. “
“That would work too” I say
“All right, smart guy, no more mistakes, ok?” Ron says
And I shake his hand, and Ron walks away to his car, and I stand freezing outside the jail.
The Jail Trail is the fastest way home, also the most direct. It is dark and freezing. After two days of constant noise and light and smells, the silence of dark bike path is particularly unnerving. In response to my fear, and in an attempt to return some warmth to my freezing body, I try to jog for a little while, but my two day fast and my unlaced shoes make jogging all but impossible. So, instead, I try to move my body as much as I can while I walk. I try to focus on the sounds and lights of the cars and avoid looking into the dark shadows of the trail, but my mind, still fixed in the constant vigilance of jail, imagines danger behind every bush. Twice, I am passed by bicyclists. Commuters most likely, racing by me on bikes with headlights and carrying heavy backpacks. Then, I see a figure moving towards me. The figure walks slowly, and in the dim light, I can only vaguely make out its shape. For some reason the whole right side of the figure is a huge mass, and I imagine that it is a man carrying a body. My tired mind continues this trick on me, and I try to adopt as aggressive a posture as possible and I get closer and closer to the figure. Finally, the man walks by me. By the light of the cars, I can make out his form. The man carrying what I thought was a body, was only a stocky homeless man carrying a heavy duffel bag. The man mutters something to me, and I am minutes past him before I realize