One Night in Jail (A Short Story)
Page 1
One Night in Jail
by
Kirkus MacGowan
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Kirkus MacGowan
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Kirkus MacGowan.
Diapers, Bookmarks, and Pipe Dreams
https://www.kirkusmacgowan.info/
Dedication
To my sister.
For dealing with two crazy brothers her whole life… and even now.
One Night in Jail
The music eased down to nothingness. Fluorescent lights flashed on, emphasizing every negative attribute the girl in front of me had to offer.
I said a quick goodbye and began the search for my brother. Last time I saw him, his lips were locked on some woman I swear was twice our age. Spring Break in Myrtle Beach mixed with the mass consumption of alcohol has that effect.
People cleared out within minutes. In the bars and clubs I’m used to, bouncers physically force everybody out at closing time. My brother stood by the door, hands in his pockets, glazed and bloodshot eyes weaving back and forth.
I grabbed his shoulder. “Hey, Johnny. You’re not going home with Grandma tonight?” His fist slammed into my arm. I never saw it coming. Another disadvantage of alcohol.
“Whatever, man. At least I wasn’t dancing with some huge guy’s girlfriend.”
My heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean? Was I?”
My brother shook his head and guided me out front. The line ‘the blind leading the blind’ came to mind. “You didn’t see the guy with his arms crossed, staring at you half the night? You’d think his three friends doing the same would have given you a clue.”
We began our trek away from the tiki-themed bar. I set a quick clip in case my brother wasn’t kidding about the big guy. A block away, a large group of men stood in a circle yelling and cussing. I prayed it wasn’t the same bunch from the bar.
We circled around. They didn’t notice us. I thought we were safe. And we were, for another block, until a glowing white light seared my vision.
I yelped and covered my eyes, spinning away from the spotlight. “What the hell is that?”
A booming voice answered. “Myrtle Beach Police Department.”
I turned toward the megaphone and shaded my eyes. I found my brother doing the same. A police cruiser had stopped in the middle of the road. The brightest spotlight I’d ever seen shined on us from a rolled down window.
“Can you see anything, Johnny?” I said.
“Yeah. A giant fucking spotlight.”
“What did you say?”
This was the turning point. One of those moments when you look back and think, Why couldn’t I leave well enough alone?
A second officer leapt from the vehicle and sprinted to us, his hand gripping the sizable pistol at his belt. He pointed a smaller version of the spotlight from hell directly in my face.
The cop repeated the question. “What did you say?”
My brother did the smart thing… Nothing. The flashlight flipped back and forth between our faces a few times before I answered. I said, “A giant fucking spotlight?”
“What?” If he were a dog, he would have growled.
“You asked what I said. I said a giant fucking spotlight.”
“Don’t get lippy.”
Through the flashlight’s bright glow, I saw my brother wore a smile. I looked back to the cop. “I’m not getting lippy. You asked what I said, so I told you.”
“That’s it. Turn around.”
Being the law-abiding citizen that I am, I did as he instructed. The cartilage in my wrists may have crunched when the handcuffs went on. I say may have because my brain said it should have with the amount of pain I felt.
The smile on Johnny’s face disappeared. “Why are you arresting him? He didn’t do anything.”
The great white beam settled on my brother.
“Shut up or I’ll take you in too.”
My brother held his arms up and stepped back.
“Get out of here.”
Johnny wanted to say more. The way his shoulders scrunched up spoke for him. I wondered what he’d tell our father who was still at the hotel room, probably getting the sleep he’d suggested we succumb too before we left for the bar. I wondered what my father would say. Would he bail me out? Would I need to be bailed out? I wasn’t sure how the whole jail thing worked.
The cop leaned me over the cruiser. I felt as close to him as I had to the girl I danced with most of the night.
Asked if I had any weapons, I said, “Only my credit card.”
He finished the pat down and placed me in the back seat.
I almost cheered when he read me my rights. I’d seen it on television so many times; witnessing it in real life is much cooler in spite of the situation.
On our short trip to the station, we listened to the golden oldies. I don’t really know if that’s what it was, but I’d never heard of any of the bands playing.
I asked my last question before arriving at the jail. “I don’t suppose you gentlemen would mind playing country music?”