by Jon Mills
“Just a few weeks. I want to get to know you more, and I’m sure Noah will.”
“I’ll think about it.”
There was a knock at the door. “Just hold the line a second.”
“Come in.”
There was no response.
Jack set the phone on the bed and crossed the room. He opened the door expecting one concierge to be holding a bottle of beer. Instead, he was greeted by two M4 barrels shoved in his face. The next thing he knew he was being thrust back inside and tossed down to the ground.
“Policía.”
“What is going on?”
They continued to speak in Spanish.
“I don’t understand.”
He understood a few of the words they were spitting out but as several of them were speaking at once he couldn’t make head or tails of it. He caught something about the taxi driver, and then they had him on his front and were handcuffing him. Meanwhile several officers ransacked the room. One of them held up his bag and said he had it.
“You are under arrest for the murder of Mario Francisco.”
They read him his rights but he knew he had none. They hauled him up off the ground and shoved him outside. Curious guests and staff looked on as they strong-armed him down to the ground and then out to a waiting cruiser. Jack was tossed into the back and the door slammed behind him. It all happened in a matter of minutes. They were fast, and weren’t messing around. Sirens wailed, and the lights cut into the night as they peeled away. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He considered trying to get out of the cuffs but it wouldn’t have helped. He was in a foreign country, they had his money and passport. No, he would ride this out and see if he could get in contact with José or Lázaro, perhaps they could get him out of this mess.
The police department was a straight shot down N-53, about ten minutes away. They stopped outside a bright yellow building with the words Policía Nacional Danlí engraved above the doorway. He was forced out of the cruiser and shoved through a door and brought into the station. All the cops were paramilitary. Those that had brought him in had balaclavas on to hide the lower half of their faces, bulletproof vests and were packing submachine guns. Again he heard several different officers barking orders in Spanish. Once they stripped him of his shoes and socks, they escorted him into a cell and locked it. The cell wasn’t empty. He was sharing it with five locals. Jack banged on the bars. “I get a phone call. Hey! Hey!”
A door slammed behind him and there was quiet, only the sound of someone snoring on a bench while the others looked on. A large guy rose from his seat and eyed Jack with a menacing look. He wore a tank top and his arms were twice the size of Jack’s legs. The others looked like tweakers, with sunken eyes and acting all paranoid.
He sighed.
It would be a long night.
Ten - Witness
When sunshine flooded the cramped cell the next morning, Jack was still awake. It wasn’t because he feared the other prisoners; it was that he couldn’t get his mind to shut off. He figured that when they brought him out and gave him his phone call, he would have it all cleared up and be on his way by noon. Or was that wishful thinking?
As he squatted on a cold hard floor, the thump of boots coming his way was a welcome sound. A guard rattled his baton against the bars and unlocked the dungeon-style enclosure. He pointed at Jack and told him to step out. He glanced at the others and they gave a nod. Tired, hungry and smelling like shit, all he wanted to do was take a shower and get eight hours’ sleep. But that wasn’t happening.
Guided out into a busy office, he was relieved to see José. He was dressed in a tan suit and tie and looking a hell of a lot more professional than he had the first time he met him. He was talking to one officer and laughing as they strolled up.
“Ah Jack,” he said before extending his hand. “I was telling them that this has been a big misunderstanding.”
“About time.”
“Unfortunately, they aren’t buying it and have said they have multiple witnesses that place you at the scene of the incident, stabbing the taxi driver.”
“What?”
He put out a hand to calm him down. “I know. I know. I told them it was absurd but they still want to bring you before a lineup of witnesses.”
“Just tell them I was with you.”
“That’s the thing. I only saw you after he was dead.”
“But you know I didn’t kill him.”
“I know. Well I mean, I believe you but the odds are stacked against you right now as several witnesses said that they saw you stab him.”
“I’m being set up,” Jack said running a hand over his unshaven face. It was one thing to be told that he murdered someone, another to be thrown to the wolves. What were the chances that the witnesses saw any other American-looking male in the area at the time?
“Look, just get in the lineup and worst-case scenario, we'll tackle it in court.”
“Right. As that worked well for my brother.”
He threw up a hand. “The justice system is what it is. You have money, right?”
Jack snorted. “You mean the other fifty thousand? No! They took it with them. It’s probably been put towards beer.”
An officer came over and muttered something in José’s ear and he nodded. “He wants you to go with him. It shouldn’t take too long. Don’t worry, Jack, I’ll get this all smoothed out.”
Jack stared back at him as he was grabbed by the arm and led off down the corridor towards a room. He was fucked. No matter how this played out, Lázaro had fifty thousand and a corrupt police department had the other fifty. Even if he got out of this, he would still be down fifty grand. There was no chance in hell he would see that money again.
Brought into a room, he smirked as he looked at the lineup they had brought in. It was between him, a loudmouth Irishman and a Cuban midget who wasn’t even Caucasian. They were instructed to face a one-way mirror. Who was the witness? This wasn’t fair treatment. Where was the evidence? Without hard proof, they couldn’t do shit, could they?
They stood there for several minutes. The Irishman was belligerent and kept flipping them the bird. They couldn’t have been in there for over five minutes before they were escorted out of the room. The Irishman and the midget were let go, while Jack was hauled to one side. José was already waiting to hear the outcome. It felt like everything was moving too fast. An officer came out of an adjourning room and gave a nod to José. He squeezed his eyes closed and made an expression that made it damn obvious what the verdict was.
“José?”
“The witnesses pointed you out from among the others.”
“Well no shit. The other two weren’t even in the vicinity. This is bullshit.”
José scrubbed the corner of his eye, then pulled out a white cloth and wiped sweat from his brow.
“Look, I can help you here but my hands are tied until I know more details.”
“Well what am I meant to do in the meantime?”
“Sit tight and I’ll try and see what I can do.”
Jack’s shoulders slumped. Something didn’t feel right about this.
“Don’t I get a phone call or something?”
“I can arrange that, who are you going to call?”
“Lázaro.”
José shook his head. “He won’t get involved. It’s a conflict of interest.”
“Oh, but he would take a hundred thousand to release my brother? And about that, I don’t have the other half, so unless he’s willing to accept what he has now, the deal is off.”
“Just calm down.”
Jack got real close to him and an officer pulled him back. He stared José down. Together they looked like David and Goliath in size.
“Calm down? You’re not the one in cuffs looking at being thrown in prison for something he didn’t commit.”
“It’s procedure, Jack. It’s what they do.”
“Convicting innocent people or stealing their money? You better not be behi
nd this.”
José backed up a little. His demeanor changed real fast. “Excuse me? Are you accusing me of having some involvement in this?”
Jack shook his head, he didn’t know what to think but it seemed a little convenient that the cops knew where to find him.
“Just make sure I don’t go to prison.”
“They won't send you to prison. There will be a trial first.”
Jack scoffed. “Right, a trial. And by that you mean a fair trial?”
“It’s always fair, it might not be accurate but it’s always fair.”
“Bullshit. How about you get me that phone call?”
José looked uncomfortable. He pulled at his shirt collar and said he would go do that. He turned and walked away while an officer escorted Jack back to the jail cell. As he heard the key lock, a flashback of his time in Rikers tormented him.
Jack retreated to the back of the cell and eyed the new influx of men who had been squeezed into the cell only big enough for two guys. They were huddled around with their backs turned. One of the Honduran men looked over at him, his eye bruised and lip cut. He squinted for a few seconds and then got this look on his face that said he knew Jack. He was familiar. Where have I seen you?
Before it sunk in, the guy rose from his seat and cracked his head from side to side. Jack could see where this was heading before he even took the first shot. Jack was down at waist level when the guy lunged for him. Jack slammed his fist into his nutsack then followed up with an uppercut. As he rose to his feet he was then attacked from the left by another guy wearing a cowboy hat. That’s when he realized whom he was sharing the cell with. It was some of the same men who had attacked them outside the bar.
He felt the stab of a punch connect with his jaw. Jack slammed the guy up against the bars and kneed him repeatedly before elbowing the side of his face. No sooner had he finished than he was hauled backward and brought down to the ground. Multiple legs kicked him from every angle. Each time he tried to stand, a fist or a punch met him. Not one to cower back from a fight, he reared back both legs and plowed his feet hard into the knees of two men. They cried out in agony. Jack turned and bit another guy’s leg and dragged him down to the floor like a savage animal.
The assault only lasted a few minutes before two officers unlocked the door and stormed in with batons. They lashed out and beat them on the backs, across the face and legs — it was brutal and fast but the only way to subdue an out-of-control group of prisoners.
All the while Jack had one of them on the ground by the throat and was shouting at him.
“¿Quién te contrató?”
Jack was asking who hired them. If they had been brought in after him, someone was covering their ass. He had to wonder who had paid them to attack outside the bar. Before he could get an answer, he was dragged out and the beating continued. All the while he was trying to tell the guards they were the men who killed the taxi driver.
But the police weren’t listening.
Eleven - DANLÍ PRISON
Hours passed before José returned with two officers. He took one look at the bruises on Jack’s face and shook his head.
“Don’t worry, they look worse than me,” Jack said trying to make light of the situation but nothing about what was occurring was light. Uncertainty hung over his head and based on how he’d been treated so far, the future didn’t look promising.
“They will take you before Danlí Courthouse, you’ll see a judge and they will decide your fate.”
“Already?”
“Things move fast here.”
Jack shook his head and balled his fists. “You’ll be there, right?”
“Of course, but I can’t guarantee anything.”
As he was escorted out of the police department and loaded onto the back of a truck in handcuffs, Jack continued to ask José questions. “Surely some of the businesses in the area have cameras?”
“In America maybe. People are poor here.”
“It occurred just a few buildings down from you, are you saying you have no surveillance?”
“I use guards. What’s the use of cameras? They can’t stop an intruder.”
Jack shook his head as two officers hopped up beside him and they banged the side of the truck.
“I will see you over there.”
The small white pickup truck pulled away leaving José in a cloud of exhaust fumes. It was a short distance to the courthouse. It wasn’t much to look at, nothing but a cream one-story building that had an information booth in the lobby and rotating doors which led into a corridor with three rooms that were used for court appearances. José said all three were in use. The prisons in Honduras were overcrowded and there never seemed to be enough cells; that’s why they would squeeze twenty or more people in one jail cell. Some would sleep on beds, others on the hard concrete floor.
As Jack was led in, the room was divided. Either side of him were seats for families and the public to listen in on a hearing. All were empty. He was made to sit in the dock until the judge came in. What occurred next seemed almost surreal. The judge stared down at the paperwork, muttered a few words in Spanish and glanced at Jack. José stood up and replied and there appeared to be a bit of back and forth regarding the circumstances, evidence and witness testimonies. Jack was sure they wouldn’t have enough to convict him. When the gavel resounded and the judge left, Jack was hauled to his feet and escorted out. The entire procedure couldn’t have lasted over ten minutes.
“So?” Jack asked.
“I’m sorry. You’ll be escorted to Danlí Prison where you will serve out your sentence for murder.”
“What?”
“Nothing I can do, at least for now. This is not over, Jack. I promise I will do whatever I can to help.”
“Just like that?”
“I’m sorry.”
Jack wanted to lash out at someone but cuffed and being strong-armed away, he couldn’t do anything.
“And the money?”
“I will look into it.”
An officer opened a door and held it wide as Jack passed through it.
“How long?”
“Nineteen years. You could be out in fifteen with good behavior. We’ll try to appeal but it’s not looking good.”
Nineteen years? Some murderers in the USA got less than a quarter of that.
Jack was speechless. The world around him was caving in. Four years was hard enough and that was in a prison that would have been like the Ritz compared to the slum he was about to enter. José continued to talk but most of what he said just went in one ear and out the other. His mind was churning over at the thought of prison life. It still hadn’t sunk in. Denial forced its way to the front of his mind, even as they loaded him into the back of the truck and José went his separate way.
Jack took in the sights of Honduras, a place that would forever be burned inside his memory. He hadn’t even had the chance to tour it. Palm trees and colorful buildings were dotted all over the place. Farmers sold fruit and veggies out the back of their trucks. A thriving, lush forest swallowed up the small town stricken by poverty as they made their way to what would become his hell. The only comfort to be found was that he would finally get to meet his brother. The irony wasn’t wasted.
From the moment they rolled up to the dilapidated prison grounds he could see this wouldn't be pleasant. There was no surveillance or electronic security; it functioned like a prison from the dark ages. Fences, crumbling walls and keys that locked barred doors.
The truck slowed and idled as a guard opened the flimsy chain-link fence that would give them access to the outer grounds; an area that the guards patrolled. Just across from the prison were regular stores. Old men with weathered faces sat outside observing what must have been an everyday event. How many criminals were hauled in on a daily basis? How many got out alive? A few chickens clucked beneath decaying vehicles while prison guards dressed in gray and white camo gear walked back and forth with sub-machine guns. From what Jack observed
as they rolled into the grounds, sixteen-foot walls enclosed the compound itself with barbwire along the top. At two of the corners close to the front entrance were soaring guard towers. Beyond that was a vast mountain smothered by a tropical jungle.
Led in through the main entrance, Jack was met by an officer with a pad of paper. He asked for his name.
“Jack Winchester.”
“Is this the first time you have been jailed?”
“Nope,” he replied, his eyes fixed on the ground. After that he was led along a short corridor.
The guard motioned for him to enter a doorway. “Go through there into the showers.”
He could already feel his skin crawl. The vague memories of incarceration in Rikers came flooding back in. The clanging of jail cells, the noise of rowdy inmates and the bleak future of a life behind bars ate away at his mind.
The strangest part about the prison was that the outer section had rooms that doubled as sleeping quarters for the guards. With only twelve doing the rounds, when would they have time to sleep? He shook his head as he passed by the bunk beds covered in green blankets.
He was led into a shower room where he was told to strip so they could make sure he wasn’t attempting to bring in any weapons or illegal items like drugs. Why they bothered to do that was beyond him. Drugs and weapons were notorious in USA prisons but in a third world country, and after what Mario had told him, was it worth going to all the effort of a strip search?
“And the rest,” a guard said motioning to his underpants.
Two guards stood there as he got butt naked and was told to crouch down and cough. They handed back his clothes and told him to get dressed. That was another thing different about Danlí Prison. They didn’t issue prison clothes. No orange garb. No number. Inmates wore regular clothes. Jack went in with the clothes on his back.
No blankets were given.
No toothbrush, toothpaste or any of the typical packages were handed out upon entry.
The next thing on the agenda was a haircut. He slumped down in a chair before a mirror and a guy who looked like he had trouble cutting his lawn strolled up and picked up a trimmer and tore into his thick head of hair. Large chunks of it drifted to the floor leaving him with nothing more than a buzz cut.