My Justice My Revenge

by Terry J. Mickow

  ***

  A few weeks had passed and I was getting concerned as time was again slipping away. Then I received word from the States Attorney’s office that there would be a court date in two weeks to find out the judges decisions on the motions. This had to be good. It was moving along now better than I thought.

  But I also received some bad news. I was being taken out of my work area because someone felt I shouldn’t be that close to the inmates at this time. How close was I? There was a half inch piece of glass between us. I had asked if there was anything I could say or I could do not to be removed. I was told no.

  It was all right that I was going into screening. I hadn’t been there for a while and maybe a change would be good. Just didn’t like how and why I was going.

  ***

  Starting the next day I was in screening. I went to the front desk, which was a strange name for it as the building had been redone so now the old front doors were actually the back doors. So the front desk was in fact the back desk. Ah government.

  I spoke with Corporal Phillip Pausey. I sometimes felt sorry for the guy. His name was always distorted, from palsy to pussy. But he was an okay guy. Although, a little on the edgy side. He had in his mind someone was out to get him. I don’t think he even knew who “someone” was, but for that matter I didn’t know whom someone was that put me in screening. So maybe, he was right, there was “someone”.

  “Long time no see Timmy. Remember where to go?” Pausey asked.

  “Well as a matter of fact maybe you could show me.”

  “Not going to happen. You’re on your own.”

  In all reality, I probably was off my skills as a screener. It had been many years since I was down here. I remember there were officers that could look at the television monitor as peoples property went through the conveyer belt and be able not only to tell if they had a cell phone but what brand it was. I never obtained that level of expertise.

  We had the same setup, as did the airports. People were use to our procedures, probably due to the airports. Everyone removed everything from their pockets, took off jackets, removed jewelry and shoes. But you still said hundreds of times a day. “Yes, everything from your pockets means your wallet too.”

  I was sent to the east side to be blocker. There were three officers at every point of entry. One watched the monitor, one check electronic devices, and one hand scanned anyone who walked though the x-ray and magnetometer equipment when the alarm sounded.

  I positioned myself between two officers. There was always at least one deputy at every station. Today I was working with two deputies. I knew both of them and when not working the chatter kept me laughing. When work was to be done we worked but when no one was around us, it was joke time or time to catch up on the rumors. Which I had always said, “Doesn’t have to be true to be a rumor.”

  One thing you do get working in screening is a variety of people that come through. Keeping in mind not all people coming into a courthouse are bad. Some are witnesses, some victims, some getting divorced, and some going bankrupt, quite the variety.

  Some come in wearing tee shirts while others are in three-piece suits. One young man around twenty came in wearing a tee shirt with “fuck the court” on the front and a handgun pointing off the back. Now, I’m thinking this young man is going before a judge. What can he be thinking? Before he walks through we offer him an option. He can take his shirt off and reverse it or he can leave. He’s also told if you do reverse it and change it around again, so it can be read, you’ll be arrested. It would be his choice.

  He turned it around after some bitching about his right to freedom of speech. He received a short lesson in the law then walked in and up to his courtroom. Somehow I felt the boy wouldn’t be leaving the same way he came. It may be by way of the jail, after the judge has an opportunity to speak with him.

  The day went surprising fast and uneventful until a man in his thirties, maybe forty, walked up to the security entrance. He was dressed in a light gray suit jacket and dress slacks. The tie went perfectly with his shirt accenting both the jacket and the shirt just enough. His shoes sported a polishing that was straight out of boot camp. The gentlemen’s hair was short cropped and salt and pepper in color. He had no glasses or facial hair. He walked with an air of arrogance, his demeanor sure and precise.

  He carried a briefcase, which was made from the finest of leathers. You could tell money was not an object to him. He had made his way through life with money and now for whatever reason he was about to exercise his skill here at the courthouse. Perhaps he would be proceeding with paperwork for some business deal or perhaps in a courtroom, speaking very deliberately about his case.

  He placed his briefcase on the conveyer belt and it proceeded to disappear behind the heavy shields of radiation protective material. He placed his wallet and the change from his pocket in a tray. “Is everything out?” I asked.

  “Of course,” the reply was short and immediate, “if you could just be a bit faster. I’m a very busy man and time is money.”

  The deputy behind the monitor stopped the movement of the belt. “Sir, do you have an electronic devise in your briefcase?”

  A change came over the man, really more of a metamorphosis. He began stuttering, sweat came from his brow, and I believe he actually started gasping for breath.

  “Oh, ah, I forgot. I am sorry. Let me go back to my car.”

  “I’m sorry sir but I will have to identify the object before you are allowed to leave with it.” It was procedure to allow electronic devices into the building as long as they worked and we could identify them. The deputy asked the gentleman to walk through the x-ray and magnetometer equipment then remove the item and show it to me and turn it on.

  By now a line was forming behind him because things had slowed down, as there was an unknown object inside his case. “Sir, please remove the item and turn it on for me,” I said.

  He unsnapped his case; looking around himself he asked if he could just show it to me and not turn it on. I was becoming concerned about what this item could be he did not want to show to anyone. “No, I must see it operate and find out what it is. Please remove it slowly so I can see it and only when I tell you, will you turn it on. Do we understand each other?”

  “Yes. But it’s nothing bad, it’s just… well… here it is.”

  He places his hand into the case. Now everyone is watching. The people in the security line, both the deputies, and me. He pulls out an object approximately eight inches long, in the shape of a penis. It’s a damn dildo. He starts claiming it’s his girlfriends and starts to put it away. The first officer that was at the monitor says, “Hold on sir. Show the officer that it works.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Not on your life. Show him.”

  As he turns it on a slight hum begins to fill the room. Then the imitation penis started moving in a circular motion. If this man could have crawled into a hole, now would have been the time to go.

  “Thank you sir and you have a wonderful day.” I said as he quickly left our station. Unfortunately, he left before snapping his briefcase closed. All of its contents fell to the floor. A woman who was just passing by looked at his fake penis, then at him. The look of disgust was enough to cause him never to come back into the courthouse.

  ***

  After six weeks of being in screening the higher-ups decided to return me to the tunnel. I was welcomed back with a box of donuts. It was the tried and true gift of awaiting poundage. The “positively sure” court date had long since passed and the same games of prolongation were ongoing.

  Days at home ran hot and cold, chilled relations and volatile. You never knew what you were walking into. I came home on a particularly cold and cloudy day. The wind was blowing about twenty miles per hour, which made a cold day considerably colder.

  I walked into the kitchen to find flour and what appeared to be pieces of the flour container lying on the floor. Stephanie came into the room. Her hair was tan
gled, face flush, eyes as red as the blood that ran through her veins. She looked at me then pulled a chair out from the table through the flour and stepped over the broken pieces of container.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Tim, I can’t take it any longer. I’m at my end. Tony told me today if this doesn’t end soon, he’d end it all for himself.” She began to choke up. When she tried to talk again no words came out.

  I knelt down beside her. My arms went around her head and shoulders. “Take your time,” I told her. It was something we had plenty of. This case had consumed our lives and it was looking as if there was no end. It appeared nobody cared about what we were going through. The fire was always fueled with detestation for the whole process I permitted my family to become involved in. I should have known better. I should have steered a different course, a darker course. “What happened?”

  “Tony said he was going to kill himself.” She scarcely got the words out. She began crying so hard that she was gasping for breath. “I became so upset I threw the flour container and told him never to say that again.”

  “Where is Tony now?”

  “He’s in his room. He said he was sorry and didn’t mean it.” Then we both cried in each other’s arms.

  “I’m going to see how he is then I’ll be back to clean this up.” I went up to Tony’s room and knocked on his door.

  As I heard him say to come in I was already opening the door. He was lying on his bed; his head propped up with three pillows. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  I knew his frustration. At least I thought I knew. I felt it too. But then again his had to be stronger. Here he was trying to protect other children from going through what he did, only to find the offender still out on the street and no end in sight to put him away.

  We sat in silence for awhile. Sometimes silence says more than any fumbled words could do. Finally I asked, “You are not going to hurt yourself, are you?”

  “I’m sorry I said that. I didn’t really mean it. Only it all seems so hopeless.”

  “Believe me I know. But it will end. We will win. He will be locked away. And we will all be there to see it, right?” Tony understood what I was saying.

  “Yes. We will all be in the front row to see it.”

  I asked Tony if there was anything I could do for him then left his room and closed the door.

  I went back to the kitchen where I found Stephanie already cleaning the flour up off the floor. I started picking up the broken pieces of the flour container. “I guess this means we go shopping tonight?”

  Stephanie smiled then said, “Not tonight. Tonight we stay together, alone, away from the world. Please hold me.”

  I placed the broken pieces in the garbage then held her in my arms. I believe it was the tightest she had ever held me. It seemed she found protection from whatever it was that was scaring her in my arms. As far as I was concerned, she could have stayed there all night. And she did.

  ***

  We had been talking for quite some time about going to Key West Florida. It had always been a get away for Stephanie and me. We both enjoyed the fact that people took you at face value. No one is looking for that edge or the return that they will receive from you at some time.

  We had not been there for awhile due to the never ending pending of a trial. Now we also had in the back of our minds Tony’s safety. But it was Tony who pushed the hardest we go.

  “You guys have been here for me for a long time with this shit. You need, you deserve this trip.”

  After analyzing all the likely reasons to not go, we finally decided it would do us good. Tony had on his brave face and promised he wouldn’t do anything bad. At least nothing he would not be able to clean up or have repaired by the time of our return.

  We made the arrangements and had decided we would drive down from Miami. It was a nice four hour drive as long as you are not in a hurry. We weren’t.

  Three days before we were to leave Tony asked at dinner if we could place paper on all the windows. “I want you guys to go but I don’t want anyone being able to look in at me. Jeff is still out there and I’m the one that is going to put him away. I don’t want him to see I’m alone.”

  Stephanie immediately said, “We don’t have to go Tony.”

  “No. You do have to go. I have something to prove to myself here.”

  “You do not have to prove anything.” I said.

  “I have to prove it’s my life. I am in control, not Jeff. He will not rule my life nor do I want him to disrupt your lives anymore than he already has. I want you to go but I would like the paper on the windows.

  “And you will have it,” I said.

  The next day Stephanie began placing paper on the windows. She didn’t place paper on all the back windows as our house backed up to a forest preserve and we had a line of trees in our back yard. The street that ran between our lot and the forest preserve had become more traveled from when we first moved in. We had not trimmed the trees for awhile to be able to use them as cover from the roadway and forest preserve.

  The city decided just before we left to trim the trees. Not only did they trim them they thinned them out, thus leaving gaping holes in-between the trees. When I saw what was done I called the city without delay.

  I finally, after speaking with several other people, spoke with the supervisor. “I understand why you trimmed the trees near the sidewalk but why thin them out. They are my trees?”

  “We have the right to trim or thin the trees or bushes if we feel they are encroaching the sidewalk or street. We felt yours were.”

  “I have always trimmed them but right now we have a situation going on and I wanted them as a cover to my back yard and my windows.”

  “We can not change the rules for everyone that has a situation going on.”

  I could feel my blood pressure rising as I tried to control myself. “Our son was a victim of a child molester. We used the trees to protect him. He felt safer with the cover.”

  “I’m so sorry. I never thought of that. Never had anything like this happen before.”

  And why should he know? This was our world, not his. No one else saw. Whoever drove by or walked by this house did not see what was happening inside its walls. It didn’t show any changes from the outside, but on the inside it was a very different house than before.

  “I don’t know what to say. I did not know,” the supervisor said.

  There was nothing to say. It was done and he couldn’t replace the tree or its branches. “It’s okay. I just wanted you to know sometimes there our reasons out of the ordinary. Maybe check next time.”

  He again said he was sorry and hung up the telephone seemingly as dejected as I was feeling. I went inside and began helping Stephanie who was already placing more paper on the back windows. “Are you sure we should go?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure of anything. But at some point we have to try and move forward.”

  We talked it over again with Tony who said he would be fine and the trip would do us good. To get away from it all would be a blessing, if we could leave it all behind.

  In two days we were in the airport waiting in line for our seats. Boarding the aircraft felt good. Walking on with all the other passengers, I was thinking what is their story? We all had one. Were they on business, on vacation, running from something or running to something? I couldn’t tell by looking at them and I was sure they couldn’t tell by looking at me.

  The flight was great; if you like what seemed like five hundred feet vertical drops, which, by the way, I do. I looked at it as a roller coaster ride I didn’t have to pay for. Although I did notice, by the bags on some laps, not everyone held with my enjoyment.

  We landed and picked up our convertible rent-a-car. It’s the only way to drive the Keys. Sun on your face; wind in your hair. What could be better?

  Somewhere about sixty minutes out, around Key Largo my cell phone rang. I told Stephanie to answer it. It was Brent Clark from the States Attorney’s of
fice. He wanted to know if we could come in and talk again about the times and dates of the offenses?

  Stephanie explained to him we were on our way to Key West. He replied that it would be a good thing for us to get away. He was sorry he bothered us and told her we should have a good time.

  It made us think of Tony and we gave him a call. “How’s it going babe?” Stephanie asked. After a short pause she continued, “Great. Yes we are driving down now, maybe three more hours. Okay, if you need anything call.”

  She hung up and I asked what he had said. “He said for me to stop being a mom and just have some fun.”

  That was Tony. He was always thinking of someone else. I knew Stephanie could never stop being a mom. I guess with every mom, her children were at the top of the worry list. I was at the top of her support list but you can not bend the bond of a mother and child.

  “Everything is fine.” I said. I then placed my hand on her thigh and gave her a little squeeze. Instantly my mind tightened. It throbbed. That’s what I use to do to Tony. That’s what Motter use to do to Tony. “Not now,” I said to myself. But I realized no matter where I go Motter will follow. Maybe, just maybe when this is over, it won’t be this way. Maybe once he’s gone. Maybe if he was gone for good.

  About twenty minutes later my cell rang. It was Brent Clark again. “Sorry to bother you. We are trying to reach agreements with Motter’s attorney, Theodore Wilson. Everything is starting to come together for the trial. We can’t get a hold of Tony.”

  “And you are not going to. You go through me. You don’t talk to him without me there.” I said.

  “Timmy, we are on your side, remember?”

  “No one is on our side. Not you, not the system. If you were on my side this would have been over and done by now. Not making my son relive his pain. Not by letting a confessed pedaphile walk the streets and prey on other children.”

  I knew way back in my mind somewhere he was correct. They were doing what they could but the system, I was learning, was broke. With each day that went on it was breaking more. A victim’s rights, they are not what mattered. Defendant’s rights. There you go. Bingo. Where the hell did we go wrong?

  “Sorry you feel that way but it’s all we have. I’ll honor your wishes and call you, not Tony. Did Tony know Sammy Bowlinger? He was the other boy who was molested.”