She finally had no choice. She had to use the damn thing. Embarrassed or not. Why the hell does it bother me? I’ve been in locker rooms my whole life. Big deal. It’s a bodily function.
She talked to herself all the way over to the toilet area, working up her nerve.
As soon as she’d relieved herself, she pulled up the jumpsuit and made her way back across the room to the seat she’d had for God knew how long. She’d lost all sense of time. No sun came in the cell at all. It was just a big white box. Dear God, will I ever get out of here? Will someone come from the Embassy? What’s going to happen next?
When she got back to the bench she’d vacated, a large woman was seated there in the exact spot Quincy had left. Quincy stopped and stood in front of the bench. Do I back down and move? Or do I need to stand up to her so the others know they can’t push me around?
The woman glared at Quincy. “Too good for the likes of us, white girl?”
“No. I never said that.” Quincy shook her head.
“Didn’t have to. You been sitting over here all superior for a while now. Making the rest of us mad. You’re in here just like we are. Makes you just like us.”
“But I didn’t do anything.”
The woman cackled. She looked around the room at the others and said something in Balinese. The rest of the women in the cell laughed hysterically.
Quincy stood with her arms crossed and glared at the woman, determined not to ask what she’d said.
No need as the woman wanted to share. “None of us has done anything either. Why do you think we’re here? Think they’re gonna make us sex slaves? Us innocent women?” She cackled again and doubled over in laughter.
Quincy turned around to walk away. Before she could take two steps, the woman jumped up and grabbed her by the hair. She snatched a big hank of curls and jerked her head back. The woman was large enough to lift Quincy off her feet. She picked her up by the hair and turned her back around to face her.
As she was turned around, Quincy planted one foot on the ground and lunged with the other one stuck out. She kicked the woman in the stomach and knocked her backward.
When her foot made contact with the woman’s abdomen, the woman slid across the edge of the bench and landed on her butt, scraping her back in the process. She screamed like she was dying and rolled in the floor. She held on to her back and yelled over and over.
Five guards ran in. Two of them grabbed Quincy while one held back the other inmates to one side of the cell. The last two guards pulled the large woman off the floor where she was still acting like she’d been shot. They forced some hand cuffs on her.
Once the other ladies were in a row along one wall of the cell and the large woman had been restrained, the commandant came in and walked over to Quincy. She stood beside the two guards and held her head where the woman had grabbed her. Damn, my head hurts.
The commandant looked her over. “I was just coming to tell you that you have a visitor from your embassy. It’s a surprise to find you in a fight.”
“I’m not fighting.” Quincy pointed at the woman being held by one of the guards. “That one there pulled my hair. I was defending myself.”
“Be that as it may, you’ll both have to be punished. I’ll let you meet with the attaché from the embassy first. Only because I have to. He won’t leave without seeing you.” The commandant peered at Quincy over the top of his glasses and added, “But be sure there will be discipline. We can’t have this behavior. It encourages the others to think they can act the same way.”
“Will I be allowed to go home? Will I know the charges against me?”
The man gave a shrug that told her nothing. He took her by the arm. “Let me take you to the attaché. He’s in a private interview room.”
She got to the room and was surprised to see a tall man in a suit standing there. He looked so normal in a world that had become surreal to her. The man held out his hand. “I’m Nathan Clarkson, Attaché to the United States Embassy. Sit.”
The attaché gestured toward one of the metal chairs that were tucked under the metal table. He sat in the other chair and leaned across the table. “I’m not sure if the room is bugged, so be careful what you say.”
She shook her head. “You mean we don’t get privacy?”
“Nope.” He shook his head as well. “Remember, you aren’t in your own country. We have to work within their laws since you broke the law on their soil.”
Quincy slammed her hand on the table so hard the table bounced. “I’ve done nothing. All I did was come here, surf, and try to go home. What the hell have I been accused of?”
“The charge is firearms smuggling, with a side of ammo.” Clarkson smiled. His smile was grim. “It’s pretty serious stuff.”
She gaped at him. “What?”
“Yeah. That’s the charge.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “You know I can only help you if you tell me the truth.”
“The truth? I don’t know any truth.” She shook her head, confused. Then she remembered something. “Other than I was warned that there was something wrong with the cargo…”
“Who told you that?” Clarkson interrupted. “What cargo?”
“That’s what I said to the person. I had no idea there was cargo other than my surfboards and luggage. I thought I was catching a ride home on a private jet.”
“I have to tell you, this is pretty bad.” Nathan patted her hand and removed his from the table to his lap. “There are a lot of underground issues here. What with the robbing of tourists and all that. There are several organized groups that set up tourists for robberies. The Balinese government is trying to combat that already. The distribution of guns to these people could up the ante on that. You need to let the officers know who warned you. It could go easier on you. On your own charges, I mean.”
She shook her head. “No way. I can’t.”
“Why? Even if giving up someone would make it easier on you?” Please tell me. Who was it? I can help you get a statement from this person. It’ll help you.”
“I really can’t say. I won’t say.”
Clarkson stood. “I’ll be back in a couple of days to check on you. Maybe you’ll be ready then to give them something in exchange for a deal. Maybe we can work on getting a lawyer for you in the meantime. Do you have any family?”
“No. I don’t. But you can’t just leave me here.” She almost panicked at the thought. She always thought the embassy people were there to help if there was a problem. How could he just leave her to them?
“I have to, Miss Holt. It’s out of my hands.” He shrugged and moved to the door.
Before he could knock to let the guards know he was done, she asked, “What kind of hope is there for me? What happens to people charged here?”
“I really can’t tell you. I know they have quick trials, so you’ll be out of the holding cell soon and into a real jail.”
She shivered. “That doesn’t make me feel better at all.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Holt.” He turned back to look at her once more. “Think about giving up your source. Really think about that.”
The guard opened the door and let Clarkson out. Quincy whispered to the empty room, “I can’t turn in a little kid. I just can’t, no matter what it costs me.”
She stood when the guard came in the room. He led her back to the holding cell. As soon as she walked in and the bars clanged shut behind her, the large woman from earlier yelled across the space. “I’m gonna get your ass when shower time comes. Just you wait, bitch. You won’t be no getting away from me then.”
Quincy shuddered and willed herself to keep calm and show no fear. She sat alone in the corner waiting for the commandant to come back in the room to let her know her punishment for fighting. He couldn’t come fast enough for her. Anything would be better than sitting in the big white cell while the women glared at her, plotting her revenge.
* * * *
Curled up in a ball in the dark space, Quincy thought
over everything that had happened in her life since Finn Smith had returned. He’d told her Percy was a bad dude and tried to tell her he was a gun runner. But did she listen? No. She berated herself for being a stupid wahine. Why didn’t I listen to Finn? How could I have been such a trusting moron? And be just arrogant enough to believe Finn made it all up as a way to get back with me? I should have listened. Should have known he didn’t come back because he’d forgiven me. That he wanted me. Should’ve known he wouldn’t do that. Wouldn’t forgive me for what he thought I did to him. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
For the entire three days she was in solitary confinement for the fight with the woman she’d come to call “fat broad” in her head, Quincy ran over and over in her head all the things Finn had said. She also relived the kiss on the beach when her despair became too much to bear. Escaping into a nice kiss helped her not panic in the dark, enclosed space. She escaped with that kiss more times than she cared to admit over the three days.
Eventually, her thoughts turned to Percy Hicks, and she plotted how she was going to bring him down. She found the plotting helped even more than reliving the kiss. It kept her mind off the fact that she was in a foreign country with no friends and in a pitch dark room. It kept the tears at bay to picture Percy in the same situation she’d found herself in. She hoped some big asshole would try to hurt him like the fat broad did to her. But this time, she hoped the person would be successful. Maybe even cut his balls off. No less than he deserves.
On the third day, she decided she was grateful for the fact that she was at least alone in the dark and could pee without an audience. She giggled hysterically at the thought. Last week, such a thing would have never occurred to her. Of course, last week she didn’t know there was such a thing as a white holding cell and a black solitary confinement area in Bali. She would never have thought she’d get to know that information. The things Americans take for granted. No, not just Americans do it. All free people. Non felons, that is.
She knew she’d been in the hole for three days because of the amount of food that had been brought to her. Three trays of what seemed to be breakfast and one other meal twice. The meals all were oily, and she wished for a bit of variety in her diet. As she thought about the place where she huddled, she couldn’t help but laugh. A bitter laugh. The hole. Indeed it was a hole. All those old prison movies were right. A dark, dank place with an open urinal in the room was indeed a hole.
Just when she thought she’d laugh herself into insanity, the door of the tiny room opened. She winced at the bright light and shaded her eyes. God that light hurts. Hurts like a son of a bitch.
Quincy covered her eyes and peered out of her fingers as she made out a figure that loomed like a shadow. The figure was dark and broad, blocking out some of the piercing light. Was it a man? Yes, it was a man’s voice.
“You ready to confess?”
Still a little fight left in her, she snorted as she sat up. “Hardly.”
The man leaned down, grabbed her arm, and jerked her off the floor, almost pulling her arm out of joint. “You don’t smell as fine as you did a few days ago when you got here.” He whiffed the air around them. “And you’re not so arrogant either.”
Her eyes still smarted from the harshness of the light. “I never was arrogant. Just falsely accused.”
The man threw his head back and laughed. “You and everyone else in here. It’s a wonder we need jails at all what with all the innocent people we’re holding for no reason.” He tugged her arm. “Let’s go. You have a date with the interrogator. Want to take a shower to make a good impression?”
“A shower would be nice.” Quincy knew she smelled awful and she could feel the knots in her hair. It had to be a snarled mess.
The man looked down at his watch. “It is communal shower time. I’ll take you there first. You can see some of your friends. Naked and soapy.” He grabbed his crotch and leered at her.
Quincy stopped. “On second thought, I’ll pass on the shower. Let’s get this done.” She wanted to cry. Just the thought of warm water and soap almost brought her to her knees. But she had to pass. Can’t go to the shower. That woman said she’d get me in there, and I’ve already seen that I won’t get any help here.
“Are you sure?” The man looked her up and down. His eyes glinted as if he was going to be allowed to watch the shower.
“I’m sure.” She gave a curt nod and took a step.
They walked on down the hall and entered the same room Quincy had been in a few days prior. There was a man seated there in a navy blue uniform with a lot of insignia sewed on the chest and arms. Quincy didn’t know what any of it meant.
The man in blue indicated the seat across from him. “Sit.” He turned to her escort and gave a curt nod. “You may go now.”
When they were alone, the man introduced himself as a deputy inspector with the crime division of the federal Balinese government. He looked down and thumbed through a file folder. Eventually he looked at her. “Do you have anything to say in your defense?”
Quincy leaned back in the chair, crossed her arms and tilted her chin up. “Is this my trial?”
“Of course not.” He shook his head. “The trial will be in a courtroom. Full of spectators as we take down the American arms dealer. This is merely your chance to tell me what happened with the least amount of discomfort.”
“Least amount of discomfort? What does that mean?”
He moved forward and rested his elbows on the table. “I’ve looked into your background, Miss Holt, and even though you’ve chosen the career you have, you are not stupid. What do you think I mean?”
“You can’t be threatening to torture me.” She propped her elbows on the table, her face within inches of his.
He backed off and crossed his arms across his chest. “Who’s going to stop me?”
As the words left his mouth, the door opened and slammed back on the wall behind it. Two men walked in. It was Nathan Clarkson and right behind him, Fennimore Smith.
Quincy’s heart soared at the sight. Rescue.
Clarkson said, “I am. I’m gonna stop you. Me and the U.S. government, that is.”
Quincy stared. She opened her mouth. “Finn—”
Finn strode over to where she sat and cut off her words. “Miss Holt, I’m Agent Fennimore Smith with the American Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives Agency.” He held his hand out to shake hers and gave her a look she knew so well. It was a hard stare, one she could read as if he’d said the words out loud. Play along.
The interrogator looked hard at Quincy. “Do you know this man?” He tilted his head at Finn.
“No. Of course not. Why do you think that?” She shrugged.
“You started to smile and said Finn before he cut you off. Were you going to say his name? Fennimore? Before he stopped you, I mean?”
“Of course not. I was asking you if you were finished, and he cut off my words.”
The man continued to stare at her. His eyes cut back and forth between them. It looked to Quincy as if the man didn’t believe a word of it.
Quincy turned to Finn. “Agent.” She tilted her head. “Smith? Is it?”
He nodded. “That’s right.”
She looked at Nathan Clarkson. “So my country has finally come to my rescue?”
“Not exactly, ma’am.” Nathan poked his thumb in Finn’s direction. “The agent here has extradition papers releasing you to his custody. There’s been a deal made. You get to go back to America to face charges, and we’re sending one of their people charged with a crime in our country home to face his judgment here.”
“At least I’ll be out of here. I can handle going home.” She relaxed her posture.
Finn looked at her. “You aren’t going home, Miss Holt. You’re going to jail in America.”
She stared at him aghast. She thought he was here to rescue her. What the hell? “What do you mean, Agent Smith?”
“I mean you’re getting on a plane with me in chains and
handcuffs. Then you’re going to be tried in the US.”
She couldn’t move, other than to gape at him. Was he serious? She thought she knew him inside and out, but she couldn’t read his expression at all.
Agent Smith turned to the interrogator. “When can I take custody of my prisoner?”
The man shrugged. “I guess now. Since I assume the commandant has seen the paperwork. He let you in this far, so he must think you’re legitimate.” The man shoved his chair back and stood. “I, for one, would love to beat a confession out of this pretty miss. While I was at it, I’d make her confess she knows you, too. I don’t doubt this is some scam, but I can’t prove it.”
Clarkson said, “I assure you, this is a real transfer of a prisoner. She’ll be escorted to the plane in chains and to Los Angeles. We’ve already reserved the back row of the next commercial flight out. We just need to get her back in her clothes, and we’ll be out of your hair.”
“She’s to leave in a prison suit. No one walks out of here in custody in their own clothes.” The interrogator could barely suppress his rage at the removal of his prisoner.
Quincy couldn’t decide which was worse, staying here or facing the media stinky and gross from three days in the hole. “Can I at least have a shower? It’s a long flight, and I might make the other passengers sick with my odor.”
All three men looked at her. The way she smelled should be the least of her worries when she was going to get out of the foreign jail.
The first to recover his senses was the interrogator. He looked down at her “Still vain and arrogant, Miss Holt? Not enough time in solitary?”
Chantal, Jillian - Surfer Bride (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 9