by Ashley Love
He waits a long moment before responding. “I’ll never make it in here. I’ll end up worse off than when I came. I…I just can’t do it.” He shakes his head and sinks back into his chair, a surprising relief waving over him softly at his confession.
Robson let’s out a long sigh, nodding. “I’ll see what I can do, kid. We’ve got your bail hearing in the morning, and I promise I’m gonna fight for you. You just gotta hang in there for me.”
Lex leans his elbows on the table and folds his hands, pressing his thumbs against his forehead and his voice is slightly muffled by his arms in front of his face as he stares down at the floor. “I’m hanging…I’m hanging by a thread, man. You just gotta do something, anything.” Lex’s voice is sad and it makes Robson reach out across the narrow table, cupping the back of Lex’s neck with a wide hand and speaking in an assuring voice.
“I’m on your side, okay? You gotta hang on for me…hang on for someone…hang on for yourself. I’m gonna do everything I can. You gotta do the same for me. We’re partners. We’re gonna get you outta this.”
Lex nods.
The man’s hand slides from Lex’s neck and reaches to pick up the folder atop the table. “Alright kid, I got a lot of thinking to do. You get someone to look at that nose. Stay outta trouble.”
“I don’t go looking for it…it just seems to find me,” Lex quips and a slight grin spreads over his mouth as he lifts his eyes to Robson’s again and the man nods at him.
“Well, we’re gonna get you away from it. One way or another.”
Lex sighs, standing to his feet again. “Thanks, man.”
They shake hands, a promising, firm grip. A business handshake. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Robson nods to him again and Lex releases his hand as the large man grabs his briefcase and turns toward the door, reaching for the small round handle.
“Hey…”
The lawyer stops and turns when he hears Lex’s voice.
“Can you, uh…can you call someone for me?” Lex rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.
“Sure.”
“I need…” He starts, then looks down in what seems embarrassment or nerves, Robson can’t tell which. “I need you to call my girl for me…tell her I’m okay...is that cool?”
Robson gives him a small knowing grin as he nods. “Yeah…yeah, that’s real cool.”
16
That afternoon Lex makes another trip to the medic’s office. The cotton is extracted from his nostrils and he’s given medication that could never really take the pain away…nothing could ever take all of the pain away.
When he gets back to his cell all of the men are there except for Ramero, but he’s sure that he’ll be back before nightfall. He forces down a lunch which only comes up again later and the pain is there, the constant pain. The men take showers and Lex keeps his back to the wall. They taunt him, tease him, but he doesn’t speak. They beat him because he talks back, and they beat him again when he doesn’t speak. He still says nothing.
Submit or harden. Head down, avoid the eyes.
Lex skips dinner. He lays in the dark cell against the hard concrete and stares up, thinks. He imagines being away. He imagines Mexico, the beach, beers and smoky bars and sunsets. Sunrises. New days. His veins throb and his head feels full and nothing, nothing could take away the pain. Sunrises. New days. He longs for new days.
In the quiet of the night he hears screams. They chill his bones and he curls up and away from the sound but it doesn’t falter. Screams meld to whimpers and he hears the quiet “shut up and take it” and his stomach turns. But that’s just the way people survive in here, he thinks as his knees pull up to his chest and he can see the hard eyes, feel the large hand against his skull. The sounds of fists against his flesh fill his ears…shut up and take it. His bones dig in to the hard unforgiving ground of his cell…shut up and take it.
Shut up and take it. That’s just the way he has to live.
Pain in his stomach and in his heart. Robson will be making that call soon, maybe he made it earlier today. He misses the warm bed, he misses smooth skin and soft eyes and he tries to go back to that place, he tries to hear the breaths matching his own as he sleeps, tries to feel it all around him.
He curses himself when he opens his eyes and he’s still here.
He made this life for himself.
Shut up and take it.
“Okay, here’s how this is gonna work…the judge reads your charges, you plead guilty, and we go to court in a few days and you get your sentence and you serve it,” Robson Blair explains, in the most basic way, how Lex’s arraignment hearing is going to go in about twenty or so minutes.
The room they’re in is small meeting room, off to the side of the court room where Lex and a group of inmates will be escorted to face their charges. Hearings are at 8am, 1pm, and 6pm. It’s now a quarter to 1.
“Don’t I have another option?” Lex asks, his brow furrowing as he watches Robson pace back and forth in front of him. The swelling has gone down on his nose but the purple beneath his eyes is getting darker, blackening.
“You stand trial,” Robson replies simply, glancing at his gold Rolex before he stops pacing and leans against the wall next to the door.
“And what does that mean, exactly?” While Lex knows what it means to be in trouble with the law, he doesn’t know all of this court lingo. He isn’t a Law & Order geek like someone he knows.
“It means you plead not guilty and we wait around for months and months of preliminary hearings and you go before a jury and I argue your case and we try to lessen your sentence.”
“So I should do that, right?” he asks, nodding.
“No,” Robson deadpans.
Lex’s face screws up. “No? You’re saying no to lessening my sentence?”
“You’re gonna serve the minimum anyway, you have a squeaky clean record.”
Lex scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief when the words squeaky clean leave his mouth. That’s the last two words he expected anyone to use when speaking of him.
“I’m not going to prison! I don’t know if you heard me when I said that the other day!” He raises his voice and Robson leans forward onto the small table, his fat fingers spread wide.
“So you want to be on house arrest bouncing around in the court system for most likely a year at least, wasting your life to get a few months cut off your sentence, when by the time we get you in front of a jury a year of your minimum served time would be out of the way?”
“I’m sure you can fucking sit here and say that, you’ve never spent a day in this place in your life. You don’t get it. I’ll never make it in prison,” Lex grumbles.
Robson shakes his head. “Why not?”
“'Cause I’ll end up dead! I’ll run my mouth off to some motherfucker and he’ll knife me in my sleep. This place is full of crazy fucks. I was only in this joint for two days and I got my fucking ass kicked. I’ll end up in a coffin before that shit is said and done, guaranteed. So do you have anymore bright ideas?” Lex huffs a sigh as he crosses his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes.
“You can go to rehab.”
He scoffs. “What?”
“You can go to rehab,” Robson repeats slowly, drawing the words out as if Lex is slow. Or deaf.
“No,” he says it as if that was the worst idea he’d ever heard.
“Well that’s the only other option I’ve got, kid. So you either go to prison and suck it up, or you skip bail and run from the law and still end up in prison, or you go to rehab. That’s about it. Rehab looks like the lesser of the evils.” Robson shrugs, standing up straight again and crossing his arms, eyeing Lex warily.
“I’m not ready,” he mutters, eyes down and trained on the linoleum floor, tracing the cracks where the squares were laid together.
“What?”
“I said I’m not ready!” Lex barks, his head snapping up. “I’m not, okay? That’s….its…it’s a huge fucki
ng deal.” He looks away again to hide the uncertainty in his eyes. His face feels hot. He rubs a hand across his cheek and looks up at the offensive fluorescent lights.
“You get clean, you have a normal life, and you skip out of jail. I’d say it’s a good solution.”
Lex clenches his jaw as he listens to Robson list what seem to be simple reasons to do this whole rehab thing. The whole room is getting hotter by the minute. Or maybe he’s just nervous. He finally shakes his head.
“No!” He throws his hands up. “I’m not going to any fucking rehab! I won’t! I’ll plead guilty, I’ll go to fucking prison.”
“You’ll end up dead,” Robson quips.
“Stop using my words against me! Fuck! I know what I said.” Lex glares at him.
“Lex, think about it…”
“No! I’m not gonna go changing my whole fucking life around! I’m not ready for that!” He crosses his arms over his chest and looks at the floor, scowling.
“What is your low gonna be then, Lex?” Robson finally asks, and Lex looks up at him slowly, as if he’s speaking a language he doesn’t understand.
“What?”
Robson’s hands fall to his side in defeat. “Your low…you know, the point where you’re desperate enough to do whatever it takes to help yourself. What’s it gonna be?”
Lex stands up suddenly, seething, holding his posture as if he’s about to fight. “Don’t talk to me about shit like you fucking know me! You don’t know what I’ve been through!”
“It’s obviously been a lot, to get you here, in this place. And I know you’ve been through a lot just in the last two days. Do you really want four years of that? Really?” Robson says smartly as he takes a step back, eyeing him. “And think before you answer, because I’ll tell you this…when you get out, in four years, life is gonna be different anyway. Prison is gonna scare you straight. And all your drug friends…they’re moving on without you. They won’t be there when you get out. Hell, they’re moving on right now, you’ve been missing for two days and they’ve got money to make. So you might as well make the most of your sentence, and get yourself ready to be able to function without all that shit when you get back in the real world. Rehab is the only thing that’s gonna help you at this point.”
Lex plops back into his chair and folds his hands atop the table. He chews the inside of his cheek absently, eyes trained on his hands, thoughts swimming around in his head. Is this really all he has left?
“So…how are they gonna drop the gun charges with rehab? It has nothing to do with it,” he finally says quietly, not looking up.
“There’s a system called deferred entry of judgment. They charge you with the drug crime, we ask for a DEJ, and they set you up in a program. It’s like standing trial, but doing rehab while you’re waiting. Then, when you go back, they re-trial you. If you’ve been on good behavior and completed the program, they drop the drug charges, and I guarantee those gun charge sentences will dwindle away to nothing. You’re probably looking at fines and community service.”
He sighs heavily, shaking his head. “I dunno.”
“It’s an option, and the program success rates are high. But you have to be ready for it. If you get bad reports or new arrests, you’re out in a split second and you’re facing your sentence, no questions.” Robson crosses his arms over his chest.
“So what, do I go in there and tell them I’m an addict?” Lex asks, shrugging clueless, feeling trapped, and his eyes finally meeting Robson’s again
Robson takes a seat across from Lex. “They’re gonna have to do a work-up, probably a piss test or blood test.”
“Does it matter that I was high when I got arrested?”
“You were?” Robson eyes him, leaning in with interest.
“Yeah. I told the medic I was an addict and she did a toxin scan and gave me pills.” Lex shrugs and Robson’s mouth pulls into a sly grin.
“That’s exactly what I needed to know.”
“Alex Taylor, you are being charged with one felony count of Unlawful Possession of a Firearm, one felony count of Concealed Carry of a Firearm in your vehicle, one misdemeanor count of Carrying a Loaded Firearm, and one misdemeanor count of Possession of a Controlled Substance. The minimum sentence for your charges is four years in state prison and a $122,000 fine, followed by probation. The maximum sentence for your charges is up to 26 years in state prison and a $276,000 fine followed by probation. Do you wish to plead?” The judge asks, as if doing this all day makes him bored out of his mind.
“I have a question,” Lex replies nervously, eyes darting around the room before settling on the judge again.
“Do you wish to plead, Mr. Taylor?” The judge sigh.
“I would like to…formally request…my toxins scan from the medic’s center.” Lex chooses his words carefully, eyeing Robson who nods at him encouragingly from the seat next to him.
The judge shakes his head in disbelief. “Mr. Taylor, do you wish to plead to these charges or not?”
Lex wrings his hands when the man raises his voice, and he gives Robson a pleading look.
Robson stands suddenly. “Sir, my client wants thorough provision of all evidence that the DA and the Inmate Reception Center has against him. A toxins scan may provide outside influence which could alter his formal charges.”
“Mr. Blair, this is an arraignment hearing, not a trial by jury.”
“Trial by jury could be avoided all together if proper charges were held against my client so he could plead with confidence, sir.”
The judge pauses for a moment, pursing his lips before he continues, his voice laced with annoyance. “And just what do you believe that these toxins reports will prove, Mr. Blair?”
“My client is a drug addict, Judge, and the toxins scan administered upon his entry to Men’s Central Jail would surely support this notion. I do not believe that incarceration will benefit him in the same way that a deferred entry of judgment program might.”
“You’re requesting DEJ, councilman?”
A few inmates in the back of the room whisper.
“Yes,” Robson nods.
“I’m afraid your client will have to stand trial today and wait for a re-trial, Mr. Blair,” The judge says quickly, trying to move on.
“I don’t believe my client has that kind of time, Judge. I’m requesting permission to plead guilty and provide a complete file for DEJ at his sentencing hearing.”
Lex swallows hard when Robson says this, because it’s true. At this rate, in his condition, he doesn’t have a lot of time to sit around and wait. If something is going to be done, it needs to be done fast.
“Pleading guilty today will only make his sentencing trial for that specific purpose…to sentence him of the charges to which he pled.” The judge gives Robson a look of disdain.
“I’m sure you could work something out,” Robson challenges coolly, and Lex’s eyebrows raise a bit. This guy has balls.
The judge eyes him warily before turning his attention to Lex. “Mr. Taylor, you understand that your attorney is requesting a deferred entry of judgment, which will require you to complete a rehabilitation, job-training, counseling, and community service program in the length of 18 months to 3 years?”
“Yes, sir.” He fidgets under the intense gaze.
“You are aware that a denial of his request will send you into sentencing with a guilty plea of the crimes with which you were formally charged today?”
He swallows hard. “Yes.”
“Should your attorney’s request be approved, are you prepared to re-enter court after a six-week screening and preparation period to plead guilty pursuant to DEJ, through which your sentencing will be postponed for the remaining time of your designated program?”
“Yes.”
“You realize that any new drug case charges during your deferred entry of judgment will terminate you immediately from the program and you will go directly into sentencing for your
charges along with your former charges and face a maximum penalty?” The judge raises an eyebrow to him, almost smirking.
“Yes.” Lex steels himself.
“A guilty plea today will set a sentencing date for Monday, January 8, 2017, at which time your attorney will provide a full report requesting your DEJ, and your toxins scan from the Inmate Reception Center will be analyzed to support this request. Do you wish to plead?”
“Yes.”
“What is your plea today, Mr. Taylor?”
He takes a deep breath and releases it.
“Guilty.”
17
I park Lex’s truck down the street at my old apartments and start to make the walk to his house, a journey which I know with my eyes closed. I’ve been keeping his truck in the back of the lot at my new apartment because I figure it and his house are safer with it there. I don’t want to think about what would happen if a fiend showed up at Lex’s house and saw his truck parked there, but when he knocked on the door no one answered. People get mad about their drugs.
I stop when I get past the first street, a familiar feeling settling in my gut. I wipe at my nose and my palms start to itch. I get that anticipation that I used to get making this walk, and everything down to my scalp starts itching. I look back. I can barely see his truck from here. My feet want to run back to it, and my heart pounds. But I know that money is in his house.
He used to keep 40% of his safe total in a locked toolbox at my old apartment. That way if he was ever robbed he wouldn’t be totally and utterly screwed. He did a weekly count and calculation, and kept running inventories of his supplies and product. He was a fucking accountant and scientist at the same time. He even weighed out the amounts of drugs he kept for personal use, and deducted it. He ran his shit like the business that it was, right down to the paperwork.
Once I sold the old place I gave him the toolbox and keys and cut all ties with that bullshit, and lord only knows what he did with it. It probably ended up at Kyle’s, or hell, it might even be in the house somewhere. I could see his crazy ass cutting a hole in the floorboard under the living room rug or something equally insane. Whatever. I’ll search for the toolbox and if I can’t find it, I’m gonna have to go into the safe.