by Kim Cayer
We took the scenic route to Precinct #45. We cruised past Sebrings. “I work there,” I said, wondering if I still did. Past my elegant apartment we drove. “I live there,” I proudly stated. Nothing helped. We were hauled into the police station like common criminals.
The officers led us into a barren room. “You’ll wait in here until a matron can search you,” Officer Charlie stated.
Raunda looked strange; defiant, majestic, African. She looked almost beautiful there. I guess the cops thought so too. Officer Charlie slid a look at Officer Rob. “I hope our search was thorough enough, Robbo.”
Officer Rob caught his drift. “I hope they’re not concealing weapons.”
“Right. Maybe we’d better give them another quick search,” Charlie concluded.
They both went for Raunda. What pigs! You could obviously tell they were feeling her up. Oh, God, and I was next.
They did a pretty thorough search on Raunda, I figured, and had yet to start on me. Hell, they already found the drugs on Raunda.
“You still have to search me,” I reminded them.
“Alice!” Raunda shouted. “You’re not hiding anything! They found what they were after already.”
“I know, but…” But what? Was I envious that I wasn’t being manhandled? Come on, guys! You should be searching me! Besides, I’m white like you! (The bigot in me coming out?)
“Ow! Fuck right off!” Raunda yelled at Officer Charlie, slapping his hand away. Careful, Raunda! Assaulting a police officer isn’t going to help our case.
“OK, they’re clean,” Officer Charlie said. “Let’s let the matrons at them.”
The matrons were very efficient and gave me a thorough strip search. What the hell am I gonna hide in my rear, for chrissake, and would I be smoking it after I took it out? I have never felt such embarrassment in my life. I couldn’t even look at Raunda after they left the room.
Our arresting officers returned. “Come on,” Charlie said. “Fingerprint and photo time.”
“Oh, shit,” Raunda muttered to me. “I’m cooked.”
We were led into another room and processed. This was a different photo shoot than I’d ever experienced. You had one chance to take a good picture. After inking our fingers and smudging them over some paper, we were then taken to a cell.
“You’ll be staying here until we run your names through the system,” Officer Charlie said. “Gotta check if there’s any outstanding warrants on you.”
I’d had enough. “Listen! I’m Alice Kumplunkem! I had lots of money on me because I’m rich! Maybe you heard of me…” I shut my mouth. I was going to say I’d made all the newspapers last week but I didn’t want to remind them I was temporarily up for murder.
“Back in a flash,” Officer Charlie said.
They left and Raunda crawled onto the bottom bunk. I began pacing. “What are we going to do, Raunda? They’re checking up on us!”
“What’ve you got to fear?” Raunda asked quietly.
“Uh…nothing, I guess. Neither do you, right?” I asked.
“Shhhh, the walls have ears,” Raunda said. “Let’s just hope for a computer foul-up.” She turned her back and faced the wall. I don’t think she wanted to sleep; just to be left alone to think. The party was over.
Around 1 a.m., a guard checked up on us. “Excuse me,” I said from my top bunk, “I think someone forgot about us. We were supposed to have our names run through a computer?”
“Computer’s down,” the guard said. “You’ll probably be here for the night.”
For the night? I had envisioned sleeping in my own bed. And wasn’t I allowed a phone call? But then, who would I call? I punched my unpillowcased pillow, pulled the dingy gray cotton blanket around me, and settled in for the night.
A loud rude noise awakened us at eight o’clock the next morning. “Kumplunkem!” a different officer shouted. “You’re free to go.”
“Great! Finally,” I said as I jumped off the top bunk. The ankle zipper on my jeans caught in the blanket and tripped me up. I fell on Raunda. “Come on, Raunda…uh….Grace? Yeah, Grace. Let’s go.”
“Oh, no,” the policeman said. “Raunda Hutch, alias Grace Jackson, stays.”
“Why?” I demanded to know.
“Well, it seems your friend was ordered to leave the country the LAST time she was busted for possession. Didn’t make the boat, didja, Grace?” the cop called over to her. “This time we make sure our illegal immigrant makes it home. We’re going to put her on a plane and wave bye-bye.”
I had a feeling the cop was being condescending to me. I walked over to Raunda and sat beside her on the bunk. “What if I take the possession charge?” I whispered. “Will that help?”
“You kidding? You’ll be deported back to Canada!” Raunda said. “Besides, they nailed me. They got that old warrant on me. I was supposed to go back last year.”
“So that’s it?” I asked. “I”m never going to see you again?” Say it ain’t so, Joe.
“Guess not. It’s been nice knowin’ you, Alice.” She stuck her hand out.
Nice knowing me? It was such a pleasure having you for a friend, Raunda! I love you! I need you! Don’t leave me!
I took her hand and shook it, then impulsively threw my arms around her. I wanted to have a good soul-sister cry with her.
“Let’s go. No lesbo action here.” The cop banged the bars.
The last image I have of my friend Raunda is of her sitting on the bunk, having a cell door slammed between us. I was in shock. My best bud was being deported to Rastafaria.
* * *
I spent all day moping. I couldn’t believe it. I’d lost my best chum. I wished there was some way I could help her out but I was at a loss. How could such an anticipated relaxing evening turn into such a nightmare? The fact that I’d spent a night in jail had yet to register; I was in a spin over losing the best girlfriend I’d had since Velda.
Around nine in the evening, I pulled myself away from the fridge and gave myself a good talking-to. “OK. It HAPPENED. Shit HAPPENS. But it’s OVER. Maybe you DID lose your best friend, but you still have FOUR more. Treat them well and you won’t lose these.” I didn’t think Silvio or my donut-shop pal were illegal immigrants. “Come on, Alice, let’s get our act together and see what’s going on at Little Shop.”
I bundled up since it was chilly and took a walk down the block. I could see into the donut shop’s window from across the street. Shit, Muriel was there but not the boys. Should I go back home? No, Alice, I again reminded myself. Muriel is your FRIEND, although you like her better with Andre and Petie around. Let’s go see her and hope she’s in a better mood tonight.
As soon as I opened the door, I knew something was up with Muriel. She was busy filling up the sugar containers. I could see the napkin holders stuffed already and every table gleaming. Muriel was a good waitress but she didn’t keep a tidy shop. She usually liked to lean back against the hot chocolate maker, an unlit long Virginia Menthol Slim 100 behind her ear, eating spoon-sized donuts. She would trace her lips with the color of the day, backcomb her hair in the reflection from the coffee machine, and shoot the shit. Yes, this was a new, improved Muriel.
She ran behind the counter to serve me. “Alice!” she cried. “You have to stay here with me! I don’t care what you’re doing tonight. You have to stay!”
Wow, she really needed me. I decided to be a true blue friend and do what I could for her. “I’m not doing anything else tonight,” I told her.
“Coffee?” she asked, already pouring it.
“Sure.”
It was set down in a flash and this time she spilled more than a drop. I could have fit another cup of coffee into my mug.
“Yow!” I exclaimed as some coffee sloshed onto my pants.
“Sorry,” Muriel automatically said, already wiping the counter with a rag. Her eyes were looking out the window. Then she grabbed the pot and started pouring more coffee into my mug. I watched the coffee overflow and glanced up at Mur
iel. Again her eyes were checking the windows.
“That’s enough, Muriel,” I said. I had enough coffee in my saucer to fill an extra cup. A couple homeless people got up to leave and Muriel ran over to clear their table. She checked the street from the window view.
Hhmm. Something was definitely up. I think that’s why the place was so clean; lots of window areas to tidy. I decided to ask a few questions. “Can I have a banana-cream donut, Muriel?”
“Sorry,” she said again. Keep this up, Muriel, and you might not get a tip. “Here you go,” she said, whipping the donut at me.
“You’re pretty jumpy tonight,” I observed.
She was scraping her brown nail polish off. “Can you tell?” she asked. I nodded. “I wish I had a Valium. Do you know where to get one?”
I reared back. Oh, no! No more drug business for me. I was off drugs for life. “No,” I replied. “I don’t even know what a Valium looks like.”
Muriel craned her neck towards the window again. “Where are they?”
I knew she meant Andre and Petie. “Yeah,” I agreed, “where are they tonight?”
“That’s what I’d like to know!” Muriel almost shouted. “Jeez, Alice, if Andre isn’t back here by 10, I am in BIG TROUBLE.”
“He still has almost an hour,” I informed her.
“He was SUPPOSED to be here now,” she said. “Oh God! I can’t believe I’m so stupid!”
What? To be going out with Andre? Neither can I. But Muriel looked ready to bawl. “What’s up?” I asked.
“Alice, you know how Andre is always bugging me to give him money from the till, and how I never do?”
I nodded. It was true; Andre did always pester Muriel but she wasn’t dumb – she wasn’t going to give away the owner’s earnings.
“Well, I gave him money tonight,” Muriel confessed. “Every cent in the till.”
“Muriel!” I gasped. “Why would you do that?”
“He wouldn’t let up!” Muriel declared. “After this one time, he said he’d never have to ask again. He’d be rich by tonight. But would he tell me what’s going on? No! All I know is he needed $300 for some guy’s SERVICES.”
Ready to help out, I reached for my wallet. According to Officer Charlie’s calculations, I had $500 on me. Shit! Where was my purse? I checked the floor by my stool. It wasn’t there. I mentally retraced my steps and realized I’d not come directly here from there. When I left the house in such a determined frame of mind, I neglected to bring my purse. My ID, bank card, lipstick and house keys were sitting on my kitchen table. I didn’t even have $2.50 for my coffee and donut.
“Damn!” I said. “I left my purse at home!”
“That’s the least of our worries,” Muriel said. NEVER did she EVER want to hear of my woes. “If Ramon gets back before Andre, I’m dead. Ramon’s not gonna find any money in the till and what am I gonna say?”
“Maybe you can say you were robbed?” I suggested.
“Oh, God! I don’t want any cops called! I hate cops!” Muriel fretfully said. Boy, was she ever working in the wrong place. “I never told you I did time once, did I?” Muriel threw out. “Well, I did. I’m on probation right now.”
Gawd! A female ex-con! “What’d you go to jail for?” I asked.
“Because of my ex, the bank robber. He hid the money at our place and after he got caught, I hid the money somewhere else. I figured I was entitled to it. Hell, he earned it! Anyways, he blabbed to someone that I still had it and the next thing you know, the cops find it and I’m arrested.” Muriel took another look out the window. “Oh, Andre, hurry!”
“Is Petie in on this?” I asked.
“Of course!” Muriel replied. “What’s Laurel without Hardy?”
Suddenly we heard an alarm. Both of us froze and looked at one another. One of the regulars got up and took a look outside. Muriel began trembling.
“It’s the pawn shop,” the regular reported.
Muriel relaxed a bit. “The pawn shop? Who’d want to break into that?”
I shrugged. “Whoever wants stereos and jewelry and…”
I stopped speaking. Muriel gave me a queasy look. “Andre wouldn’t…”
Andre would. Our attention was drawn to the window where some outdoor action was taking place. It only took two seconds for Andre and Petie to pass our vision but I can still see it in slow-motion in my mind. The boys were being taken away in custody. One cop had Petie in the lead, and Petie was yelling and being a macho bad guy and he even managed to glance into the donut shop window once. Andre was being led along, dejected, caught by the long arm of the law. He also looked into the window, and I could see direct eye contact was made with Muriel. He seemed to be giving her a longing glance.
Muriel almost collapsed. “Andre!”
We both went running to the door but the only thing we could see was a good-bye moon from Andre as he bent down to get into the squad car. Muriel kissed $300 good-bye.
Ramon, the owner of Little Shop of Donuts, came staggering out of Mascots to see what was going on. A small crowd had gathered to watch Andre and Petie’s finest moment. Muriel saw him and shrieked, “Oh, Mother of Christ, it’s Ramon!” She clutched at me. “Alice! What should I do?”
“I don’t know!” I shrieked back. All I knew was that I didn’t want to be a part of this scenario anymore. Things were starting to get a little hot.
“I know, I’ll get outta town,” Muriel decided. “Watch for Ramon. I’m getting my bag.” Muriel ran off behind the counter.
A customer was waiting. “How much for a cruller, ma’am?”
“Three hundred bucks,” Muriel said, stopping briefly to serve him should he buy it. He laughed, thinking she was joking, so she grabbed her purse and coat and asked, “Coast clear? I’m gonna make a dash for it.”
“Muriel, I don’t want to be an accomplice to anything,” I said, wimping out of this crime.
“IS RAMON COMING?” Muriel urgently demanded.
I took a peek and Ramon was about two feet away from the entrance. “YES!” I yelled back at Muriel. She ran behind the counter, thinking she’d use the back door to make her escape.
“Muriel!” Ramon’s voice stopped her. “Was that your boyfriend being put into the back of a police car?”
“I didn’t see anything,” Muriel lied.
“What are you doing with your coat on?” Ramon noticed. “Where you goin’?”
“Nowhere,” came Muriel’s lame response.
“How was business tonight?” Ramon asked.
“Slow.” Muriel continued her fibbing. The place was half-packed but maybe Muriel saw it as half-empty. Ramon walked over to the cash register. I was standing by the door and thought this would be a good time to leave. Muriel’s panicked look rooted me to the spot though.
The cash register drawer slid open and Ramon just stared. Finally he looked up at Muriel and said, “Twelve dollars?”
“It was slow,” Muriel repeated.
“I take in at least 400 on a slow night, Muriel. Where’s the money?” Ramon looked mean and was starting to get angry. “Empty your purse,” he commanded. Muriel just stood there, wringing the strap. Ramon grabbed it and searched it. “WHERE’S the MONEY, Muriel?”
“I had to lend it to someone. I’ll pay you back, I swear,” Muriel started to beg. “It was only $300. Hold my salary. I’ll work extra shifts. I promise you’ll get your money back.”
“This is something you and your boyfriend cooked up, isn’t it? How long you two been ripping me off?” Muriel tried to make a run for it but Ramon caught hold of her arm. “Bitch! You’re staying right here until the cops come!” He roughly pinned her against the coffee machine and pulled out his cellphone.
“Don’t call the cops!” Muriel started to cry. “I’ll do anything, Ramon!” I still couldn’t move from my spot, mortified by the drama unfolding.
“Police?” Ramon asked into his phone. “Yeah, I caught a thief in my donut shop…I think this has something to do with tho
se two guys the cops caught on l6th a few minutes ago…Little Shop of Donuts…l6th and Main…Oh, yeah, I got her, she’s not going anywhere…Couple minutes? I’ll have some donuts for them.”
Either I left now or I helped bust Muriel out. The last thing I wanted to see were more cops. Why was there so much crime happening around me? What kind of friends was I picking? I knew Muriel would go back into the slammer for this. Oh, Muriel…all for love, wasn’t it? Poor girl. She was crying for real now, mascara running down her face. Ramon was yelling at her, demanding to know what had taken place.
I decided to slip out. I couldn’t even say good-bye as I didn’t want Ramon thinking I was in cahoots with her. Now that I think of it, I didn’t get to say good-bye to Andre or Petie either. I guess they were also heading for some jail time. I didn’t get the chance to ever kiss Petie or party with Muriel somewhere away from the donut shop or collect the couple grand Andre owed me. I never got around to telling Raunda how dear she was to me. One second I had friends and the next instant, they were gone.
The cop car came squealing around the corner and I exited. I put a look on my face like I was a bimbo, not a criminal. Am I a criminal? The cops barely glanced at me. I decided to go to a liquor store before going home.
I had a big lump in my throat and wanted to wash it down with whiskey.
* * *
The bottle became my best friend. Just that one bottle, mind you. I stayed home for a couple days and got blotto four times. I did the usual bad drunk routine; cried a lot, moaned about my life. I killed the bottle one morning then passed out for a couple hours. I woke up with a wicked hangover.
I think it was a migraine actually. I could hardly breathe, it hurt so bad. I desperately searched the medicine cabinet for the 1000-tablet bottle of Tylenol Extra-Strength I’d purchased. It hurt my brain just remembering I’d brought the bottle to work, where I usually got my first headache by lunchtime.
I parted my heavily drawn curtains and looked outside. Although it was very overcast, what light there was made me wince. New York was soaked in rain. The traffic noises were usually muted in my skyrise apartment but today the sound came through as if amplified. I didn’t feel like going out for aspirin.