Outside the station the spring breezes rang through the tree leaves like paper wind chimes as the moon hung high in the black velvet sky. The street lights casting their soft glow on the quiet street below. The station was nearly empty compared to earlier that day, save for a couple officers filling out paperwork, and a lady in a lavender dress, occasionally glancing at a television monitor displaying 24-hours of weather.
Through the darkness, a set of headlights worked their way to the station. Into the garage pulled a police car with two officers in the front and bloody figure in the back. The officers got out of the car and one of the beastly guards walked over to meet them.
“Careful Deon, this guy’s a real handful.” The driver said to the guard. Deon, an enormous man with hands like vises and a chest that looked like two VW bugs were parked side by side in a parking lot, was a volunteer coach for the local little league team. His size made him intimidating to most anyone who saw him, but to anyone who knew him, he was patient and gentle and kind. In his younger years he was a power lifter trying to get on the U.S. Olympic team but being from Mississippi and being black had its hardships.
When he was in his early twenties, he was chased down by a group of ‘good old boys’ for being seen with a white girl at carnival and was run off the road. The next day he was picked up by a passerby on the road and taken to the hospital where he found out that his left quadriceps muscle had been severed and his leg broken in three places requiring two plates and six screws to hold his femur into his hip. He would never lift professionally again. The girl he was with, was blind and had become separated from her family at the carnival. He saw her getting bumped around by the crowd and when she finally got knocked down, he helped her up and then to find her folks. Although he was a gentle giant most of the time, an unruly, racist minded prisoner could get him pretty upset if he felt so inclined to be.
The man in the car was screaming and banging his head on the window when Deon opened the door. The man looked up at Deon and froze in his seat. “Sir,” Deon said in his deep southern draw and deeper still voice, “If you act right, this will go nice and easy, but if you wanna act the fool, I’ll have to handle you as such.”
“No, no, I’ll act right.” The man said as Deon’s giant hand reached into the car and helped the man out. As soon as he stood up though, he took off running. He hadn’t made it two steps when Deon snatched his collar and pulled him back slamming him against the car. “Sir, I don’t wanna hurt you, but with silliness like that, it might be unavoidable.”
“Get your hands off of me you big gorilla.” The man yelled. “HELP!”
The driver and the passenger walked over to the man and the driver asked, “Who you yelling for?”
“This is police brutality.” The man yelled.
“If that’s what you think, we can show the judge the videos from in here.” The passenger said pointing out the two cameras in the corners of the garage.
The man was beginning to realize that he was in their domain now and his puny one-hundred and twelve pounds was no match for the three-hundred-pound hulk holding his collar. “Fine, you win.”
They escorted the man into the station and processed him with the finger printing and photographs and then a breathalyzer. He was twice the legal limit and smelled like it too. More than that though, his girlfriend had called 911 because he had hit her and her sister during a game of darts in her garage. They had all been drinking for some time and when the beer made it impossible for him to even hit the dart board, the girls saw it as funny, and he didn’t. Now he was faced with domestic violence and assault and in the morning probably wouldn’t remember a thing.
When they had finished his processing and paperwork Lloyd and Deon escorted the man now known to the officers as Otto, to his cell, but Otto had now become apologetic, trying to bargain with the officers, “I’m so sorry. Come on man,” he said to Lloyd, “You know how it is. I just had a few beers and I just made a mistake. Ain’t you ever made a mistake?”
“Sure I have.” Lloyd replied. “And I paid the price for it too.”
“You can’t do this to me. I have to be at work in the morning.”
“You are going to have to take the day off.”
“I got a wife and kids to feed. I won’t do it again, I promise.”
“Sorry buddy, you're staying here tonight.” Deon said.
Then Otto, seeing how unproductive this was, began to get mad again and tried to get away and run down the hallway towards Nathan’s cell. Lloyd ran after him and tackled Otto right in front of the door to where Nathan was sleeping, all the yelling and flailing about woke him up and he came to the door. He looked into the hallway and watched as Lloyd and Deon restrained Otto.
As they forced the uncontrollable man into his cell, Nathan lost sight of them but could picture Otto’s feet on the door frame and his fingers scraping along the floor and walls. Shadows wrestled on the hallway wall, then a cell door close. He could hear Otto still yelling as Deon and Lloyd walked away.
“You can’t do this. Lose that badge and gun and let’s see how tough you are then.” He screamed. After about a half hour of cursing and yelling, he started to settle down and the station once again became quiet. Only the sounds of chairs moving occasionally and the soft steady hum of the florescent lights filled the hallway – neither of which penetrated the heavy steel cell doors.
Nathan sat on his lumpy mattress and wondered what could make a man so angry. As he searched the plain white walls for a clue his eye was drawn to the only non-institutional color in the cell, a brown paper bag with a red, yellow and blue logo on it. They had brought him Burger King. He opened the bag and found a Whopper and fries – they were cold and defiantly not on his menu of choice, but it was the thought that mattered. Beside the bag, on the silver tray sat a large cup with what he found out soon enough was Coke.
He figured the cafeteria was either closed for the night or the station was so small it had none. However, he had found himself rather grateful that the fast food industry thought to keep their drive-thrus open all night. He chuckled as he ate the cold burger and sipped on the warm beverage, since he never thought that it would matter to him either way, or that he would find such satisfaction from fast food.
He finished up his meal and wiped his mouth, placing his trash in the bag on the tray and decided to get some more rest. In less than five minutes he was fast asleep on his makeshift bed.
A Glimpse Of Tomorrow Page 24