The Yellowstone Event: Book 1: Fire in the Sky

by Darrell Maloney

  WRIGHT CO NTY

  DETENTION FACILITY

  Tony wanted to point out to the men in the front seat one of the letters on their sign was burned out.

  But he thought better of it.

  There was a good possibility neither one of the inbreds could read.

  And if he pointed out the sign, they might well accuse him of thinking himself better than them because he could.

  He might get tazed for his insolence. Or shot.

  Or both.

  No, he was done dealing with these guys. He’d wait until he got booked into the county jail and then call the first lawyer in the yellow pages.

  “You’re awful quiet back there, aren’t you, college boy? You didn’t go and die on us did you? Not that we care or anything. It’s a free country and all; you can die if you want to. But it makes a whole lot more paperwork for us to do if you die, and we don’t have a college education like you do. So it would likely take us poor old country bumpkins a while to do it. So if you could wait until you get to your cell to die, we’d sure appreciate it.”

  Tony almost said nothing, then decided on, “I’m fine, but thanks for asking.”

  Actually he wasn’t fine. When they’d put the cuffs on him they put them on much too tight. His hands were numb and though he couldn’t see them, he was sure they were a deep purple in color.

  But he kept that to himself for a couple of reasons.

  First, he didn’t want to give the bastards the satisfaction of knowing they’d hurt him.

  And second, he had a suspicion they’d respond to his complaint by making them even tighter.

  Inside the jail he was turned over to two other men. One of them removed his cuffs, and whistled.

  “Why didn’t you tell them they cut off your circulation?”

  Tony rubbed the deep depressions the cuffs had made in both wrists and said, quite honestly, “I was afraid to.”

  “Well, nobody’s gonna abuse you here, son.”

  It was the same tone of voice Officer Smitty had first used on him, back at the motel room.

  But Tony had the sense this man was genuine.

  The other man said, “Here you go, partner. Put this on.” He handed him a navy blue scrub shirt, about three sizes too big. It was big enough for Tony to swim in. Tony looked at the man, a puzzled look on his face.

  The officer sighed as though he’d been asked the same question a thousand times.

  “It’s just for mug shot purposes. Everybody gets the same shirt, and we get some awfully big dudes in here sometimes. You can take it off as soon as you smile for your mug shot.”

  Tony looked down and saw for the first time the words stenciled on the front of the shirt:

  NORWOOD PD

  INMATE

  “Go stand against that wall. The one with all the lines on it.”

  Chapter 31

  Tony did as he was told. He didn’t want to rile these guys or give them any reason to mistreat him any more.

  “Smile big or don’t,” said the bored woman behind the camera.”

  He didn’t.

  “Turn to the right.”

  He did.

  “Smile big or don’t.”

  He didn’t.

  “Okay, go over there to the fingerprint stand. I’ll be there as soon as these process.”

  After he was photographed and fingerprinted Tony was sent to another desk. The nameplate on the desk said:

  PROPERTY SERGEANT

  He wanted to ask what a property sergeant was, exactly.

  But he decided not to.

  “Take everything out of your pockets. And I mean everything. Right down to the pocket lint.”

  “Is that all of it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you sure? And before you answer let me warn you. Any contraband we find on you after this point will result in additional charges being filed and more jail time.”

  “What’s contraband?”

  As an afterthought he added, “Sir?”

  “You’re allowed to enter the jail with one set of scrubs, one pair of underwear, one pair of sandals, and one personal Bible. We’ll give you all of that in a few minutes. If we catch you with anything other than those four items, that’s contraband. Now, once again… are you sure that’s all you have?

  Tony checked his pockets one last time, just to be sure.

  “Yes, sir. That’s all.”

  The property sergeant picked up Tony’s wallet.

  “I’m going to count your money in front of you. Pay attention. Once we agree on an amount it’s going on your property sheet, and that’s exactly what you’ll get back when you get released. Understand?”

  “Yes sir.”

  The officer counted out sixty two dollars, placing each bill into a stack on the desk between them.

  “Sixty two dollars. You agree?”

  “Yes sir.”

  He wrote down the amount on an inventory sheet, and then proceeded.

  “Three credit cards. One Visa, one Discover, one Master Card. You agree?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “One driver’s license, state of Arkansas. You agree?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “One key ring, seven keys attached. You agree?”

  “Yes sir.”

  The process continued until all of Tony’s possessions, including his wedding ring and watch, were placed into a sealed bag.

  Then he and the officer both signed across the back of the seal.

  With an air of a man who’d repeated the same spiel a thousand times he droned, “This will go into the property room, where it will be secured until your release. When you are released, you and I will verify it is still sealed, then we will open it and make sure everything is still there. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well. Go to the next station.”

  At the next station Tony received the first smile he’d seen in hours. It was from a middle-aged woman. Her name tag said “Sergeant Jones.”

  “First of all, I need you to verify your name for me.”

  “Tony Carson.”

  “Name and phone number of your emergency point of contact?”

  It was only then that Tony realized he didn’t know Hannah’s phone number.

  “Um… Hannah Carson, my wife. I don’t know her phone number, ma’am.”

  “Let me guess… it’s in your cell phone.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I just call her by speed dial. But she’s missing anyway. I tried to tell the officers she’s been kidnapped, but they didn’t care…”

  She just looked at him. The smile she’d displayed earlier didn’t necessarily mean she was compassionate. Nor did it mean she particularly cared about his plight.

  “Name and phone number of another friend or relative then?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know any phone numbers. I stopped memorizing phone numbers years ago. If you’ll let me get my phone back I can look them up.”

  “Your property’s been inventoried and sealed. You can’t get your phone back until you’re released.”

  “But…”

  It was all the argument he had left.

  “I’ll tell you what. Your bail bondsman will work with you to contact somebody. I’ll just put you down as HNLR for now.”

  “HNLR? What does that mean?”

  “Homeless, no living relatives. Gotta fill the blank with something or we can’t proceed any farther. Then you’ll be sitting here in limbo until somebody comes looking for you.

  “Okay, now go over there to talk to Deputy Bailey. He’ll do your incheck.”

  Deputy Bailey was a surly sort who Tony reckoned didn’t have a lot of friends.

  “What size scrubs do you wear?”

  “Um… I’ve never worn scrubs.”

  “Then guess, dumbass.”

  “Large, I guess.”

  The deputy went to a rack behind him, where dozens of neatly folded navy blue scrubs were stacked by size.

&nb
sp; He took a pair from the “2XL” stack.

  “Shoe size?”

  This, Tony was more sure of.

  “Size 10.”

  The deputy took a pair of shower clogs from beneath a sign which said “Size 12.”

  “Boxers?”

  “Size 32.”

  He took a pair from the “36-38” stack.

  Apparently, at this facility, bigger was better.

  “You a Bible thumper?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Quit wasting my time. Do you want a Bible or not?”

  “Um… sure. I guess.”

  The Bibles were all one size, about the size of a small paperback book.

  The deputy returned to his desk and dropped all the items unceremoniously upon it.

  “Go behind that partition and change. Put your clothes and shoes in a plastic trash bag and the uniform on. Bring me the bag. Be aware you will be strip searched when you get your shower, so if you insert anything into your body cavities it will be found. And not only will it delay the process, it will result in additional charges. If you have any contraband, leave it on my desk right now and save us both a bunch of trouble later on.”

  “I don’t have anything, I promise.”

  “Good boy. Then why are you still standing there? Move it.”

  When Tony was dressed the big sergeant told him to sit.

  “This will be the last part of your inprocessing. After we’re finished with your emotional assessment you’ll get your shower and be sent to your cell.”

  “When do I get to make bail?”

  “I ask the questions, sonny. Not you. Now sit down in that chair like I told you to or I’ll put you in a restraint chair. You’ll find it won’t be as comfortable.”

  Tony sat down.

  Most of the questions were routine. Personal information. Questions about previous charges filed against him, previous stints in jails or prisons.

  As Bailey was nearing the end of his list of questions, one struck Tony as particularly ludicrous.

  “Do you feel that you’re under a lot of stress?”

  “Uh… yeah. Who wouldn’t be?”

  “Do you feel the desire or need to harm yourself?”

  “Sure, if it’ll get me out of here sooner.”

  It was a smart-ass answer Tony would soon regret.

  Chapter 32

  Tony was escorted to a shower, where he had the indignity of having all his body cavities searched for contraband.

  “It’s how inmates get drugs and weapons into the jail. We kind of frown upon that,” Bailey explained.

  He was forced to wash his body, from head to toe, with a foul-smelling concoction Bailey called “combo cream.”

  He explained: “Combination delousing agent and bedbug killer. It’ll kill everything. Even you if you inhale too much of it.”

  After he toweled off he dressed into the same set of blue scrubs, which had been thoroughly searched for hidden contraband while he showered. He was then escorted to a cell.

  It was already occupied.

  “Hey cellie,” the man lying on the lower bunk said. “You don’t look like much, if you ask me.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “I’m used to having to beat some ass every time I come in here. It’s the best way to earn respect, and to keep the bullies away from you. And the muscle-bound thugs who’re looking for a girlfriend.”

  “I thought this was a men’s cell block.”

  “Exactly my point. Normally I get into a fight with my cellie to prove I’m tougher and not to be messed with. But I think that’s obvious in your case. Like I said, you don’t look like much. Maybe I’ll save my knuckles some bruising this time.”

  “You’ve been here before?”

  “Oh, several times. Drunk and disorderly mostly, some drug possession. Usually I don’t even make bail. I just hang out for a few days until the judge releases me for time served. It ain’t bad. Usually I’m broke as hell and need some free food anyway. Gives me a chance to clear my head and put things back into perspective. This your first time in jail?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay, rule number one. You never call anybody sir. Not even the hacks. It’s a sign of weakness, and a sure-fire way some three hundred pound mook named Bubba is gonna take a fancy to you.

  “Even if you’re the biggest sissy in the world, you have to act tough. You don’t bow down to anybody, and you don’t give anybody the idea they’re better than you are.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be here long enough to encounter any problems.”

  The man laughed. But it wasn’t a humorous laugh. It was almost… evil.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Did you think you were gonna make bail tonight and get out by morning?”

  “Yes. They told me when I went through intake they’d let me make a phone call soon.”

  “That says otherwise, cellie.”

  He pointed to the glass window on their cell door.

  Tony was lost.

  “I don’t understand. What are you pointing to?”

  “See those two pieces of paper taped on the outside of the glass?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wanna know why one is white and one is red?”

  Tony suddenly had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, and wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

  But his cellmate wasn’t going to let him off the hook. Not that easy.

  “The white one has my name and booking information on it. The one in red is yours.

  “Red means seventy two hour hold.”

  “But why?”

  “Beats me. Maybe they’re awaiting additional charges. What are you in for, anyway?”

  “They said DWI. But I wasn’t drunk.”

  “You smell like beer. Sometimes that’s all it takes. The Norwood PD likes to put money in the city coffers so they can buy new police cars and get fancy new uniforms each year. The city likes it too, so the city council can fund new projects without hearing the taxpayers scream. So they’re long on arrests, short on evidence.

  “Let me guess. Were you busted by a big cop named Alonzo?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. They called him Al.”

  “Yep. That’s him. The worst of the worst. He busts people all the time for DWI. Says they fail field sobriety tests when they pass with flying colors. He’s got me a couple of times too.”

  “Don’t the judges throw the cases out?”

  “Well they would. Except there’s only one judge. Judge Martin. And he’s as crooked as the rest of them.

  “Did you resist arrest? Throw a punch at the cops? Imply they were in incestuous relationships with their moms?”

  “No. None of that.”

  “Then they’re probably not awaiting additional charges. Maybe it’s something you said at intake. Did they ask you whether you were depressed or suicidal?”

  Tony thought back.

  “Yes.”

  “And what did you tell them?”

  “They asked if I felt like harming myself. I told them sure, if it would get me out of here sooner.”

  The cellmate shook his head.

  “There’s your answer. You made a very bad mistake.”

  “Why?”

  “The red card means you’re on psychiatric hold. The state can keep you for seventy two hours to evaluate you, before they even let you call a bail bondsman.”

  “What? But why?”

  “To make sure you’re not suicidal.”

  He held out his hand.

  “I guess we’re gonna be cellmates for a few days. Might as well get to know you. My name’s Mike.”

  Chapter 33

  Tony was stunned.

  He wanted to cry out, but somehow knew it would make the problem even worse.

  He wanted to cry, but didn’t want to appear weak.

  He wanted to punch somebody or something.

  But the only one around was Mike. And he desperately needed an ally.


  He did the only thing he could think of to relieve his stress. He punched the cell wall.

  Hard.

  The concrete wall didn’t give way. He didn’t really expect it to.

  His knuckles, though, took a beating.

  “You might not want to do that,” Mike said.

  “Why in hell not?”

  “Because we’re going to chow in a little while. They call it breakfast. Actually, it’s more a cross between pond scum and chicken shit. But you gotta eat. Anyway, there’s a good chance you’re gonna need those knuckles to defend yourself. You go into a fight already banged up you’re gonna be at a severe disadvantage.”

  “A fight? A fight with who? I’m not gonna fight anybody.”

  “Well now, Tony, I hope you’re right. But you might not have a choice.”

  “Then I’ll just skip breakfast. I’m not a breakfast person anyway.”

  “Also not a choice. You have to go down and go through the motions whether you eat the slop or not.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s when the hacks do their searches. Every meal they choose three cells at random and toss them.”

  “Toss them?”

  “Yeah. Maybe trash them is a better word. They toss the mattresses onto the floor, and everything else in here too. Looking for contraband. They take great joy in leaving behind as big a mess as they can.”

  From out of nowhere a voice came into the cell. As though it were a command from God Himself.

  “Count.”

  Tony looked up to where the voice had come from. He hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a two-way speaker on the ceiling above them.

  He turned to Mike for an explanation.

  Mike got off his bunk and said, “Follow me.”

  He led Tony to the cell door, to the window where the two pieces of paper were taped.

  He held his wrist up, the plastic band on his wrist pressing against the glass.

  Tony, not understanding why, followed suit anyway.

  “Always stand on your side of the glass, beneath your incheck sheet. That’s so they can match your face to the mug shot on the red card. And the name has to match the wristband. If anything looks fishy they’ll open the door and drag you out to explain.”