***
After I sat an eternity in the holding cell, the police opened a large metal door and lined the malfeasants in one line in a corridor. Then we walked along the hall with two police officers leading in the front while four officers trailing in the back. We marched along an underground tunnel from the police jail to the courthouse lockup.
Brothers, I was tired counting the same bricks over and over again in the same cell, so I was happy to sit in a new cell with a different shade of gray. Why are these cells always cold? Are the police storing us in a meat locker. I haven’t seen the sun in days or years in a windowless cell. I knew it was a matter of weeks before those walls would start playing tricks on me.
The police squeezed us into a little holding cell next to the courtroom.
We waited, waited, and waited. Occasionally, one of the inmates would sit down at a window and confer with their attorney. Then they would appear in front of the judge.
But I had no attorney, so I never sat down at the window to confer with anyone.
I just sat in the corner and kept to myself.
I asked the person next to me, “What’s the date?”
“Monday.”
“No, I mean the date on the calendar.”
The guy shrugged his shoulders.
Another inmate sitting across from me, “The fifth.”
“Thanks.”
Shit, I thought to myself. I have only been locked up a weekend, which felt like an eternity. I would go absolutely mad to sit in prison for a decade or two.
Around noon, or at least what I thought was noon, a police officer came and handed out brown paper bags for lunch.
I eagerly grabbed mine and sat down and tore the bag open – a bologna sandwich, a packet of crackers, an apple, and a box of juice.
One inmate tossed his bag onto the floor, “Not this shit again.”
“What ya talking about? You should see the shit they feed us in the college cafeteria.” Then I took a large bite of my sandwich and chewed it like I was savoring a USDA prime cut steak.
Everyone in the cell turned and stared at me.
“Are you serious?” someone called out.
“Yeah. Sometimes, I went to the homeless shelter where I could eat much better food.”
“Unbelievable.”
After lunch, inmates started disappearing one by one. Finally, I was the last inmate in the cell. I went to the pay phone and dialed zero.
The operator said, “What number do you want to call?”
“Crime Stoppers.”
“Do you know the number?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know the number.”
“Just a moment please.”
After several clicks and buzzes, the operator asked, “Do you accept a call from Marquette County Jail?”
“Yes, we accept the call.”
“May we help you?”
“Yes. I would like to report a crime?”
“You are already in lockup. Just inform a detective.”
“I don’t think so. Besides, the police have not been very helpful so far.”
“What’s your name?”
“I thought I could report a crime anonymously?”
“It helps if you provide your name. That way the detectives can conduct a thorough investigation.”
“Look, I’m not providing my name. I may have information about that university heist last Friday, but if people don’t want to listen, I’ll just –“
“Okay. Okay. We’re listening.”
“You need to investigate David. He always hangs out at the Blackstone Church on Townsend Drive. His car plate 880 VKE.” Then I hung up.
After an hour, the bailiff opened the door and escorted me to the courtroom. I stood on the left side while the prosecutor stood on the right.
A court clerk said, “Your honor, this is the last case on the docket – a writ of habeas corpus.”
The judge asked me, “Are you, Jax Gamble?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you understand why you’re here today?”
“Yes, sir. I know habeas corpus allows an honest, hardworking lad like myself to challenge my unlawful incarceration.”
“Proceed with the case.”
The prosecutor started, “Your honor. Jax Gamble represents a threat to our society. He orchestrated a protest to hide a robbery of the university bursar’s office. We need to detain Jax Gamble for another week as the police complete their investigation.”
I pointed at my face, “Your honor, this is how the police conduct an investigation.”
“Objection, objection.”
The judge looked at me. Then he turned and asked the prosecutor, “Have you charged Jax Gamble with a crime?”
“No, sir. But Jax Gamble refuses to cooperate with the police investigation.”
The judge examined me again.
I pointed to my face, “Your honor, the police are -“
“Objection, your honor,” the prosecutor shouted.
The judge asked the prosecutor, “Do you have enough evidence to charge the defendant?”
“No, your honor. At this time, we’re still collecting critical evidence.”
The judge replied, “Then I uphold the writ and order the defendant released.” Then the judge signed a document, stood up, and walked through the chambers door behind him.
The prosecutor faced me and squinted his eyes. “You think you won this round. But we’ll get you.” Then he stomped out of the court.
Brothers, I was happy when the police escorted me to my cell. I thought the police would immediately release me, but they didn’t. They held me for another day and charged me for disturbing the public. Thank God, I called Drew and talked him into paying my fine. But damn, that fine was much better than the thirty years for burglary and armed robbery.
I didn’t know it at this time brothers, but the police swooped in and arrested David. The police found the commemorative two-dollar bill, the stolen checks, and the Dean’s antique chess set in the trunk of David’s car. The police also found that fully loaded .38 Smith & Wesson, the one David gave to me to shoot the dean. The police linked the gun to several murders in the area. I guess David thought I was a putz and would become the fall guy for his misdeeds. I guess I wasn’t the obedient, mindless Christian soldier that David thought I was.
So brothers, I foiled my nemesis’s assassination, the Dean, and the prick doesn’t even know about it. But that’s okay, though. Although I hate the bastard, I didn’t think he deserved to die. Perhaps fired and left homeless on a street, but not dead. In the end, the Board of Trustees demoted the dean, so he returned to teaching as a regular professor, stripped of his dignity and authority.
I occasionally pass Professor Tremaine in the corridors, but I’m afraid to enroll into one of his courses. Of course, he lost that fancy office and moved to a pigeonhole under a stairwell. but at least he got his antique chess set back.
Paying for College - The Novel Page 38