Chapter 5 - Jail

We pulled into the parking lot of the new municipal building. Clearly this was not to be an Andy of Mayberry episode. I didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad one yet.

Junior opened my door and led me up the stairs. Once inside the tan stucco building we passed the dispatch desk. "I'll process him," said Junior to the dispatcher. He had become somewhat possessive of me and led me to the lockdown area. Junior placed his thumb in the bio pad and a solid door slid open - no bars here, this was like maximum security. What crimes did they have here I wondered. Domestic spats, bad checks, bar room brawls. You would think from the lockdown entry Flagler County was filled with hard core felons. Maybe it was just that I had never been to a place like this and was unaware. I felt a million miles from Jacksonville, and even further from my office and life. I feared I would never see the beach or my life again.

Junior led me to a sterile room, unlocked the bracelets and had me empty my pockets into a plastic bucket like the ones used at airport security. Out came my Blackberry, and cell phone. Junior added my wallet that he confiscated at the crime scene. My keys were left back at the car when I hastily left to chew out Rachel. Bad move, I realized. As you go through life you always ponder your worst moment to date. Your biggest mistake. That was it. The pinnacle of fuck ups to date. "Watch too," he instructed. I complied and placed the Rolex in the bin. Junior picked up the electronics and turned them off. It was if the life as I knew it had been turned off.

After the x-ray, Junior walked me to the fingerprint station, where he placed each finger of each hand onto a bio reader, which scanned them and saved them to the local as well as master Homeland Security database. They would be instantly checked by artificial intelligence to see if there were any outstanding warrants. I knew there wouldn’t be.

Then he led me to the camera and took the standard portrait and profile mug shots. I wondered if they would rate with the Mel Gibson shots. Rather than the celebrity websites mine would be found on all financial websites. There would be a shot of a thirty-something medium build man, short brown conservative haircut, with the look of shock in his bloodshot chocolate brown eyes.

Maybe I would rate the Motley Fool. I could be sure our stock price would tank by Friday. As if things weren’t bad enough, our stock was at ten percent of where it traded at IPO. The early investors took a bath if they held more than a year. The market of course was the electronic Vegas for big pocket institutional and small investors alike.

The flash was blinding. Then Junior walked me to the commode. "Pee in this cup," he said as he stood there watching.

"You mind?" I asked.
"Policy," he replied.
"Why?"
"Have to make sure it's your pee."
"Who else’s would it be?" I replied with a hint of hostility.
"Policy," he repeated. He had no more interest in watching than I had being watched. I wanted to be empathetic of his position, but just couldn't get there.

I peed in the cup.

He then led me to the holding cell. He placed his thumb on the bio reader and the cell door opened. There were some stiff metal benches, enough to hold about twenty, but this morning it was just me and a wreaking drunk who was laying down on one of the four benches. The walls were yellow painted cinder block. I stepped in. "Don't I get a call?"

"It's seven fifteen, ya'll have ta' wait till nine."

The door closed. I couldn't believe only two and a half hours ago Rachel was riding my tail on the Coastal Highway.