Chapter 7 - Red the Jailer

A new cop came to the holding cell. It wasn’t Junior. The old redneck had the hugest wad of chew in his mouth I had ever seen. He was carrying around a Styrofoam coffee cup that I'll bet was used to capture his residue spit. I pity the guy that confuses his coffee cup with Red's. He had a big gut as well from eating too much barbeque and washing it down with Buds, the beer of choice around these parts, along with Ford F-150's. It was an interesting blend of people in the North Florida beach area, native rednecks, who replaced the Seminoles hundreds of years ago and the Yuppies. I am a member of the later. There was a common disdain between the two groups and being locked up with the Minorcan at the watch was a bit un-nerving.

Minorcans were locals whose history could be traced back to the Spanish settlers. They were a sort of Royalty around these parts. Some were land rich because of the squatted land their families owned. Unfortunately they had to sell off to developers in order to pay the rising real estate taxes. Those properties quickly got developed into either family or retirement communities. Now those communities are overvalued and sales have come to an abrupt halt.

Anyway here I was with Red; Junior must have been back out on patrol, and the Criminal Investigations Unit would have taken over the case. I wanted desperately to call Jerry back, but I just had the one call as far as I was aware. I was surprised that after a weekend, there was only one drunk locked up with me. I couldn't decide whether to pace or sit. There was nothing to read; maybe I would sleep until Jerry got there – not a chance. If he had any compassion, he would bring a Starbucks and Scone; I dare not ask Red for java or breakfast.

"Bubba, your mouthpiece is here," Red informed me. These 'ol boys call everyone Bubba. "He's in the meeting room, let's go"

I remained silent. I stood up and followed through the opened cell door. He didn't put cuffs on me, which was a surprise. I followed down the hall to the meeting room. Red pressed his thumb to the bio reader, opened the door and I saw Jerry sitting at the table. He immediately stood. "Randall!" He exclaimed, "how are you?"

I looked to Red; I was not going to speak with him there. I glanced at the table to see a white legal pad -- no Starbucks. The room was light green painted cinder block; I guess some decorator decided cells are yellow, meeting rooms are green. The table was a Steelcase putty color with laminate wood top, steel chairs to match. I took a seat which was cold and hard and sat silently. Red instructed Jerry to push a button near the door when he was ready to leave.

After Red left, Jerry and I stood and shook hands. He reached over the table to give me a hug in that awkward guy kind of way.

"No breakfast?" I asked.
"They wouldn't have let me give it to you, sorry," he said earnestly. "They treating you okay?"
"I'm hungry,"
"They haven't fed you?"
"No, but no big deal, can you get me out by lunch?"
"Doubtful. You have to get questioned first, and then arraigned. It’ll be late today, if not tomorrow. What happened?" asked Jerry, waiting to hear the story as my attorney and a friend; but mostly out of sheer curiosity in a rubber-necker sort of way. My comment that I was accused of murder and rape certainly would pique one's curiosity, especially for a corporate lawyer who mostly deals with contracts and labor issues.

"You call Pete?"
"Yeah. I was surprised that he was able to come himself; lucky for you he successfully litigated for a client whose trial ended Friday. He's a bit hung-over but on his fractional owned jet on his way to St. Augustine airport. I’ll pick him up at noon."

"The first good thing to happen today, he wasted no time in getting here," I said. My spirits were rising, I could feel the funk leave, but the financial meter was already running, two - five hundred dollars an hour lawyers and a fractional jet, I wondered what cost would hit my bill. No doubt I would have to exercise my undervalued options from the company to pay the legal tab. I had been keeping that cookie jar for a rainy day and it was pouring today.

"Pete wanted to get here as soon as possible, because he says that the first interrogation is the most important. I’ll put off the investigators until after Pete gets here. So what happened?" he asked a second time. His curiosity could wait no longer.

I began to recite a story that would be repeated a hundred times in the coming hours, days, weeks, and months. I hoped it wouldn’t spill over to years, but the story will follow me to the end of days. "Wait," said Jerry as he placed a recorder on the table. "Do you mind?" He asked.

I nodded no, and then began again. Jerry listened and made continual eye contact as I tended to occasionally look away while accessing what I believed to be the facts logged into the gray matter database in my skull, which by the way was pounding once again. He didn’t ask a single question during my recital. I assume he didn’t want to break my train of thought. He would however occasionally break eye contact in order to jot a question on his pad. But he did not interrupt as the Olympus voice capture recorder ran, posting my account to some sort of electronic memory.

"....and that's about it I said when I finished.

Jerry's self imposed silence was broken with the profound comment of "Holy shit!"
"Exactly," I responded. "So where do you think we stand?"
"I think we need to find out what her motives were. That is what I think Pete will say. Did you know her well?"
"About as well as any woman I guess. I try not to get close to the women I sleep with; you know that."
"You aren't exactly the commitment kind of guy."
"Right now I wish I had been and never slept with anyone like Rachel."
"For once I’m not jealous of your lifestyle Randy."
"Me either," I agreed.
"Anything else?" asked Jerry as he gathered his things.
"I’m pretty hungry, can you see if Red can get me some lunch?"
"Who's Red?"
"The cop who brought me in here.”
"His name's Red?"
"I don't know his fuckin' name, that's just what I call him in my head. Sir is what I call him to his face."

I could feel the frustrated anger returning. I did nothing wrong! This day is the most fucked up one in my life. I held no concern for Rachel killing herself and blaming me, she chose that end. But I was pissed about the baggage she left me with. If I didn't change my disposition I would wind up someone’s bitch at Raiford. I was sure of it.

Jerry sensed my frustration. He reached over the table as he stood and touched my shoulder. "It'll be okay. You need to settle down,” he consoled.
"I know."
He walked to the door and pushed the button. "I gotta go get Pete," he said.

I rose and approached Jerry, right hand extended. He took it and as we shook I said," thanks for coming old friend."
He smiled slightly, “it will be okay, I gotta go.”
"Remember lunch," I said as Red opened the door.
My stomach was growling so loud it could have spoken for itself.