You will go to jail, and you will see a judge.
Your private life is no longer private. It’s a matter of public record for anybody to see. The cops? Well, they don’t decide. It’s not part of their training. Their job is to catch you and lock you up. That’s it. That’s the extent of their authority, so it makes no sense to explain the circumstances of why you shouldn’t be arrested. Cops ears are not trained to hear your pleas.
The clanging of the door to the bullpen is the signal that precedes any diversion in the boredom of pulling time.
“Bonner, and Beckner, front and center. Time for court.”
We went together. Both of us climbing the stairs behind the cop who was leading the way. Neither of us was wearing handcuffs. These cops knew from long habit that drunks, and saloon brawlers, don’t run away.
The cop led us through a door and directed us to sit down. I glanced around the room, and the first thing I noticed was the little sign to display the prestige of the owner of the desk. Bill Bowen, Mayor. I surely had to chuckle. We were being tried by the mayor.
Apparently, the justice department budget was too small to establish a small claims court to try guys like me, along with the drunks and wife beaters, and right off I wondered if he got extra pay for sentencing prisoners.
My inspection, and my thoughts, were both interrupted when a guy entered the room, and went behind the desk. He looked the same as any businessman you might see on the street, from his double-breasted suit to his glasses. A quick glance at a piece of paper that I assumed was the docket for today, and he spoke.
“Uh, Mr.Bonner, we’ll take you first. Stand up here in front of my desk if you will, and we’ll try to get this thing settled.”
It only took me a second to get there, and the first thing he said was critical. All at once I knew that this would be a bad day.
“Last night, I have a report here that claims you took part in a physical confrontation, with two of our prisoners, who in some manner offended you. Is that true?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?.. Would you care to provide us with your description of this incident?”
“The man was choking me. I didn’t want to die.”
“Hmmm, and the earlier similar incident in Turner’s saloon?
“The man wanted to rent me the barstool I was sitting on, and I chose not to pay.”
“Yes. I have that right here.” he was reading from another sheet of paper.
“Hmmm, now according to the testimony of the bartender, you advised the man that you would need to puke in your beer if you permitted yourself to rent the barstool. Is that an accurate account of your statement, regarding paying rent for a barstool?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmm, very good. The solution to the incident is perfectly obvious Mr. Bonner. You sir, being a visitor to our community, and ignorant of our local humor, quite naturally failed to understand, that no one has the authority to rent a barstool, and therefore took unwarranted offense at the humor of one of our locals. I, therefore, find you guilty of assault and battery, on the person of three of the citizens of Cambridge, and hereby sentence you to ten day confinement in our local jail. Case dismissed.”
“Now Mr. Beckner, if you please. Yes. Right in the desk’s front.”
Holy smoke. I was in shock. What the heck. There was no way that anybody could be that obtuse. How long did it take him to figure out the humor excuse? And why? His local people had deliberately attacked me, a total stranger to them.Or maybe I looked like a man that they felt the need to take a big steaming dump on. I would never figure it out. My attendance shifted to Buck, the mayors next victim, standing patiently in front of his desk.
“Hmmm, now Buck, our boys have found you drunk again, but this time there isn’t a disorderly charge against you. Why is that?”
Buck laughed. “Hell man, it’s almost a known fact. Those ass wipes you pay to arrest me every couple weeks just got there to me too early. I needed a few more beers before we could get to the disorderly part. They just jumped the gun.”
“Hmmm, now Buck, I’m trying to figure this out. How about your boss? If I give you ten days this time, is he going to fire you?”
“Naw. Hell, you know I’m just a flunky, anyway. Any high school numb-nuts can stack that lumber just a good as I can. ’Sides, I done got enough ahead of the job to where I could sit on my big fat for a few days so I guess I can sit as well in jail as I can sit on the job. ’Sides that, when I’m in your jail, you got to feed me. Out there on the job, ain’t nobody gonna feed me, so ten days will be fine.”
“Okay, Buck Beckner. I hereby sentence you to ten days in jail for being drunk. Case dismissed.”
The cop was tapping me on the shoulder. “Let’s go,” he said.
Chapter 6
Buck, and I, both fell into line behind him, as he led us back to the cell block. Ten days. Was that a standard sentence for drunks and guys like me? Fiddlesticks. Yeah, fiddlesticks, and old childhood expression, always used when something went wrong. As I grew older, I learned to use the many expressions of the fuck word, and the shit word. Humans. We have a way of twisting things. Yeah, even a reason for making it a crime to stop a man from beating you up.
“Well?” It was old Charlie. He and the others were all sitting at the card table, and they were all looking at us, when the cop let us through the door.
“Usual,” Buck said, “and he hit Jake with a dime too.”
“Cocksucker,” and it was like a chorus coming from the card table. The mayor seemed to be an unpopular guy.
I dropped into one of the spaces around the table. “Ever heard of a man named Marcello?” I said to Charlie.
He didn’t answer right off. Just sort of sat there silent, like maybe studying the question. Buck who had sat down beside him said something, but Charlie put up his hand, motioning him to silence.
“Moneyman,” Charlie said. “Owns the casino. A lot of stories about him. What’s true, and what ain’t, nobody knows. I’d probably say he’s a disliked person. Why you want to know?”
“One of the guys I attended to over at Turner’s saloon yesterday was named Abe Roster, and the cop said he worked for Marcello. Just thought there might be some kind of connection between the mayor’s assessment of my actions, regarding my refusal to rent a barstool, and his decision to turn the whole shebang into a big mistake on my part. And that he only gave me ten days.”
“You pissed because he didn’t give you a bigger sentence?” He was grinning and so were Buck and Willy Smith.
“No,” I said. “See, every winter I spend a lot of my nights in flophouses. See, with the work I do, I can’t save enough to afford a motel every night, so I use the flophouses.”
“Trouble is, man, it gets colder than old billy hell up north, and the flophouses run you out early. So, I go to the library and I do a lot of reading, and some books I use are legal books. Now what that means is that I have a fair knowledge of legal jargon, and the way the courts work.”
“In the saloon, I put three guys in the hospital. Here we can add another two. Boys, that’s not just a small time. I should have got more time. The mayor was trying to please somebody, while trying not to hurt me too bad. At first, I was pissed at him. Later, I might just owe him one.”
“Well kiss my patootie,” Charlie laughed. “You’re about as devious as you are bloody. But yeah, you might be right. See, nobody likes our mayor, but nobody ever claimed he was dumb. If he’s in Marcello’s pocket it wouldn’t come as any surprise.”
“Lots of others are,” Buck put in. “But you may as well get happy about your sentence.