Date: Thu, 28 Mar 2013 00:41:33 -0400 (EDT)
From: ErastesTouch@aol.com
Subject: Different Points of View, chapter 21

Different Points of View - by Erastes
Copyright 2012 by Erastes
Chapter 21 – The Sentence.

While I was biding my time waiting for the sentencing date to arrive, I received a
visit from the probation officer who had been assigned to prepare the pre-
sentencing investigation report.  He asked numerous questions and probed into
various aspects of my life, from childhood until the present, including every
sexual milestone and minor disciplinary infraction along the way.  In fact, I
considered him to be more intrusive than any psychiatrist I'd ever met or even
heard of, and he performed his duties while displaying a severe lack of tact.

Even though I was tempted to tell him to fuck off, and I probably would have if his
report weren't going to be used to determine my fate, I reluctantly answered each
of his questions.  Once he had all of the information he was looking for, he
packed up his notes and left, without giving me any indication of what he was
thinking or what he intended to suggest to the judge.  However, I wasn't overly
concerned about this, seeing my lawyer had previously told me that he thought
the judge would merely go along with the District Attorney's sentencing
recommendation.

Later that night, Bruno called to ask how things had gone during the interview.
After I told him about what the guy had put me through and how I thought his visit
went, he said he'd get a copy of the report a day or two before we went before
the judge, so we'd at least have some idea as to whether his comments might
sway the judge's decision.  Bruno didn't think that would happen, since he didn't
feel that anything I'd told him was egregious enough to negate the sentencing
agreement with the D.A.'s office, but he still wanted to see what the probation
officer had to say before we went to the sentencing hearing.  Now, we just had to
wait.

The day before the hearing was to be held, Bruno called me at home.

"Bob, I don't think you have to worry," he began.  "The guy from probation didn't
say anything in his report that might cause the judge to question the D.A.'s
recommendation, so I think you'll be fine."

"That's great news, Bruno!" I shouted.  "Well, not the going to jail part, but at least
I won't be there for any longer than a year."

"I understand, but now for a reminder," Bruno added.  "Just dress in a pair of
slacks and a dress shirt for court tomorrow and don't carry much with you.  Take
a few bucks, but not more than $100, and they'll credit whatever you have to your
inmate account, so you can buy things from the jailhouse store, but leave your
wallet and credit cards locked up at home.

"You should also pack a paper bag with several changes of underwear, socks, a
toothbrush and toothpaste, a writing pad, maybe some envelopes and stamps
and a couple of pens," Bruno continued.  "They'll let you take those things in with
you, although they'll inspect the bag for contraband first, so don't try to slip in
anything else.  I think you'll feel better having your own underwear and socks, as
well as the toothpaste you use, but that's all you'll need, because they'll provide
everything else.  I'll also drive to your house and pick you up in the morning,
around 9:00, so your vehicle won't be left on the street or taking up one of the
valuable parking spaces in my law firm's lot.  I suggest you put it in your garage,
where it will be safe, but don't forget to leave your keys at home too, for
whomever you've set up to take care of things for you while you're gone.  Ok?"

"Yes, Bruno, and thanks for the advice," I responded.

That night wasn't as bad as I suspected it might be, now that I had resigned
myself to my fate.  Instead, I merely made sure the house was secure and I had
locked up all of the valuables, as well as unplugged everything except the clocks
and shut off the gas and water until I got back.  I also packed a grocery-size
paper bag full of the things Bruno had advised that I should take with me.

After I had finished doing that, I called Jack, my literary attorney and good friend,
so I could ask him to pick up Boo-Boo and drop him off at Jared's house, along
with his food and other supplies, as well as enough cash to cover the cost of the
food while I was away.  I also told him to give the family his cell number, so they
could call him if Boo-Boo needed to go to the vet, because I wanted him to pay
those bills using my accounts too.

I even considered having Jack give the family a note from me, but seeing I wasn't
sure how it would be received, I decided not do it.  I didn't suspect Sherry would
be upset about getting the puppy, but I wasn't sure how she'd react if she were
handed a note from me.  That was because I wasn't certain if she had been
involved with talking Jared into filing the report against me, but if she thought I
had hurt her son, then that was a possibility.  I really didn't want to deal with an
overly protective mother bear, especially now, when I was about to temporarily
loose my freedom.

I also wanted to do this because I thought the dog might be good for the boys
and serve to distract them from thinking about the fact that I was going to jail.  I
also hoped that it might possibly ease some of their pain, but I wasn't sure about
that.  I told Jack that if they didn't want to keep Boo-Boo, then he could place the
dog in a kennel, on my dime, and I'd take him back just as soon as I got
released.  I didn't know what else to do with Boo-Boo if Sherry and the boys
didn't want to keep him, but I certainly didn't want to give the dog away, since he
was the birthday present I had given Jared.

The next morning I woke up early, showered, dressed and ate breakfast.  Bruno
said he'd pick me up at 9:00, because we were scheduled to be in court at 10:00
and it would give us a chance to talk first.  Bruno had already looked over what I
was going to say today, because I had emailed it to him several days ago and
then he sent it back with his suggestions.  I made the changes and then emailed
the final copy back to him, which he quickly oked.  Now, all I had to do was read
it in court.

Bruno arrived right on time to pick me up and then I rode with him to the
courthouse.  He asked me how I was holding up and then double-checked to
make sure I had done everything he'd suggested.  Once that was dealt with, we
arrived at the parking garage and once more dodged the bloodsuckers from the
press corps on the way in.  I still don't understand how they can get so much
enjoyment feeding off of other people's pain and suffering and I also find it hard
to believe that anyone needs the money so badly that they would be willing to
stoop to such a job.  Then again, maybe it's just that I'm down on them right now,
because they convicted me in print before a jury ever had a chance to do so.
Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?

It's not that I'm the only one they've ever done something like this to.  I've seen
them stick their mikes in people's faces, right after some tragedy had just
occurred, so they could ask the grieving relatives how they felt.  How in the hell
do they think those people are going to feel?  I truly hope those reporters are just
lacking basic common sense about such matters and aren't really that ignorant.

Anyway, once we were in the courtroom, we took our places at the defense table
and waited for the judge to enter.  It was only a few minutes later when the bailiff
asked everyone to rise and the judge took his seat at the bench.  After arranging
some items in front of him, he began to speak.

"Mr. Cox's plea has been entered and accepted, but an allocution was requested
by the District Attorney's office, before his sentence would be finalized.  Mr. Cox,
are you ready to make this statement now?"

I rose and spoke very clearly.  "Yes, Your Honor."

"You may proceed then."

I grabbed the sheet of paper containing my prepared statement and began to
read from it.

"I will not attempt to deny my actions and freely admit that I had sexual contact
with said minor.  I know it was wrong and I apologize for what happened.  On that
one occasion, I performed oral sex on said minor, but he never returned the favor
and there was never any form of penetration.  This happened at my home and
I'm sorry I let things get out of hand.  I hope that some day he, his brother and his
mother will forgive me for what I did."

I felt that by making the statement the way I had would get Jared off the hook
with his peers.  It wouldn't appear as if it had been his idea or that more than a
blowjob was involved, so I felt his peer group might allow that to slide, without
humiliating Jared because of it.

After making my statement, I sat down and the judge addressed the Assistant
District Attorney.

"Mr. Levitt, will that suffice?" he asked.

"Yes, Your Honor.  My office will accept his allocution," the A.D.A. confirmed.

"Seeing the D.A.'s office has found the allocution acceptable, we'll move on to
sentencing," the Judge confirmed.  "I have looked over the pre-sentencing report
and noted that Mr. Cox has no previous record and no history of this kind of
behavior.  Due to this fact, I am willing to go along with the District Attorney's
sentencing recommendation and order that Mr. Cox serve one year in the county
jail.  It is so ordered and this case is now concluded.  Bailiff, please see to it that
Mr. Cox is taken into custody and have him escorted over to the jail to be
processed."

With the rap of the judge's gavel, my freedom temporarily ceased to exist and I
was led away to spend the better part of the next year in a small cage.

The bailiff came over to get me, assisted by a sheriff's deputy, who put a pair of
handcuffs on my wrists.  As soon as he finished doing that, I saw Bruno whisper
in the deputy's ear, followed by the deputy nodding in response.  The deputy
then grabbed my arm and we followed Bruno through the same exit he and I had
used one of the previous times we were in court and they hustled me down the
back stairwell to the basement level.  As we were passing the door leading to the
first floor, I glanced through the small glass window and saw the members of the
press gathered in front of the elevator doors.   They thought I'd be taken to the
first floor via the elevator, so they were waiting to snap their pictures and attempt
to get a comment.  Won't they be pissed when they discover we were able to
bypass them?

>From there, we followed an underground passageway that connected the jail to
the parking garage, which was also used by many of the jail's employees when
they came to work.  Bruno had seen to it that we did this, rather than follow the
usual outdoor route the deputies used when escorting prisoners to and from the
jail, in order to save me from having to face the press.  Bruno wished me well,
before he left me alone with the deputy, and then we continued our journey.

As we entered the jail, I was led to a small reception area, which already
contained two other prisoners.  I guess they had been sentenced today as well,
possibly in one of the other courtrooms, or they had just been arraigned and
remanded to jail.  We all just sat there in silence, as we waited to be processed.

The first guy was fairly young and my guess was that he was just barely twenty-
one, if that, but the other guy was a scruffy older dude, probably in his late forties
or early fifties.  None of us spoke and we merely eyed each other, wondering
what the others had been accused or convicted of.  One at time, we were led
away to have our fingerprints taken, as well as new mug shots.  This time, I
followed some of the advice I'd been given previously about the fingerprinting
process and rubbed my fingertips against the bench and the wall, in an attempt
to fill the ridges with dirt particles.  Not only was I uncertain as to whether this
had any effect, I also wasn't convinced it would actually do any good.

When the intake process was concluded and they had our fingerprints and mug
shots, we were taken into a small room, one at a time, where we were strip-
searched.  Once they finished, we had everything but our underwear and socks
taken from us and then we were given bright orange jumpsuits to put on, along
with a pair of slip-on athletic shoes.  Belts and shoelaces aren't allowed in the
jail, since it is felt those items could be used to commit suicide, as well as to
murder another inmate or guard, but this seemed more than a little strange to
me.  Why would they only prevent those items from being taken into the jail?
Yes, I can see how those things could be used for such purposes, but so can
many other items.  I guess those in charge must have missed the numerous cop
shows on TV that have shown the same things could be done with a bed sheet.
Even if the inmate didn't want to use the entire sheet, then he could always rip it
into strips and then use those items for the same purposes.

Anyway, after we were dressed in our jailhouse uniform, we were given our
bedding, which consisted of a pillow, pillowcase, two sheets and a blanket, along
with a towel, which we carried with us as we were escorted to the cell we had
been assigned.  The younger guy and I were led to the same cellblock, while the
other guy was taken to a different location.  The cellblock had five individual cells,
with a common area that ran the entire length of the cellblock and included the
space in front of each of the cells.  The common area was a barred in area where
the inmates could get together to talk, play games or do other things, whenever
they weren't restricted to their cells.

The common area also had three metal tables, each with four individual seats,
and all of these items were securely bolted into the floor, so they couldn't be
used as a weapon.  I thought it was odd that there was seating for twelve, yet
there were only five cells and five inmates in here, but then I realized there might
be other reasons for this.  For one thing, this would allow for the jail to double up
in the cells, if the inmate population increased, but it also gave the inmates space
to avoid others in the cellblock that they might not get along with and wished to
avoid.

When I was led to my cell, the first thing I did was take a look around.  After a
quick visual inspection, I noticed that the entire front of the cell, including the
door, consisted of thick metal bars, but the other three walls were solid sheets of
metal.  The cell appeared to be about the size of a typical walk-in closet, which
meant it was kind of cramped, but I couldn't quite stretch out my arms and touch
both walls at the same time.  After looking around, I decided this had apparently
been constructed to accommodate double occupancy, because there were two
metal platforms bolted to the wall on one side of the room and were meant to
serve as beds.  There was only one thin mattress though, which was lying on the
lower platform, but it could easily be moved to the upper one, if you chose to
sleep there instead.

Since we were told that we would each have our own cell, the second platform
not only allowed us the choice of which of these we wanted to sleep on, but you
could use the other for storage.  If you slept on the upper area, however, then
you could also use the lower area as just another place to sit down and stretch
out during the day, without messing up your bedding.

In addition to the 'beds,' across from them there was a small metal table, with a
seat on either end, which could be used as a desk.  This was similar to the tables
in the common area, just not as large, and it could be used to sit at if you wished
to write or use as a reading area, because there was a light jutting out of the wall
directly above it, to brighten the area even better.

Over on the far wall of the cell, directly across from the doorway, there was a
stainless steel toilet, with a built-in seat, and a small stainless steel sink, above
which was a stainless steel mirror.  All in all, these accommodations weren't as
bad as I feared, unless of course I had been forced to share it with a second
inmate, because it would have been really cramped with two people in this small
enclosure.

I quickly decided to use the lower sleeping area and began to make my bed, so I
could lie down and contemplate my new lodgings, but I never got the chance.  As
I was unfolding the blanket, so I could place it over the sheets, the younger guy
who was part of the group I was brought here with stopped by to chat.

"Not the greatest, is it?" he began.

"No, but I'm sure it could be worse," I replied.  "At least it's not a really old facility
and it's fairly clean, so I guess it will suffice."

"Yeah, I suppose.  So what are you in for?" he asked, surprising me with his
bluntness.

I later discovered that this was a major topic of interest among inmates, but it
was something I didn't particularly want to disclose to anyone else.  I'd heard
stories about how inmates have their own sense of right and wrong, as well as
their own hierarchy of crimes, from those they consider acceptable and on up to
those they consider despicable.  Unfortunately, at least for me, sexual predators,
especially those who do things with kids, are considered worse than thieves and
even murderers, so it places them on the top of the despised list.  Personally, I'd
find that ironic, if I didn't consider it so damned pathetic.

"For getting caught," was how I chose to answer his question.

To ensure that he let this topic drop and didn't pursue it further, I didn't ask him
what he had done.  Instead, I merely turned back to what I was doing when he
showed up and put the finishing touches on making my bed.

"Is this your first time... I mean being in jail?" he asked next, undeterred by my
terse answer or the fact that I'd just ignored him.

"Yes.  How about you?" I followed.

I only responded this time because I could see that he wasn't about to be put off
so easily and I didn't want him to revert to his previous question.

"Yeah, I was arrested last night and kept in a holding cell at the Police
Department until this morning," he confessed.

Once this sank in, I began to wonder about what he might have done, if they put
him in here and he hadn't even been convicted yet.  I didn't want to ask him
about this though, since I didn't want to share my information with him.

"So you haven't had your trial yet?" I asked, surprised by this revelation.

"Nah.  I just had my arraignment this morning, but since I couldn't afford bail and
the judge thought the charge was too severe to just release me until the trial, he
sent me here," he explained.

"Damn, that sucks," I mused.

He nodded, but didn't say anything more, but then after a few seconds, he spoke
again.

"Are you scared?" he followed.

After he'd said this, I began to look at him more closely and studied his face, in
an effort to determine why he was asking this.  I needed to see where he was
coming from, but about all I could tell was that he seemed to be really nervous,
probably even scared, so I didn't even have to ask how he was feeling.  In fact, I
was actually beginning to feel sorry for him.

"Not really, but I'm not particularly fond of being here either," I finally replied.

He flashed me a weak smile of understanding.

"I'm scared shitless," he admitted.  "That other guy who was waiting with me
when you first showed up, well he told me that I'd end up becoming somebody's
bitch in this place.  He said I was so cute that one of the tougher inmates,
someone who had been in here for a while and hadn't had any sex for a long
time, would probably try to get a piece of my ass before I got out of here."

"Then I'd suggest you keep your back to the wall," I retorted.

I wasn't really trying to be funny, but I wasn't particularly interested in having this
conversation either.  I had my own problems to consider, such as how I was
going to handle the situation, if word got out about what I was in here for.  The
problem was, I felt sorry for this kid and could empathize with what he was
feeling.

"That's probably a good idea," he agreed.  "I'm really terrified that something
might actually happen, so I figured I needed some friends in here that I can trust
and would be willing to help me out.  I thought you looked like a decent guy, so I
kinda thought I might be able to trust you.  I can, can't I?"

"Sure, kid," I told him, hoping that a positive response might help to calm him
down.  "I promise I won't do anything like that to you.   Ok?"

He gave me a weak smile and nodded slightly.

"Thanks," he replied.  "I just knew you were a nice guy and not like some of those
other creeps, so I'm pretty sure I can trust you.  What did you do for a living?  I
get the feeling that you might have been a teacher, coach or someone who
worked with kids."

I eyed him suspiciously now and wondered if there might be a more insidious
reason why he was asking this.  Did someone put him up to it and should I give
up even the smallest details about my life?  After a few seconds of thinking about
this, I concluded that it would probably be safe enough to share a few details with
him, since it appeared that he just needed some reassurance.

"No, nothing like that," I answered.  "I'm a writer, but my stories are geared
toward children and young adults."

His face brightened.

"I knew it!" he exclaimed.  "I think that's neat, because it means that you probably
have to be a pretty nice guy to write stories that the kids might be interested in.  I
read a lot when I was a kid, so do you think I might have read any of your
books?"

"Well, I've only been writing for a couple of years now," I lied, since I didn't want
to tell him about my penname.  "By the time I started, you were probably already
too old to be interested in reading any of my stories."

"Oh, ok, but I just thought I'd check.  By the way, my name's Darren," he
announced, as he held out his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Darren," I responded.  "I'm Bob."

We shook hands and I thought I saw him breath a small sigh of relief, now that
he figured he had someone he could rely on.  I then prodded him to move out to
the common area with me, since at this time I still was unsure if we were
permitted to invite anyone else into our cell.  I certainly didn't want to unwittingly
commit some minor infraction of the rules and get into trouble, because that
could later end up costing me some good-time credit and I wanted to get out of
this place just as soon as I could.  Therefore, I guided him to the table near my
end of the cellblock, and when we got there, we both noticed that a deck of cards
had been left there.

"Want to play something?" Darren asked, as he glanced over at me.

"I think you'd better check and see who the cards belong to first," I cautioned.
"You wouldn't want to piss someone off because you used something that
belonged to him, without asking permission first."

"Shit, I never thought of that," Darren admitted.  "I just thought the guards had
probably left them here for us to use."

"It's possible, but unlikely, since they're not marked with something stating
they're property of the county jail," I countered.  "Chances are, they belong to one
of the other guys in here with us."

"Wow!  Thanks for the warning," he repeated.  "I really don't want to make any
enemies in here."

"I'm glad I was able to help with that," I confirmed.  "This may be my first time
being locked up, but I've seen documentaries about prison life and remembered
some of the things that could cause problems," I explained.  "I know this isn't
technically as bad as a prison, but I'm fairly certain that a few of these guys have
either been in a prison before or are waiting to be transferred to one, since the
state uses local jails to warehouse state prisoners until they can be moved to one
of the state facilities.  That's why I think this same mentality may be prevalent
here as well, so I just wanted you to be careful."

"Yeah, you're probably right," he agreed.  "I'm glad you're here to explain these
things to me, because I don't want to get on anyone's bad side or have to fight
with them."

I'm sure he appreciated my warning, but it only served to remind him that he was
scared, so he began to act nervously again.  In fact, it got so bad that I was afraid
that he was about to hyperventilate.

"Calm down, kid, or you'll have a heart attack before the night's over," I teased,
hoping a little levity might help him begin to calm down.

He gave me a puzzled look for a few seconds, before he spoke.

"That's not exactly the kind of attack I'm worried about," he confessed, before
emitting a nervous little laugh.

I got his drift, without him having to spell it out for me.

"Look, kid.  We're locked up in this small area for most of the day, so you won't
have to deal with a lot of others," I reasoned.  "From what I understand, we get
an hour of rec time each day, which we'll take with some of the other cellblocks,
but there will be three or four guards with us when this happens, so they can take
care of any problems.  Other than that, there's just the five of us, so you don't
really have anyone else that you have to fret about.

"You already know the two of us will be sticking together," I continued, "so we'll
just have to check out the other three and determine whom we can trust and
whom we might have to watch out for.  Then, once the lights are out each night,
we'll be locked in our cells, so there's no way anyone can get to you until
morning.  It will be all right for you to sleep with your eyes closed and you won't
have to worry about someone attacking you in your sleep.  That's one good thing
about being in a jail, rather than a prison, because unless there's a big influx of
inmates, they won't double up in the cells and you'll be alone."

He exhaled slightly and gave me another weak grin.

"Thanks, that does make me feel a little better," he admitted.

"Good, but there is another advantage," I added, "and that is that most of these
guys are generally in for lesser crimes, than those in a prison.  It doesn't mean
there aren't a few that won't try something like that, but most just want to get out
of here and don't intend on doing anything that would extend their stay.  Most
guys in a jail have been sentenced to a year or less, so they don't want to do
anything that would get them locked up for longer or sent away to a worse place.
The only ones you'll have to worry about are those who are just here temporarily,
until they get transferred to a state penitentiary."

"Ok, I'll keep that in mind.  Thanks, Bob," he responded, as the color returned to
his cheeks.  "You've made me feel a whole lot better."

I nodded in understanding, while realizing how much more vulnerable he was.  It
was at this point when I also inwardly acknowledged how cute he was, but I
quickly erased those thoughts from my mind, because I certainly didn't need to
become aroused.   I hurriedly reminded myself that I wasn't going to make any
friends while I was in here, because that could end up backfiring later, especially
if the reason for my incarceration was discovered.

You see, I was hoping that I could merely do my time and then put this incident
behind me, at least as much as possible, and then go on with the rest of my life.
Once this experience was concluded, I planned to suppress all memories of this
year from my mind and never think about it again.  The problem was, this kid
wasn't about to let up and wanted us to be close, so I could help to protect him,
whether it was something I wanted to do or not.  I guess he had taken my being
nice to him and trying to ease his transition into meaning I wanted to be his best
buddy.

"Bob, would you mind if I spend most of my time with you?" he almost pleaded.

As much as I might have wanted to say 'no,' he reminded me a lot of Jared,
especially in the way he was trying to convince me to do what he wanted.  With
Darren it wasn't a sexual goal, since he seemed fearful of that type of encounter,
but I got the feeling that he was looking at me as his 'jailhouse savior,' who would
be there to protect his back.

"Look, kid, I can't control what you do," I began, "but I suspect that if you're
constantly hanging around me, then you might get the other inmates talking
about the connection and wondering what we're doing together, if you get my
drift."

"I don't care what they think!" he objected.  "I just feel safer with you than anyone
else I've met or seen in this place.  Ok?"

"I'm not going to say that you absolutely can't do that, but I want to warn you that
I'll probably be doing my own thing most of the time," I pointed out.

"Like what?" he wondered.

"Hopefully writing," I stated.  "I might be locked up, but I still plan on trying to find
a way to continue doing that while I'm in here.  Sure, I won't be able to do it on a
laptop, which is the way that I'm used to doing it, but I can at least write it out on
tablets and then enter it into a document on my computer after I'm released.  I
probably won't be able to continue the stories I had been working on, but I can
always start something new.  It's just that I refuse to waste my time while I'm in
here and allow my brain to turn to mush."

"Yeah, I see your point," he agreed.

He looked slightly dejected, because I had more or less told him that I wasn't
going to drop everything to look out for him, but he obviously wasn't about to
totally give up on the idea either.  I became aware of that fact when he spoke
again.

"Ok, I won't bother you when you're working," he agreed, "but would you mind if I
came to your cell and did something else while you were doing that?"

"I'm not sure if that's allowed," I replied.  "I don't know if the guards are ok with a
person going into someone else's cell or not."

"I don't think they mind, because I saw the two guys at the other end of the
cellblock doing it," he responded.  "I was just walking around and checking things
out when I saw they were both sitting in one of the cells together, chatting.  They
gave me a dirty look when they saw me staring at them, so I took off, but they
didn't seem to act as if they were worried that I saw them doing something they
weren't supposed to.  I think they just wanted me to know that they didn't like
being spied on and were warning me to mind my own business.  If it's ok with
you, then I'll just sit and watch what you're doing, cuz I don't like the way that one
guy was looking at me."

"Whom are you referring to?  Are you still talking about the guy who was in the
reception area with us?" I tried to clarify.

"Him too, but I'm really talking about the guy in the cell at the far end of this
cellblock," he confirmed.  "After he and the other guy gave me a dirty look when I
saw them in the cell together, I noticed him checking me out later, and he spent a
lot of time looking me over.  I'm not sure what he was thinking, but I had a feeling
that if I found out, I wouldn't like it.  He definitely doesn't strike me as someone I
can trust."

"Possibly not, but he may have just been trying to figure out why you seemed to
be checking on him," I offered.  "As far as your request, I leave that entirely up to
you.  I just think you're going to be really bored."

"Then I'll bring something with me that I can do, but I just don't want to be left
alone out there," he added, with a little sigh of relief.  "Thanks for letting me do
this."

That temporarily ended our current conversation, although he didn't go anywhere
and even followed me back to my cell, so I realized I had probably just picked up
a shadow, whether I wanted one or not.

Before too much more time had passed, we heard someone call out that lunch
was being served and five identical looking trays of food were being passed into
our common area by one of the guards, assisted by a trusty.  That's a trusty, not
a trustee, and it's the term used for an inmate who is given some freedom within
the jail or prison, in return for doing certain duties.  The trusty might work in the
kitchen or the laundry, but he might also be asked to perform general cleaning
duties in the public areas outside of the individual cellblocks.  The term kind of
reminded me of some of the old time movies, where a guy might have a trusty
sidekick or a hunter might take his trusty dog out to scare up some game to
shoot.

Anyway, I urged Darren to wait and let the other three go first, since we were
new here and still feeling our way around this system, so I didn't want to end up
accidentally stepping on anyone's toes.  I'd heard that some inmates are very
territorial and there's an unwritten pecking order in jail, where those being
incarcerated the longest or happened to be the most aggressive and intimidating
alpha male, would always get to go first.  It didn't matter if it was to select a tray
of food, where they sat, who got to use the shower first and even who got to play
a game or use a particular piece of exercise equipment before anyone else.

After the other three had each taken one of the trays that were being passed
through the small slot in the door leading into our cellblock, they either went back
to their cell to eat or sat down at one of the tables in the common area.  After
they had walked away, Darren and I grabbed the remaining two trays and walked
over to an open table and prepared to eat.  This meal consisted of a ham and
cheese sandwich, potato chips, a couple of carrot sticks and some Jell-o.  It also
had one of those half pint cartons of milk, like the ones the kids get at school.  It
was an ok lunch, but not really filling, but it would have to do until dinner.

I was seated across from Darren and in a position where I could observe the two
guys he seemed to be worried about.  They were seated at the next table over,
while the third guy had gone into his cell to eat.  I didn't look directly at them,
because I realized doing that might cause a problem as well, so I did it on the sly.
While Darren and I were talking, I would look over his shoulder to see what the
other two were doing and see if they were watching us in return.  The guy sitting
just behind Darren, I think I'd heard the other guy call him Irvin, didn't appear to
be quite as tough or rough around the edges.  The other guy, however, looked as
if he had the potential of becoming a major problem.  I believe he was probably
the one Darren had been referring to earlier, when he said one of those guys had
been checking him out, so I was determined to keep an eye on him.

Once we'd finished eating, Darren followed me up to put our trays back on the
ledge on the cellblock door, because a trusty would be coming by to pick them up
shortly.  As we were moving away from the area after doing this, the guy that had
eaten in his cell came over to us and introduced himself.

"Hi, my name's Fred," he stated, while reaching his hand out to shake.

Darren and I quickly introduced ourselves and shook his hand.

"Sorry I didn't come by and introduce myself sooner, but I wanted to stay out of
the way and see what Roy and Irvin might do first," he explained.  "I try to give
them a wide berth."

I think we understood what he meant and told him there were no hard feelings,
but then the question came up again, about what we were in for.  Darren quickly
offered the details surrounding his arrest, so this became the first time I had
actually heard what he was in for as well.  From what he said, he'd been involved
in a bar brawl, which began after he and two of his buddies got really drunk and
started a commotion.  When one of the bouncers came over and asked them to
leave, Darren and his buddies refused to move, so a couple of other bouncers
came over and attempted to help their co-worker to forcibly throw Darren and his
friends out.

In an attempt to defend himself and fight off these larger men, since he wasn't
sure what they were going to do next, Darren grabbed a beer bottle and broke it
over the first bouncer's head.  Darren told us that the bartender then called 911
and not only did the cops show up, but an ambulance arrived and ended up
taking the bouncer to the hospital.  Since his buddies hadn't done more than just
struggle against the other bouncers and didn't use any weapons, such as the
bottle, they faced a lesser charge and were released on their own recognizance,
but Darren was sent to jail.

When Fred turned to me, I merely gave the same response I had used earlier,
"For getting caught."  This terse answer seemed to bother him, but he didn't
pursue it further, since he understood that I didn't wish to disclose this
information.  Instead, he told us his story and explained that he was in for
forgery.  He justified this by saying that he had only forged his girlfriend's name
on a couple of checks that were made out to both of them, because she had
gone away for a few days at the time, and he needed the money.  Then, when
she got back, she pressed charges against him, after she discovered what he'd
done.  He said he'd just used the money to pay the rent and buy some food, so
he didn't understand why she was so upset about what he'd done, but it got him
locked up here.

Darren then asked him a question about his girlfriend and their relationship, so I
imagined he was just trying to figure out why she had filed a complaint, especially
since both of their names were on the check and he'd only spent the money on
rent and food.  I wasn't really interested, however, because I understood that
most of these guys tend to embellish their stories just to make themselves look
better.  I'm not sure if Darren heard his answer either, because the guard
escorting the trusty picking up the dirty trays, shouted out a name.

"Cox," he bellowed, immediately gaining my attention.  "Your lawyer dropped this
stuff off for you, so come get your shit and put it in your cell."

When I looked more closely, I saw that he was carrying the paper bag I had left
in Bruno's car.  It contained the things Bruno had told me I would need for my
stay here, so I went over and took the bag from him.  I was about to turn around
and carry it to my cell, when the guard decided to use this time to fill us newbies
in about some of the rules.

"Ok, you two.  This is how things are run here," he began, speaking to Darren
and me.  "Wake-up is at 6:00 a.m.  If you want to shave, razors will be brought
around shortly after that and it's the only time shaving will be permitted.
Breakfast is served around 7:00, lunch at noon and dinner about 5:00.  You will
be brought either coffee or tea later, sometime around 8:00, but whether you get
coffee or tea will depend on what the cook decides to prepare that evening and
you can't just order what you want.  Lights out will be at 11:00 p.m. sharp and we
expect to have no problems after that time.  Any questions?"

Neither of us had any, so he continued with his indoctrination.

"As you've probably already noticed, there's a TV in each cellblock, but it's totally
controlled by the duty officer at the front desk," he stated.  "He will choose which
shows you will be allowed to watch and will occasionally play a movie the county
has purchased for this purpose or something one of the COs has brought in for
your enjoyment.  You can choose to watch these things or not, but that's your
only option.  We don't take requests.  Got that?"

He gave us a little snarl after saying this and we both nodded that we
understood.

"One more thing," he added.  "Twice a week one of the COs will come by and
take your orders for things you want to buy from the inmate store.  All of you
have a little money in your inmate accounts, so your purchases will be deducted
from that amount.  Your friends and relatives can add money on your behalf
when they come to visit, but the total in your account cannot exceed $100 at any
time.  You'll be given a list of the things you can buy from the store, along with
the prices charged for each item, and that list will probably be dropped off
sometime after dinner tonight.  Any questions now?"

This time, we both asked him for some minor clarifications about the inmate
store, which he answered.  After filling us in on these little tidbits of information,
the guard departed and we were left to our own devices again.

"What's a CO?" Darren asked me, as I started to walk away.

"That's what they call the guards," I offered.  "It stands for Correction Officer,
which is their official title."

"Thanks.  That had confused me," he responded.

I told him he was welcome and then took the bag of things the CO had just given
me into my cell and placed it on my bed.  After that, I sat down at the small desk,
got out my pad and a pen and prepared to write.  The problem was, I lacked the
motivation or inspiration that I needed to do this.  After about an hour of
increasing futility, I put the pen down and went over to my bed.  I was just getting
comfortable when I heard one of the guards called out again.

"Rec time.  If you're interested in going outside for some exercise then get in
line," he ordered.

I decided that I might as well give it a try, to see what they had to offer, so I went
out and stood behind Fred.  He was standing in line behind Roy and Irvin, who
were lined up in front of the door to our cellblock.  When Darren saw I was going
out, he hurried down and got in line behind me, since he didn't want to be left
alone in the cellblock.  Once we were all ready to go, the guard walked us out of
the cellblock and down to the double doors leading out to the rec area.  He then
unlocked the door and took us outside.

Once we were out of the building, Fred filled us in about some of the things we
didn't already know.  He explained that inmates are offered an hour of rec each
day, but we don't all come out at the same time.  The inmates from two of the
four wings on a level are grouped together and taken out for rec together, which
means there were be a maximum of forty inmates in the yard at any one time.
Since not everyone opts to take advantage of this opportunity, there are usually
fewer than that in the yard, but those in charge didn't want any more than forty
inmates out for rec at one time.  Any more than that would be too hard to
supervise and could lead to major incidents.

By limiting the number that could have rec at one time, it meant the guards had
to offer this at multiple times, to accommodate everyone who wanted to take part.
Fred then told us that three groups had rec in the morning, one at 8:15, another
at 9:30 and the last at 10:45, and the final three groups were taken out in the
afternoon, at 1:15, 2:30 or 3:45.  The times were rotated among the various
groups on a weekly basis, so each group had a different time slot each week.
This way, no one got stuck going out only in the morning or always in the
afternoon, plus it also meant that sometimes you'd be outside when it was cooler
out and at other times when it was warmer.

When I looked around, I discovered the rec area was merely a small, square
courtyard, which was boxed in between the outer walls of the four wings that
contained the various cellblocks.  Since the jail is three stories high it would be
nearly impossible to escape, but there was also razor wire attached to poles that
jutted out from the walls, just below the roof level of each wing, and extended
over the outer edges of the open courtyard.  This was there to prevent anyone
from even thinking they might be able to scale the walls in order to escape.

The entire area was covered in concrete and there were three basketball hoops,
one in front of three of the four wings, which meant they were spread out enough
so you could have three separate games without interfering with any of the
others.  There were also groups of metal picnic style tables and benches placed
strategically near the wing where there was no basketball hoop, and they were
fastened into the cement, for those who just wanted to sit and chat while enjoying
the weather.

On the other side of the tables, and placed in front of the fourth wing, were a
series of metal bleachers, where you could also sit and watch what was going on
in the courtyard.  Fred told us that these bleachers were also used when the jail
hosted special shows for the inmates, which were held outside in decent
weather.  In addition to everything else, there were also metal bars attached to
the walls at various places, which could be used to do pull-ups, and there was
another area where the inmates could do isometric exercises.

Darren and I decided to grab a basketball and shoot some hoops, but we had
only been doing this for a few minutes when some other inmates came over and
wanted to have a game.  Darren and I agreed that would be fine, so we chose up
sides and began playing.  The game was going fairly well, with Darren and I on
the same team, and we had been playing for about fifteen or twenty minutes,
before some of the other inmates started to gather around us to watch.  When
this happened, everything began to fall apart, because one of the spectators
became aware of something and announced it to everyone else.

"Hey, I know that guy over there," he stated, while pointing at me.  "He's the
baby-raper whose picture was in the newspaper!"

At this point, the game came to a halt, because everyone wanted to have a
chance to identify the villain in their midst – me.  Various inmates began to make
comments and spew vulgarities in my direction.

"Fucking pervert," someone scoffed.

"Somebody should rip your fucking cock and balls off and shove them down your
throat," someone else offered.

"Pedophiles don't do well in here," another warned, "so watch your back."

"Maybe we should show him what it's like to be on the receiving end and give
him a taste of what the kid felt," another voice added.

Things were beginning to get nasty, but there was absolutely nowhere I could go.
I knew we hadn't been out here long enough for our hour to be up yet, so I began
to wonder how far some of these guys would actually be tempted to go and what
might happen next.



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