I've Got My Eyes on You(27)

? ? ?

After turning off Hollywood Avenue, the detective’s car accelerated onto Route 17. The traffic was moving quickly as they were a little ahead of the worst part of the morning rush.

A bewildered Alan tried to make sense of what was going on around him. Only days ago, he had ridden in this same car with Detective Wilson, to Hackensack. But on the earlier trip he had been in the front seat and was not wearing handcuffs. He found himself hoping that this was one long nightmare. When he woke up, he would go to Kerry’s house, make up with her and hurry home to mow the lawn. And finish organizing what he would bring to college. It didn’t work. This was real.

Wilson and the other detective made no attempt to speak to him. He could hear them talking about the monstrously long home run the Yankees’ Aaron Judge had hit the previous evening. He had seen it. For them this is just another day at the office, he thought. For me, my life is over.

Processing at the jail was a blur. The bright flashes as he was photographed straight on and in profile. Being fingerprinted again. Answering a barrage of questions.

Alan was taken into a windowless room. His handcuffs were removed. He was given a bag and told to take off his clothes and put them in it. He assumed it would be okay to keep his underwear on. He was told to put on an orange jumpsuit that was on the counter in front of him.

After changing, he was taken to a community holding cell. About a dozen people were there. There were benches along the walls of the room and one in the center. Toward the back of the cell on the right, in full view of all, was a stainless steel toilet. No one was sitting on the bench closest to it. Alan took a seat on a bench near the cell door.

About half the people in the cell appeared to be around his age or a little older. One prisoner sitting by himself in the corner smelled to high heaven. Everybody was sitting, most with their heads down. There were a few conversations going on. A loudmouth was sharing his experiences with someone who had never been arrested. Alan heard another one explaining the difference between jail and prison. “If you incarcerated for up to 364 days, you in jail; 365 days or more, you in prison.”

Alan had not eaten breakfast and was very hungry. He made eye contact with a middle-aged man on the bench opposite him. “Is food something you ask for, or do they bring it when they’re ready?”

The man smiled. “They just bring it, but believe me, it’s nothing you’d ask for.”

There was no clock that he could see, and watches weren’t permitted. After what he thought was several hours, a guard began unlocking the cell door. Behind the guard was an older man pushing a cart with numerous paper bags on the top tray. Alan was handed a brown paper bag. Inside was something wrapped in wax paper. He put it on his lap and opened it. The thickness of the stale roll covered the two slices of baloney deep inside. He assumed the gooey white substance was mayonnaise.

The man opposite him had seen the expression on his face. “I guess they were out of filet mignon,” he said as he bit into his sandwich.

Fearful that dinner would not be any better, Alan forced himself to eat half of it. Also in the bag, compliments of the state of New Jersey, was a plastic bottle of water.

He was later moved to the commons area in the general population. About twenty inmates were seated on folding chairs watching CNN. Small groups were off to the sides playing chess, checkers and cards. Recreation time, Alan thought bitterly.

In the late afternoon they were marched into what passed for a dining room. He followed the lead of others who took a tray and a plate and walked past the servers who put scoops on their plates. The utensils were plastic.

He spotted a half-filled table where the inmates appeared to be near his age. They were exchanging stories about why they had been arrested. Two of them had been caught with heroin. Another was serving a drunk driving sentence, his third. They looked at him, obviously expecting to hear his story. “My girlfriend died in an accident. They’re blaming me.”

“Which judge you got?”

“I don’t know.”

After dinner they were herded back to the community room. One of the inmates who had been at the dinner table asked Alan, “You play chess?”

“Yeah, I do,” he said as he followed the other prisoner to a table. In the time he had been in the jail, it was the only hour that passed relatively quickly.

A few minutes after the game ended, the prisoners stood up and formed a queue along the wall. “Back to the cells,” Alan’s chess opponent announced. “See you tomorrow.”

The guard unlocked a cell and directed him into it. There were bunk beds along the left wall. A stainless steel toilet was in the right corner. A very small window overlooked the parking area behind the courthouse.

A man who appeared to be in his thirties, in the lower bunk, glanced at him as he came in, but then went back to whatever he was reading. Alan wanted to find out where he could get something to read, but he was too nervous to ask.

The top bunk was his, but Alan was uncertain about what to do. There was no ladder. In order to hoist himself up, he would have to put one foot on the lower bunk. Should I ask permission or just do it?

Better not to disturb him, Alan thought as he put a foot on the lower end of the bottom bunk and vaulted himself to the top. He waited apprehensively for a protest from below. There was none.

The mattress was thin and lumpy. The blanket and sheet had a strong smell of disinfectant.