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February 24, 2005
That Night Pt 2.
My neighbor, Gene, and the guy from across the street, Greg, laughed at me harder than did anyone else. "Damn. Look at that smile. You gonna send them mug shots to your momma?"
"If I can get copies."
"Damn, Boy. Now I know it's your first time."
It was my first time in jail -- the first time not in the "just visiting," part at least -- but it wasn't even for anything good. Gene and Greg were talking to a girl down the street, near the alley, when three carloads of undercover police - narcotics squad - surrounded them. The three were apprehended and searched (illegally). Greg protested, "Get your motha fuckin' hands off me, you damn pigs!" Gene was uncharacteristically quiet and was released. Then he characterictically opened his mouth.
"Brian! Come here. They stole my money." The last time he had been arrested he claimed the police stole $80 from him and he thought they did it again when he couldn't find his money in the pocket it was in before the search. Fortunately he spoke too soon and the only problem was that the officer that searched him put the money in a different pocket. Unfortunately one of the officers took offense to his statement.
"You calling us thieves? You're under arrest."
What? Can they do this? He didn't do anything. This is fucking ridiculous. How can they arrest him for that?
Being fairly new to Baltimore at the time I didn't know that his arrest was no big deal. It was routine. In some neighborhoods, anyway. Police, especially the narcotics squad, arrest people that offend them, or people that they feel may commit a crime later. They don't really have to answer to anyone about the arrests because the individuals aren't charged and are released after only a few hours, plus it gives an individual a longer arrest record affecting their sentencing for real crimes. "Gene. If you need anything, give me a call."
"Get the fuck outta here, or I'll arrest you too."
Filled with indignation at what was happening I decided to make my voice heard. As I turned to leave I restated to Gene, "If you need anything, give me a call."
I got about that much out when I was tackled from behind by another officer. In one rather skillful move he flew into me, slammed my face onto the trunk of one of the unmarked cars and grabbed my right arm. Another officer grabbed my left arm and in under a second I was cuffed with plastic flexi-cuffs.
I stood up the first chance I got. Just in time to see a third officer charge up and punch me in the stomach. "That's resisting arrest!" he yelled.
What the fuck is going on here? How can they arrest me? I didn't do anything. How can they punch me? After I've been cuffed? These guys are the only criminals here.
What do I do now? -- They've got to be held accountable. Badge numbers? Should I get their badge numbers? Do they have to give them? They do on tv -- I think. I wish I had a tv --I should ask.
"Sir. Give me your badge number."
"Yeah, sure.
I had the cop holding me, the one with the impressive flying tackle, bring me over to the supervisor.
"What for?"
"This is ridiculous. I didn't do anything. He punched me."
"You were warned 4 times to leave the area."
Four times? Is that the magic number? Arrest someone after 4 warnings?
"He only said it once -- and I was leaving when you tackled me."
"You're the supervisor? I want your badge number. And his badge number." I nodded in the direction of the guy that punched me in the gut. I would have pointed, but my hands were cuffed behind my back. I felt them there. Throbbing. Hanging below wrists that felt like they were bleeding the cuffs were on so tightly.
"It'll be on the paperwork."
"What paperwork."
"The paperwork you get when you're released."
"This is ridiculous. What am I being arrested for?"
"That'll be on the paperwork too."
"You won't even tell me what I'm being arrested for?"
"You tell me something. What are you even doing in this neighborhood?"
"I live here."
Arrested for being in the area? No. I was arrested for "failure to obey." And I was in jail being lead by the emotionless female guard down the hall. She stopped at the window to every cell and looked in. The characters in the windows hooted and hollered at her as we walked past. "Fucking fat assed bitch." Knowing that there was a mistake that would surely be recognized if I behaved myself I walked along without slandering her.
"Here. This one." She opened the door to a cell. It was a small room. It looked like my college dorm room - grey cinder block walls - only it was less than half the size (about 10x4) and had 12 foot ceilings. That and it had a stainless steel toilet/water fountain combo in the corner. I was never so lucky at to have one of those in my room. I walked in and greeted the two guys already in the room.
The white guy with the swastikas on the web of his thumbs sleeping on the floor meerly looked up while the bearded guy with a ripped, bloody shirt, also white, stood up and walked over to chake my hand. I think his name was Charlie.
Before the guard closed the door another guard came up with a fourth resident. A young black man - not a day over 21. Charlie greeted him too.
"Damn. I think I'm here with the only white guys in the place. What you in here for?"
"Shit. I'm alway in here for something or another. Brawlin' this time." Charlie said.
Trying to sound tough and avoid being someone's bitch I lied, "Disorderly." I even shortened it for "disorderly conduct" so I would sound more at home with my fake crime.
The guy sprawled out on the ground didn't answer.
"You?"
"Loitering."
"What? They lock you up for that?"
"Shit. Yeah. The cops were just trying to get me for dealing, but they couldn't ind shit on me, so they just sent me for loiterin'."
"That's fucked up."
"I just hope they don't find the warrant out for me from the County."
"I got one out on me too. I think that's why I'm still here. They picked me up about 2 this afternoon. What time's it now?"
"They picked me up 'bout 10:30, so it's probably around midnight."
Shit. Am I going to have to spend that long in here? No. They'll let me out when they find I didn't do anything. It'll just be a few minutes.
"I can't believe shit. Loitering. What the fuck is that? I just stepped out my house and they fuckin' grabbed me. Said they thought I was selling. -- Shit. I didn't even have time to sell anything." He said this as he unfolded a small piece of paper. The paper was folded over a few times and inside were small rocks.
Crack?
Small translucent brown rocks.
No. Crack is white, right?
"They got my boy with some ready, though."
That must be ready. Whatever that is.
Posted by calculatoronfire at February 24, 2005 09:00 PM
Comments
are you working on a book yet? because, in all seriousness, you need to be getting a manuscript together.
a memoir ala sedaris and his ilk. i'm not kidding.
Posted by: sweetney at February 24, 2005 11:35 PM
crank?
Posted by: chris at February 25, 2005 12:20 AM
Oh yeah, I second the book motion.
Posted by: chris at February 25, 2005 12:21 AM
I'd agree with Sweetney even though that would mean we'd have to shell out $15 to read what we're gettin' for free right now.
BTW, I checked www.urbandictionary.com for 'ready':
Crack Cocaine
"Ready, ready, ready, ready...ready rock!! Wanna get some ready?! 5 fo' 20, man, 5 fo' 20!"
Posted by: mike at February 25, 2005 10:40 AM
Sure, give away my secrets...ready is ready rock is crack cocaine.
I was seriously thinking af writing a long fictional account of a 20 something Baltimorean flying down to Panama at his neighbor's urging to vacation with him and find a mail-order-type bride. He doesn't really want a mail-order bride, but his neighbor insists he go and at least think about it, and since the neighbor's father will buy the tickets (because he wants to help his sister by marrying off her 20 something daughter who wants to go to med school in the states) he decides to go.
Or something like that.
I appreciate what sounds to me on this end (when I read them aloud) kind words.
Posted by: brian at February 25, 2005 11:58 AM
Anyone: Please email me or post up if there is such a thing as 'brown' ready rock- and if its common in baltimore-- trying to see what my daughter is smoking- shes smoking it in a glass tube-- but its definatly 'brown' not 'white' in color. TY
Posted by: Marshell at January 1, 2006 10:08 PM
Marshell -
If by "brown" you mean about the color of "brown" sugar your daughter could be smoking heroin.
Posted by: brian at January 2, 2006 01:39 PM