CHINA
“Are you fucking kidding me! This is bullshit.” I know it’s unladylike, and my father would be rolling over in his grave for my conduct. But he’s not here, so I don’t give a shit.
We left my ride sitting on the curb, unprotected, available for every asshole to peel apart. I’m still pissed at that. How can the police officer have that much disrespect for fine machinery?
“Oh, honey. That one out there, he isn’t one who falls for a pretty face who cusses at him. You need sugar, sugar.” My roommate and cell aficionado has told me yet again how screaming at the police will get me nowhere.
Bullshit.
You just need the right equipment and flair, I believe. Correct me if I’m wrong, but a lady should wear something more modest. My cellmate’s equipment is uncouth, with her—and I use her loosely—fishnets that are ripped in multiple areas, purple peeling and scuffed heels, and a skirt that should be a tube top. The nonexistent shirt, which is see-through, is a blush pink over a black lace bra. It’s not necessarily going to gain her points toward me, let alone police officers. She explained herself as a purveyor of dreams, a professional supplier of happiness. She then said she was arrested for just looking stunning. It was a ‘travesty’ of justice, as she put it.
Fearing disease, I won’t sit on any of the surfaces in the room. Most definitely, I won’t take any advice from the defunct purveyor of dreams either. My lovely cellmate, Jucinda, even with her lack of clothing, is a very, very large woman. I’m tall, but she puts me to shame. With her six foot plus frame, linebacker shoulders, thin hips and twelve o’clock shadow that’s just starting to peek out from under her meticulously caked on makeup, she’s something. I’m progressive, and I can handle her, but I’d rather not cozy up to her today, not with the mood I’m in. I’m pissy enough to spew something hurtful, and that would not do me justice.
My noble knight in shining armor and I arrived here a little over an hour ago. He had me processed, fingerprinted, photographed, strip searched by a not-so-lovely lady officer, and then plopped me unceremoniously in this filthy cell. Using my final and only call to Whiskey, leaving him a scathing message that will hopefully reach its destination, I awaited my ride. He needs to do everything he can to get my ass out of here, and fast. My charges are unpaid parking tickets, a summons to appear on excessive speeding (of which I’m very proud of). Ninety-two in a sixty, thank you very much. Then, another few racing charges, and a pussy taillight out with outdated insurance. If I keep up the noise, the arresting officer might come back so I can give him a bigger piece of my mind.
Jackass.
On the ride over, I laid into him about the whole scenario. The bullshit tickets, the unnecessary arrest, and of course the bracelets that were lovely, but not necessary. There’s no way I was going to run off, and I absolutely hated sitting on my hands. He knew who I was, and I think it kind of scared him. He had to arrest me.
He spoke to someone a few times on his cell about having me in custody, and whoever it was, they were adamant about me being brought in, Judge’s orders. Fuck me if I’m wrong, but he seemed to be warring with it personally. It seems our predicament was more about him. Either way, it meant shit. Still, the asshole brought me in for processing, put me in this newly appointed nine-by-nine space, and left me to my own devices.
As I wear a hole in the floor, pacing, the heavy metal door down the hall swings open. Scraping noisily across the floor, heavy footfalls smack on the cement as two distinct pairs of shoes clatter toward us.
“Time to go, princess.” The first to enter is the evil jailer, Tiana. She joyously conducted my strip search. The second person stops a few feet away, and without looking, I know it’s Whiskey.
Unlocking the door, Tiana motions for me to exit, then relocks the door behind me. I’d almost rather she put me back in after I get a look of my big brother’s expression. I like the company of big Jucinda better.
“China,” Whiskey barks.
“Jamieson. Nice of you to come.” I’m more pissed at him than he could ever be of me, but I doubt it will get me far.
“Not another word, China May Crown. You hear me?” Whiskey growls. Nodding, checking my attitude, quietly I fall in step behind him and Tiana.
“Time to go.” As Tiana motions, we follow, waving goodbye to Jucinda. Her jaw drops when she takes in the sight of Whiskey. Like all women do, she then lounges back on her bench and smiles sweetly.
After gathering my things, the keys to my bike—the bike that is no more—I follow Jamieson out of the station. I have the distinct feeling that my day isn’t about to get any better.
Tiana tells me that I have to appear in court on the appointed day, and that if I don’t, I’ll have another bench warrant on my ass. Whiskey listens intently, taking in all the info necessary, accepting the paperwork before leading me to the door.
He’s been deathly quiet. So quiet, I’m more afraid than ever.
A. He’s never quiet. Not like this, at least.
B. Even though he’s not a joker, he would normally quip a few snide remarks my way. He hasn’t even talked to me.
I’m well and fucked.