CHAPTER 1
...
The noise – what the hell was that noise? And the smell – god damn - what the hell is that smell?
“Jesus” – he shouted angrily - the god damn noise – “Hey – would you guys shut the fuck up”
David Wells was not having a good morning.
“HEY” he yelled as he sat up right, banging his head on the springs of the bunk above him.
“God fucking damn it – what the fuck” – he said, falling back down rubbing his head feeling for any blood.
“Hey guess who’s up? – It’s the great white hope. Hey, home boy, you gunna kick some ass? – or are you gunna puke some more” - the two of them were laughing. He’d heard them talking all night as he tried to sleep - he hated their guts.
He wanted to yell at them again – but his mouth was too dry and he still couldn’t open his left eye – all he really wanted to do was sleep . . to sleep . . to not think and especially to not remember – not now.
He fell back down on his plastic mattress and passed into semi-sleep again – curling up into an almost fetal position – rumpling and tucking his Armani sport jacket under his head for a pillow.
The drunk tank of the Dallas county jail was a nasty place at 4:30 am on a Thursday in late June. Hell it was a nasty place 24/7/365. And today it was already hot. It smelled of vomit, shit and piss. And the swamp coolers – all the swamp coolers did was make loud grinding noises – and they didn’t put out much cool air.
“The tank” was about 40 feet by 80 feet, a gray painted concrete floor and walled sterile room – with 4 – 3 foot by 3 foot barred translucent wire enmeshed windows up next to the 15 foot ceiling at the far end near the barred door. There were dim 2 foot long stainless steel encased florescent lights alcoved along the wall and ceiling intersections every 10 feet. It could house up to 90 inmates in the dormer style sleeping area on 45 steel bunk beds with 2 inch plastic mattresses - and 120 if it was a bad night. But last night it was a light night there were only 32 – 15 blacks, 9 Hispanics, 8 whites.
David Wells never wanted to awake again – and he couldn’t remember why. As he lightly dozed his mind kept reviewing “the big deal” like a nightmare – never getting to the ending - just going over and over and over the same images of almost getting the check, talking and talking and talking – but not getting the check - and then there were the images in the biker bar and the fight. “Fuck the fight – god damn the fight – that was so stupid”.
He had to piss now – and sleep – sleep wasn’t going to happen until he pissed.
He sat up - again banging his head on the bunk above – “FUCK” he yelled.
“Hey dude shut the fuck up I’m trying to sleep” yelled a guy in a bunk three rows away.
The two Hispanics laughed – saying in Spanish “este hue esta chingado al huevo” – (this mother fucker is really messed up)
“Hey man where’s the toilet” he asked politely of one the Hispanics. They pointed to the far corner of the room.
David moved from one bunk to the next – holding onto the metal frames to steady his walk.
When he got to the corner there was an 8 foot long stainless steel urinal – 3 stainless steel toilets and 3 stainless steel sinks with stainless steel mirrors above them.
He stood with one hand against the wall to keep himself steady as he urinated. Now that was the only thing so far this morning that felt good. No, it felt great – oh man, it felt great.
He moved to the sink and pushed the stainless steel water button in the wall where only cold water came out – As he washed his hands and splashed water on his face - it was then he felt the blood and the bruise to his left eye. “Oh – shit” he said out loud
“God damn it, David – this is really bad, man – and shit - not this week – not this week. You are such an asshole - fuck”
“SHIT” he yelled at the mirror as he felt the bruise.
The reflection wasn’t that clear – The polished steel didn’t give the fine details – but as he splashed water on his face washing off the encrusted blood – he could see that the cut was superficial – above the eye – more of a deep scrape than a cut. But the side of his face was pretty swollen. He felt relieved though to know that in a few days it wouldn’t really be that noticeable – besides he could say it happened in a racquetball game while with Henderson or the attorney at the club.
Yeah – that’s it – yeah – a warrior’s badge of courage while fighting for the money he and his company had earned.
Now he needed to get himself back to the bed and sleep for a few hours and then get the hell out of there.
“Hey man what time is it?”
“Shit, bro, I don’t know - ask the guy at the front desk”. – said a longhaired biker wearing a black sleveless leather vest, he recognized vaguely, standing next to the urinal, swaying and pissing on himself.
David walked to the other far corner – to the barred door – where the sun seemed to be shining already.
The guy behind the steel desk – was reading a Louis L'Amour novel - Education of A Wandering Man. And so trying to be polite - for he didn’t know who he was dealing with - he said calmly . . .“Good morning. . sir”
He waited for a response – but the older fellow was too engrossed in his book – “Uh, sir - Say, uh, could you tell me what time it is and when I can get out of here?”
“What’s your name?” he said mechanically, not looking up from his book.
“Wells, sir – David Wells”
The guy just kept reading – so David knowing that this guy had his ass in his hands waited impatiently.
“Good book?” David asked – putting his face in between the bars and leaning on the door to get a bit closer and using his best salesman’s voice projection and inflection as if he really gave a shit but actually was just attempting to break the guy’s attention.
“Uh, yeah it is, actually – sorry what did you say your name was?” – this time the guy looked up from his novel - the light from the outside door behind him framed him in a sort of aura as he looked David right in the eyes – and for a split second David felt they connected like two normal humans – not two guys on the opposite sides of steel painted bars in a drunk tank, in Dallas, in June – but just two people who kind of liked each other at first glance – like two men passing on the street who look, don’t say anything, nod that man’s nod and smile, never to see each other again in their whole lives – like two men in a locker room who don’t know one another and say “Hi” and smile respectfully – there they were, two men alive in the same time in the same place – and the bars between them disappeared – and David felt warmly understood and relaxed a bit.
“Wells – David Wells” smiling now at the kind stranger.
“Yeah – Wells – Ok - yeah.”
The man looked into a drawer and pulled out a spiral notebook and opened it.
David looked around this man’s world – he saw the small 10 by 10 gray concrete room with the 20 by 20 gray concrete lobby with the chrome red and blue plastic benches – the official notices on the walls – the two soda machines – the steel gray desk with the phone and the door to his freedom - and above the kind man was the clock which said 6:14 am
Time seemed to stop for David for a moment – he semi-consciously stared at his friendly jailer and thought “shit if I won the lottery, man, I’d come back and give you $200 grand and tell you to get the hell out of here – so you wouldn’t have to sit here in this concrete room and deal with low life drunk losers everyday – he felt the sun shinning in – and it felt so good to just know it was out there – the cars that drove past seemed so free and beckoned him to leap out, jump in and come with them so they could take him home – yeah home – yeah my home he thought – and he thought of Susan – she must be sleeping right now all cuddled up in their big king size bed - under the warm covers and the boys too – yeah they are asleep - everyone was peacefully resting safely at home – yeah our home.
“Hey mister – back up from the bars – can’t you read the sign – no leaning on the bars – back up now – HEY” . . . the gate keeper said harshly.
David snapped out of his hangover reverie – his new found friend just yelled at him – “HEY - backup from the bars – are you deaf?”
David’s feelings were hurt – “Screw you" he thought – "no $200 grand for you – you nasty old fart – you can just rot here for all I care." He let go of the bars and backed up restraining any facial attitude.
“OK – Wells, David – you were brought in at 12:26 am – so you can get out at 12:26 pm”
The Dallas county drunk tank, like most drunk tanks, is different from jail. If you are booked and put into the county jail you are usually charged with a crime – you are photographed and fingerprinted and given one call for your lawyer or a bail bondsman. And you usually have to spend time until you can raise a bond. This could be for DUI, assault, or a myriad of other misdemeanors and the same goes if it was a felony. The drunk tank is the county’s way of saying “look – neither one of us can afford to make a big deal out of this and we’re not going to house and feed you – you got drunk – you embarrassed yourself in some way in public and someone called the police to come and get you before you hurt yourself or anyone else - we’re letting you sleep it off for 12 hours – and then you can leave – no ticket – no fines – just a note in a file somewhere in a database to never show up again. And the message is: “pay attention this is a warning that your drinking behavior is unacceptable for public consumption”
“So you say I can get out at 12:26 pm – thanks” he started to walk away.
“HEY Wait a minute - 12:26 pm? - - - hey man I have to catch a plane to Michigan at 2 and I need to get back to my hotel and pack”
“Sorry thems the rules – 12 hours in and then you can get out”
“Can I make a call?”
“Nope – at 12:26 pm I’ll let you out and you can go about your business.”
The noise – what the hell was that noise? And the smell – god damn - what the hell is that smell?
“Jesus” – he shouted angrily - the god damn noise – “Hey – would you guys shut the fuck up”
David Wells was not having a good morning.
“HEY” he yelled as he sat up right, banging his head on the springs of the bunk above him.
“God fucking damn it – what the fuck” – he said, falling back down rubbing his head feeling for any blood.
“Hey guess who’s up? – It’s the great white hope. Hey, home boy, you gunna kick some ass? – or are you gunna puke some more” - the two of them were laughing. He’d heard them talking all night as he tried to sleep - he hated their guts.
He wanted to yell at them again – but his mouth was too dry and he still couldn’t open his left eye – all he really wanted to do was sleep . . to sleep . . to not think and especially to not remember – not now.
He fell back down on his plastic mattress and passed into semi-sleep again – curling up into an almost fetal position – rumpling and tucking his Armani sport jacket under his head for a pillow.
The drunk tank of the Dallas county jail was a nasty place at 4:30 am on a Thursday in late June. Hell it was a nasty place 24/7/365. And today it was already hot. It smelled of vomit, shit and piss. And the swamp coolers – all the swamp coolers did was make loud grinding noises – and they didn’t put out much cool air.
“The tank” was about 40 feet by 80 feet, a gray painted concrete floor and walled sterile room – with 4 – 3 foot by 3 foot barred translucent wire enmeshed windows up next to the 15 foot ceiling at the far end near the barred door. There were dim 2 foot long stainless steel encased florescent lights alcoved along the wall and ceiling intersections every 10 feet. It could house up to 90 inmates in the dormer style sleeping area on 45 steel bunk beds with 2 inch plastic mattresses - and 120 if it was a bad night. But last night it was a light night there were only 32 – 15 blacks, 9 Hispanics, 8 whites.
David Wells never wanted to awake again – and he couldn’t remember why. As he lightly dozed his mind kept reviewing “the big deal” like a nightmare – never getting to the ending - just going over and over and over the same images of almost getting the check, talking and talking and talking – but not getting the check - and then there were the images in the biker bar and the fight. “Fuck the fight – god damn the fight – that was so stupid”.
He had to piss now – and sleep – sleep wasn’t going to happen until he pissed.
He sat up - again banging his head on the bunk above – “FUCK” he yelled.
“Hey dude shut the fuck up I’m trying to sleep” yelled a guy in a bunk three rows away.
The two Hispanics laughed – saying in Spanish “este hue esta chingado al huevo” – (this mother fucker is really messed up)
“Hey man where’s the toilet” he asked politely of one the Hispanics. They pointed to the far corner of the room.
David moved from one bunk to the next – holding onto the metal frames to steady his walk.
When he got to the corner there was an 8 foot long stainless steel urinal – 3 stainless steel toilets and 3 stainless steel sinks with stainless steel mirrors above them.
He stood with one hand against the wall to keep himself steady as he urinated. Now that was the only thing so far this morning that felt good. No, it felt great – oh man, it felt great.
He moved to the sink and pushed the stainless steel water button in the wall where only cold water came out – As he washed his hands and splashed water on his face - it was then he felt the blood and the bruise to his left eye. “Oh – shit” he said out loud
“God damn it, David – this is really bad, man – and shit - not this week – not this week. You are such an asshole - fuck”
“SHIT” he yelled at the mirror as he felt the bruise.
The reflection wasn’t that clear – The polished steel didn’t give the fine details – but as he splashed water on his face washing off the encrusted blood – he could see that the cut was superficial – above the eye – more of a deep scrape than a cut. But the side of his face was pretty swollen. He felt relieved though to know that in a few days it wouldn’t really be that noticeable – besides he could say it happened in a racquetball game while with Henderson or the attorney at the club.
Yeah – that’s it – yeah – a warrior’s badge of courage while fighting for the money he and his company had earned.
Now he needed to get himself back to the bed and sleep for a few hours and then get the hell out of there.
“Hey man what time is it?”
“Shit, bro, I don’t know - ask the guy at the front desk”. – said a longhaired biker wearing a black sleveless leather vest, he recognized vaguely, standing next to the urinal, swaying and pissing on himself.
David walked to the other far corner – to the barred door – where the sun seemed to be shining already.
The guy behind the steel desk – was reading a Louis L'Amour novel - Education of A Wandering Man. And so trying to be polite - for he didn’t know who he was dealing with - he said calmly . . .“Good morning. . sir”
He waited for a response – but the older fellow was too engrossed in his book – “Uh, sir - Say, uh, could you tell me what time it is and when I can get out of here?”
“What’s your name?” he said mechanically, not looking up from his book.
“Wells, sir – David Wells”
The guy just kept reading – so David knowing that this guy had his ass in his hands waited impatiently.
“Good book?” David asked – putting his face in between the bars and leaning on the door to get a bit closer and using his best salesman’s voice projection and inflection as if he really gave a shit but actually was just attempting to break the guy’s attention.
“Uh, yeah it is, actually – sorry what did you say your name was?” – this time the guy looked up from his novel - the light from the outside door behind him framed him in a sort of aura as he looked David right in the eyes – and for a split second David felt they connected like two normal humans – not two guys on the opposite sides of steel painted bars in a drunk tank, in Dallas, in June – but just two people who kind of liked each other at first glance – like two men passing on the street who look, don’t say anything, nod that man’s nod and smile, never to see each other again in their whole lives – like two men in a locker room who don’t know one another and say “Hi” and smile respectfully – there they were, two men alive in the same time in the same place – and the bars between them disappeared – and David felt warmly understood and relaxed a bit.
“Wells – David Wells” smiling now at the kind stranger.
“Yeah – Wells – Ok - yeah.”
The man looked into a drawer and pulled out a spiral notebook and opened it.
David looked around this man’s world – he saw the small 10 by 10 gray concrete room with the 20 by 20 gray concrete lobby with the chrome red and blue plastic benches – the official notices on the walls – the two soda machines – the steel gray desk with the phone and the door to his freedom - and above the kind man was the clock which said 6:14 am
Time seemed to stop for David for a moment – he semi-consciously stared at his friendly jailer and thought “shit if I won the lottery, man, I’d come back and give you $200 grand and tell you to get the hell out of here – so you wouldn’t have to sit here in this concrete room and deal with low life drunk losers everyday – he felt the sun shinning in – and it felt so good to just know it was out there – the cars that drove past seemed so free and beckoned him to leap out, jump in and come with them so they could take him home – yeah home – yeah my home he thought – and he thought of Susan – she must be sleeping right now all cuddled up in their big king size bed - under the warm covers and the boys too – yeah they are asleep - everyone was peacefully resting safely at home – yeah our home.
“Hey mister – back up from the bars – can’t you read the sign – no leaning on the bars – back up now – HEY” . . . the gate keeper said harshly.
David snapped out of his hangover reverie – his new found friend just yelled at him – “HEY - backup from the bars – are you deaf?”
David’s feelings were hurt – “Screw you" he thought – "no $200 grand for you – you nasty old fart – you can just rot here for all I care." He let go of the bars and backed up restraining any facial attitude.
“OK – Wells, David – you were brought in at 12:26 am – so you can get out at 12:26 pm”
The Dallas county drunk tank, like most drunk tanks, is different from jail. If you are booked and put into the county jail you are usually charged with a crime – you are photographed and fingerprinted and given one call for your lawyer or a bail bondsman. And you usually have to spend time until you can raise a bond. This could be for DUI, assault, or a myriad of other misdemeanors and the same goes if it was a felony. The drunk tank is the county’s way of saying “look – neither one of us can afford to make a big deal out of this and we’re not going to house and feed you – you got drunk – you embarrassed yourself in some way in public and someone called the police to come and get you before you hurt yourself or anyone else - we’re letting you sleep it off for 12 hours – and then you can leave – no ticket – no fines – just a note in a file somewhere in a database to never show up again. And the message is: “pay attention this is a warning that your drinking behavior is unacceptable for public consumption”
“So you say I can get out at 12:26 pm – thanks” he started to walk away.
“HEY Wait a minute - 12:26 pm? - - - hey man I have to catch a plane to Michigan at 2 and I need to get back to my hotel and pack”
“Sorry thems the rules – 12 hours in and then you can get out”
“Can I make a call?”
“Nope – at 12:26 pm I’ll let you out and you can go about your business.”
posted by Hubbell's Writings at 3:14 PM
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