Chapter 8

Ten feet by ten feet sounds small for a storage shed y’all. It’s just enough room to tempt you into thinking that by putting some stuff in there you’ll create room in the house. Of course, once you fill it up you just find new stuff to put in the house.

My jail cell was sort of like that. No matter how many times some jerk in a suit came and went, another one just showed up to ask questions all over again. Honestly, I’d rather have the questions this time as compared to the chemical showers and wire brush scrub downs.

I’d learned that they had racked up the charges against me, murder one, manslaughter, something about committing a crime with a firearm, which…how did they think I shot the Chort with a mean glare?

I knew they were throwing everything at me for intimidation reasons, but the agents didn’t need to freak me out. I was freaked out. I mean there I was in jail for running down a bounty, that shit just doesn’t happen in real life. I guess the Agents didn’t care about real life.

Most of them looked and acted a lot like miniature versions of Agent Smith. They demanded to know what my relationship was with Sophie, not that I had one, and who else in the Chort Gang I’d been affiliated with.

“Your statement for the record is that, “You don’t know Sophie, you just met her?” An Agent asked, but it was the same with all of them.

“She was the hostess. Some kind of a happy office manager on a drug kick?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” I responded, trying to look more interested in the cobwebs in the corner than the lady asking the questions.

“You expect us to believe you were near manic with sorrow over a girl you just met? A girl who attacked you one of the Chort who was chasing a price on your head?”

“Oh, sure if you say it that way it doesn’t make much sense,” I said and tried to shrug, but the powerful man behind me shoved my shoulder down like he thought I was trying to get up.

“Then how would you put it, Ms. Remington? For the record,” she had a smile on her face like she just caught me in something, but I’d made the same statement on, ’The Record” half a dozen times.

“I was there on a case. There is a bounty on the Migo, and this was the listed location. I showed Agent Smith the bench warrant,” I said, bored with the questions.

“Your warrant didn’t include gunning down several high-level Chort gang leaders. It didn’t include getting hopped up on drugs in their clubhouse. Did you even find a Migo?” the thin-lipped agent asked, but she already knew the answer.

“I didn’t have time to see the Migo. They put something in the fog Machine. I was tripping balls, I thought some big dog was after me, but Smith said that was just the drugs in the fog machine. I didn’t have a chance to do much of anything. Hell, I wanted to at least try the mead, but Oh No, they had to hit me with the Molly.”

Okay, so the big dog was some kind of Demon wolf beast, but they didn’t need to know all that.

The agent’s face twisted in disgust and she slammed down the file folder and walked back toward the door. “Chort Mead? Do you know what Chort mead is made with?”

I shrugged and gave her a ‘Duh, yeah’ look.

I don’t think she liked it that much because her face turned bright red, and she started to shake a little.

“It’s made with Migo Honey, Ms. Remington. Migo Corpse Honey!”

“Glad I didn’t try it then,” I said with another shrug.

“You disgust me!” the agent hissed and walked back over (maybe she was counting her steps because she seemed to walk all over the cell) and picked up the folder before stomping out.

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“Take her back to her cell in Psychiatric. She’s too insane to even attempt to question,” the agent said and smirked as she walked past the burly female guard.

The guard had been on me pretty from the start. From 2 pm till 1130 pm, she escorted me from the cellblock to the interrogation room and back, and I don’t think I’d seen her smile even once. She looked like a laborer forced to take one more wheelbarrow of gravel away from the pit.

“Stand up, go to the wall, and kneel,” she said professionally, as she unlocked my hands from the table.

Once more I stood, shuffled to the wall, and did as she told me. The ritual was one I was becoming used to, and I knew that ultimately it was for my safety as much as hers. Well, my safety. I mean the woman was Samoan, or something because she was around six feet tall, and built like a Las Vegas Raider’s Line back. Heck, her head was a cinderblock, and if you built a statue of a woman out of bricks, she would be what it looked like. Anyway, I wasn’t going to fool around with her.

Diligently, she moved the cuff to my belly chain, then locked down the other arm in the same manner. They’d told me from the start that as a ‘psychological hold in a murder case’ I was going to be placed on the highest security status. I thought they were taking things a little too far.

“You have a visitor,” Correctional Officer, or CO, Mika said in her deep voice, making me wonder how many of her co-workers she threw around in the gym just for fun.

“These freaking agents!” I growled, pretty fed up with all the back-and-forth games they were playing.

“Nah, it’s some guy dressed up like a cowboy. He’s tried before, but the agents blocked him,” she explained and walked gingerly by my side as I shuffled down the cement floor.

“About time,” I scoffed, “I’ve been waiting for him to show up for a few days now.”

“It’s only been 24 hours.” Officer Mika explained, causing me to turn and look into her big brown eyes.

“No shit? I thought I’d been here for at least three days.”

Mika’s big square head moved up and down, just enough to make her tight-knit hair bounce, “Yeah, they’ve been fucking with you hard. We aren’t supposed to know what’s going on, but everyone knows when it’s some FED bullshit case. They aren’t sneaky.”

“Great,” I said and took in a deep breath to calm myself.

“It’s worse. When you get done, you’re going into C Block tier two. Psych Gen Pop. They just want you to get a beating,” she said with the same uninflected voice.

“Fuck, the general population on the psych ward?” I asked as we made our way down the hall.

“Behavioral health cases,” Officer Mika nodded. “The ones who are hearing voices are on tier three, the goofy ones, low IQ, or just psychologically too traumatized are on tier one. You’re right in between. The ones who are adapting well to their medications and need social activity,” she said as we pulled up to the visitor’s booth.

“Why are you telling me all this?” I asked and I tried to arch my brow as those cool people do on TV. But, I might have just opened both my eyes real wide, or just squinted at her, I couldn’t be sure.

“You have ten minutes. Don’t touch the glass, don’t try to stand up,” she said in a much louder voice and opened the door.

The room was about the size of a closet or photo booth. It had a small metal stool, a counter, and about a foot of ballistic glass to look through. The place smelled like body odor and bad breath, but it had the added appeal of a lot of pornographic graffiti scratched into the walls.

“I fear I must apologize for the condition of your current circumstances, Rhett. But you cut a very nice figure in a jumpsuit. Do you suppose they have one in corn flower blue? Orange doesn’t suit you,” said a very familiar voice.

As I sat down, the Cheshire Cat-like smile of Henry Holliday greeted me, and conflicting emotions flowed over me. “Why am I still in here, Holliday?” I growled, but Henry’s eyes flashed to Officer Mika, and I got the message clear enough, “keep your mouth under control.”

“Agent Smith, I fear, has taken a personal disliking to you, its hardly professional, but he has some legal wiggle room when dealing with cases like your own,” Henry gave me a sympathetic look that lasted a few seconds before the smile returned.

“He has saddled you with numerous charges, all to make a point, I’m sure. I am quite certain we will have this whole unfortunate situation sorted out in no time at all,” he smiled once more and I felt my stomach sink.

”I’m just supposed to sit here and wait for some C-Block bull to come beat my ass? I think I’ve taken enough of an ass kicking already, don’t you? We are wasting time!”

“Not at all, my dear, there are many things afoot. Squirrel and Chloe have moved to the archive, and they are currently studying the Lady you reported, “ his comforting smile didn’t amuse me much.

“Camden and his tribe are letting Squirrel and Chloe in the bunker?”

Henry lost his smile completely and his eyes fell to his hands, “Camden, yes well that is another matter. It seems our furry little friend is in the wind once more. No one has seen him since the incident.”

“What do you mean no one has seen him? He was waiting by Mogwai’s Jeep!” I said a little too loudly, and Officer Mika stepped a little closer.

“Now, now. You only met Camden because of his disappearing acts. This is far from something unusual for a boy of his temperament. Once things calm down, he will emerge once more and making every excuse he can to feel you up.”

“Damn it Henry, if he is missing we need to find him. He could have been taken, have you thought about that?”

Maddeningly enough, Henry only smiled, his eyes darting up to Officer Mika, then back to me.

“His people are looking for him, if anyone can find him, they will. For now, just enjoy the rest and the time off. I am told the Nutra-Loaf here is exceptional.”