A Small Town in Texas

by mtmynd

Posted to Stories on 2004-01-06 11:19:00

“Empty your pockets… everything. They’ll be put inside this envelope until your release,” the sheriff told me as I unloaded the contents of my pockets: change, keys, comb and my wallet containing exactly four wrinkled one dollar bills, hardly enough to pay my fine. “Go upstairs and find yourself a cell,” he said as he pointed to a metal stairway that went straight up to the second story. A steel door with a small window with bars over it was half opened.

“Damn!” I said to myself, “this is fucking stupid,” as I walked up the steps and entered the door. No sooner had I walked inside when the door was slammed shut and I heard the lock being set. I was a fucking jailbird for the first time… but where was anyone? Alone in this jail I could count six cells, each with their doors opened, and nobody around. Had I arrived at a time when the other prisoners were out doing work for Baird, Texas, or was I the only inmate? I picked a cell and pressed my hand on the furnished mattress… this wasn’t the Holiday Inn. The mattress was three inches thick and filthy, but hey! I was a prisoner, what could I expect?

I sat down and looked around and noticed that the floor was made up of steel plates, as was the ceiling. Whoever designed this place was expecting the worst of the worst… nobody was going out thru the ceiling nor would they dig out thru the floor, this was a keeper. I looked out of the only window in the place to see Michael, the other guy I was with, in the parking lot below, “They’re keepin’ me here ‘til Western Union sends the money.”

He acknowledged me and I returned to the cell and lay down on the mattress. It was getting close to noon and Michael and I had not eaten any breakfast that morning as our money was low and we were anxious to get home to our mates. I wondered if I was going to get anything to eat, but there was nobody around to ask. The temperature in this monolith began getting hotter and hotter… the steel plates were turning into an oven, as sweat began beading up on my forehead. Summertime in the Panhandle of Texas was showing off its stuff, and my incarceration was of little concern to Nature. Despite the heat, I fell into a sleep.

“Hack-hack! Cough! Cough!” I was startled awake by the sounds of somebody nearby. Was this the jailer with some lunch? “Whoooa, fuck!” I heard the voice wheezing again, but where was it coming from? I got up and went to the door and saw nobody, but again heard the uncomfortable sound of someone. It came from the very rear of the jail, in a darkened corner that had no overhead lights, a place I barely noticed when I came in. I slowly walked back into the shadows, suspicious of what I may encounter… my two hours of aloneness were no more.

“Who the fuck are you!” this loud voice barked out of the shadows. I walked a little closer, very carefully, not knowing what to expect. There inside a large cell was a smaller cell that held one very large man, his hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled and his feet covered by brown socks with holes in them.

“My name’s Cecil,” I replied to his outburst, “Who are you?” I asked not really expecting a civil answer from him.

“Clint,” he replied as his voice calmed down. He was just as surprised as I was… both of us thought we were alone in this hellhole. “What are you doin’ in here?” He was curious as to what my crime was, as I was his seeing how confined he was.

“I got put in here because I was stopped by the Highway Patrol and didn’t have a commercial driver’s license to drive the truck I was drivin’. How about you? What are you doin’ in here?” I wanted to know why they would lock this guy up in a cell within a cell.

“Those chicken shit mother fuckers! That’s all you did?” He said with a voice of disbelief. “Bastards! They locked me up five days ago for being drunk. Baird is in a dry county so I got to go to the next county over to do some drinkin’. I was in this bar and some cock sucker popped off to me and I slugged the son of a bitch in the mouth. Then a couple of other guys butted in and tried to stop me from killin’ the little prick. The bartender had called the police and by the time they got there, three guys were knocked out on the floor. They tried to wrestle me, but I thru them off and punched one of the cops in the face and knocked him to the floor. His partner pulled out his gun and stopped me from breakin’ his face.” He paused then continued, “Hey, there’s some Bugler over there on a table. Roll me one would ya’?”

“Sure, Clint, no problem.” I went over to where he pointed and rolled a stale Bugler and passed it thru the bars along with a wooden match.

I left Clint with his smoke and returned to my cell to catch some more sleep. The sound of the main door opening woke me up and I went over to see if the fine had been paid. Eight hours waiting for Western Union to respond was unnerving me. An older man, the night deputy, was surprised to see me and asked what I was doing there. He had only one tray of food and that was for Clint.

I told him I was locked up until Western Union sent the money to pay my fine, and he shook his head as if to say, “Bastards!” and returned my envelope and told me, “Son, I’m sure they got the money. I’m sorry you had to be here.”

I thought to myself as I loaded up my pockets, “Not as sorry as me.”

Michael drove us out of Baird, Texas as fast as the law would allow, the first and last time I was there.

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from the Freestyle Workshoppe


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