Page 73 of Stone Coast
“I’d like to use the phone,” I said to the officer who escorted me out of the interrogation room.
He ignored my request.
“They didn’t let me use the phone during booking. I’ve requested an attorney. You’re required to let me contact one,” I said, like I knew what I was talking about.
He continued walking me down the hall to the holding tank.
The door buzzed, and the officer opened the cell.
I took a cautious step inside. The door clanked shut behind me with an unnerving finality. The dreadful sound echoed down the corridor.
The top layer of the seafoam paint had been worn from the walls in high-traffic areas, revealing a different shade below. Years of dirt, grime, and scuff marks marred the walls. The concrete floor was cold and uninviting. Several inmates occupied the cell.
The smell was unpleasant.
It twisted my nose.
A woman slept on a bench that was bolted down. Obviously drunk, she’d pissed herself. Her clothes were tattered and stained, and she looked like she was used to sleeping on the street. Another inmate sat on the stainless steel toilet, wrecking the bowl. The sounds and smells were felonious.
Once in the tank, I stuck my hands through the slot in the door, and the cuffs were removed.
I rubbed my wrists, enjoying my newfound mobility. I glanced around at my new roommates and spotted the payphone on the wall. It had taken plenty of abuse over the years. Dirt and grime coated the keypad, and the handset had been battered against the wall in frustration more than a few times.
One slight problem.
I couldn’t remember anybody’s number.
I wanted to call Tyson.
But he was just a contact in my phone. Not a number in my head.
I closed my eyes and tried to pull digits out of the abyss.
Nothing.
It wouldn’t have done me any good. He was on a plane, headed halfway around the world.
It was highly unlikely that directory assistance was available from this phone. And there was a fee for the service anyway.
Still, it was worth a try.
An inmate was on the phone. “Baby, you need to get me out of this motherfucker.” She didn’t like his response. “What do you mean, you can’t right now?” She listened intently, growing more frustrated. “I don’t care if you don’t have the money. Rob somebody. Man up!” Her boyfriend said something, but I couldn’t make out what crackled through the speaker. “No, you can’t call me back in a few minutes. This phone doesn’t take incoming calls. No. Don’t you dare hang up on me!”
The line went dead, and she battered the headset against the cinderblock walls. The damn thing was going to break, but I figured they put stronger devices in a place like this.
“I need to use the phone,” I said.
“Bitch, wait your turn!”
“It is my turn.”
She turned around and gave me a look like I was insane for mouthing off to her. I probably was. “It’s your turn when I say it’s your turn. Now take your ass back where you came from and mind your own business.”
I didn’t move. I just stared her down. “You can use the phone when I’m done.”
She glared at me. “You got rocks in your brain?”
“I don’t have much in there.”
