Chapter 3

Dallas County Jail began the booking process. “Fingers on the pad, Jeremy Wade.”

“Can’t we do it the old fashion way? Ink and paper?” Jeremy said.

The officer behind him shoved him. “Cooperate.”

“I am cooperating,” Jeremy said.

He touched the pad. The pad malfunctioned. He was instructed to try again.

“Computer working?” Jeremy asked.

The computer was working. The pad didn’t seem to be capturing. “Take him to station two,” the officer behind the desk said, rebooting her computer.

Jeremy was hauled over to station two. He instructed to put his hands on the pad. He complied. The pad failed. So did the computer. Lights flickered.

“Ink and paper never has to be rebooted,” Jeremy said.

The delay in the processing resulted in the detective, Mateo Flores, to investigate. He got impatient.

“Just bring him back,” Flores said.

“The last time we didn’t follow procedure, we got in trouble,” the officer said.

“Ink and paper?” Jeremy asked. He got evil glares. “Just trying to be helpful. You do have power failures from time to time, don’t you?”

Ink and paper were found. Finger prints were made. They spent another twenty minutes trying to get a photo. They gave up. He balked at going into the metal detector, which was very similar to the one at the airport. He was shoved into the metal detector. It rang and sparks rained down on him; it took five minutes to get the door to spin back open. After wards, he was patted down severely. Jeremy denied past surgeries and any metal on him or in him. The wanded him down. The wand broke. He was stripped and provided an easy suit that hardly looked like scrubs. He was eventually brought to the detective, who instructed him to take a seat next to his desk. The chair was positioned right next to a monitor.

“Would it be okay if I sat on the opposite side of the desk?” he asked.

“Sit!”

Jeremy sat. The monitor blinked off. Flores sat down and tried flipping it back on. It didn’t come back on.

“Are you wearing a magnet on you?” Flores asked.

“No, Sir,” Jeremy said.

A fellow officer dropped by. “Boss wants you.”

Flores got up and went to the back of the room. Jeremy looked about, curious if anonymity would allow him to walk out. He decided no. It was especially not likely with his special clothes. A hooker, a male who needed to shave, winked at him. Jeremy nodded and went to looking at his shoes, paper slippers, almost socks. The detective returned.

“Get up,” Flores said.

“We just got here,” Jeremy said.

“You’re going into a holding cell,” Flores said. “Maybe after you sit a moment you’ll be more cooperative.”

“I am cooperating!” Jeremy insisted.

“Yep, right into a cell,” Flores said, directing his charge.

Jeremy moved in the direction indicated. “Don’t you have to charge me first?” Jeremy asked.

“No, actually, move,” the detective said, pointing the way.

Jeremy was placed in a cell. He went accommodatingly. The door was closed. It clicked locked.

“Do I get a phone call and bail?”

Flores frowned. He hesitated, considering, and then opened the cell. He took Jeremy to a phone. “Local only.”

“So, I can’t call the president?” Jeremy asked.

“If the president accepts a collect call from you at the Dallas County jail, I’ll let you go,” Flores said.

Jeremy mused. Decided that joke had gone as far as it was going to go.

“You wouldn’t mind dialing it for me, would you?” Jeremy asked. The detective scowled. “Seriously, I don’t want to be accused of breaking the phone, too.”

Flores picked up the receiver. Jeremy gave the number. “Put it on speaker, please.”

A moment later, the phone picked up. “Hello”

“May I speak with Tory, please,” Jeremy said.

“This is she,” Tory said. “Jeremy?! OMG, I so knew you would call.”

“Um, yeah, Tory, I know we just met and all, but do you suppose you could come bail me out of Dallas County Jail? I’m good for it. Honest,” Jeremy said.

“What did you do?”

“I haven’t been charged yet,” Jeremy said.

“What do you think they think you did?” Tory asked.

“Maybe it has nothing to do with me and all about the irresistible urge to call you spell you did,” Jeremy said.

“Oh. I am sorry,” Tory said.

“No worries,” Jeremy said. “If it’s inconvenient, I understand.”

“Times up,” the detective said.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there,” Tory said. “I know right…”

Flores ended the call and redirected Jeremy back to his cell.

♫♪►

Tory pulled her four year old out of the car seat, and his head fell to her shoulder. She didn’t have enough information for the bondsmen to find a Jeremy in the system. She went next door to the police station and inquired.

“I am trying to find a Jeremy who was arrested earlier.”

“Jeremy who?”

“Um, I forget his last name,” Tory said, embarrassed.

“No Jeremy,” the officer at the desk said.

Tory wrestled out a cell phone and showed the call from the county jail. “That number came from here.”

“There is no Jeremy here,” the officer said.

“Well, that can’t be true,” Tory said.

“Excuse me?” the officer said.

“You’re reading the playboy that he bought while with me today,” Tory said. The man actually blushed. She hadn’t been sure, but what were the odds of seeing Marilyn twice today? “Do you know who Judge Hicks is? That’s my dad. My mother is a Surgeon at Parkland, trauma. You will give me that magazine, give me Jeremy’s number, so I can go pay the bondsmen and get him out. Or do I need to call your superior? Who is that? Michael? He is working nights still, isn’t he?”

The officer pushed the playboy across the desk. “His name is Jeremy Vale. He came in with license saying Wade. He isn’t here. Feds took him next door.”

“Really?” Tory asked. She leaned in to scrutinize his badge. “Officer Keats?”

“Yes, Mam,” the officer said.

“Take down my number. If he is transferred back before I find him, I want you to call me. Clear?”

“Yes, Mam,” the officer said.

Tory changed her tone. “Hypothetically, if it was just you and me shooting the breeze, what was he charged with?”

Keats looked about and leaned closer. “Suspicion of grand larceny. Scuttlebutt says the arresting detective screwed up. They have nothing.”

“What do the Feds want him for?” Tory asked.

“I have no idea. No sooner than we get his inks scanned in the Feds call looking for him,” Keats said.

“Really?”

“No lie, mam,” the officer said.

“Why are you still using ink?” Tory asked.

“Oh, that’s way above my pay grade,” the officer said.

“Thank you, Keats,” Tory said.

She carried her son across the street. The streets were shiny with a late evening rain that had come and gone It was called popcorn thunderstorms.

James woke enough to complain. “I want to go home,” he said.

“I know, baby. It won’t be much longer, I’m sure.”

The building was locked. She tried another door. Locked. She went back to the front door, looked up into the camera.

“I demand that you send someone down to talk to me. You’re holding my husband here,” Tory said. “Jeremy Vale is my husband. I know he is here.” She held up the Playboy. “And you will want this for evidence. It was accidentally left behind.”

The door unlocked. She pulled it open and went inside. Two men in black came to escort her up. On the lift up, she casually remarked. “I really didn’t expect that to work.”

They escorted her to a conference room where a couch was available. They brought her blanket and a pillow for her son.

“Do you need anything?” the fed asked.

“Information?”

“I can bring you food. Water. A soda,” he said.

“Soda would nice, thank you,” Tory said. “Coke zero, or anything diet.”

She made her son comfortable on the couch and sat down next to him. The guard brought her a bottled drink and then went outside. He remained in the hall facing the door. She took her cell out and discovered no signal. She turned it off and put it back in her bag.