All The Way Down

Chapter 33

The tow truck pulled past us before pulling to the curb and backing up against the nose of my car. Bullard had a cigar lit, and he sat in the front seat with the air conditioning going until the truck hoisted the nose of the Ford off the pavement. Then he got out of the cruiser and shut the door, leaving a haze of blue, foul-smelling air behind.

The tow truck driver wore dark green coveralls and a white baseball cap. Straight blonde hair poked out from under the cap in back. I watched the two of them talking. Then Bullard jerked a thumb at the patrol car and the tow truck operator laughed.

Bullard slapped the man on the back and came back to the cruiser. He climbed into the driver's seat, whistling.

"Ever spent the night in the tank, Del?" I didn't answer. "Well, you're in for a real treat. I can tell you that. You get to meet some of the local color." Bullard eased the car into traffic. I watched the streets slide by through the wire screen that kept back seat passengers from kicking the windows out. Then I knew what the people who rode back to Mexico in the immigration buses felt like.

When we reached the station, Bullard walked me inside and up a flight of stairs to the booking desk.

Bullard mashed my fingerprints on the card and patted me down for weapons. Then he put the cuffs back on tight.

"Can I make a phone call?" I asked.

"Sure thing," Bullard said. "Tomorrow morning, when you're sober, you can make as many calls as you want. You’re too drunk to use the phone right now."

Bullard and one of the jailers took my wallet, watch, shoelaces, and belt away. Then they walked me back into the pen past a row of occupied cells. Men with hard, bored expressions watched me pass.

We were at the end of the row of cells, and Bullard grabbed my hair and held it while the jailer took the handcuffs off. I looked into the dim cell through the bars. A pair of steel beds were bolted to the wall on each side, one upper, one lower. The jailer opened the cell door and it was easier to see now: two men leaning against the wall at the back of the cell smoking cigarettes, a pair of giant legs dangling from the upper bed on the right wall. Bullard let go of my hair and slammed me between the shoulder blades with the palm of his hand. I hit the floor on my knees as the cell door clanged shut behind me.

I stood and wiped my hands on the front of my jeans. The cell smelled powerfully of body odor, fear sweat, and toilet. A single overhead light covered with metal mesh provided dim illumination. The men at the back of the cell watched me. I stared back for a couple of seconds before I went over to the bottom bunk on the left and sat on it.

The voice from the bunk across the cell was soft and threatening. "Get off my bed," it said.