Daron's Guitar Chronicles: Vols 1-3

11. I Fought the Law (And the Law Won)

He wasn't listening. "Are you going to come along, or do I have to get rough?"

"Somebody's going to be really pissed if you don't let me in there. They're paying me to do a job, here." But he was poking me with the flashlight, herding me toward his car.

"Can I see some I.D."

I produced my RIMCon I.D. from my back pocket.

"Got anything else? Driver's license?"

I shook my head, familiar with this particular problem already. It didn't make a difference. He patted me down for weapons or drugs or something that he didn't find, and put me in the back of his car, talking into his handheld radio. All he'd found in my pockets was a few dollar bills. Then he got in and drove me to a local police station. I guess in the state of Wisconsin it's a crime not to have a driver's license.

He handed me over to a real cop in the lobby and I learned the charge. Vagrancy. The cop made me sit down in a little room with a window and closed the door. I felt like I was an extra in a film and someone had changed all the sets while I wasn't looking. I tried to think back to the exact moment when everything had gone weird on me. But it made me think of Carynne. I had sunk so low I couldn't even have that sinking feeling anymore.

Mr. Uniformed Officer came in and sat down. He didn't even look that old, like he could have been twenty-two or -three if he'd been in civvies. But the uniform changes everything. He was smiling and shaking his head, looking at a paper in his hand. "So, you're the vagrant the CPs dumped on us. Daron Marks."

The sound of my name, my former name, gave me a jolt. I looked at my hands, wondering what they were going to do to me next. "I guess so. What a mess."

"You want to tell me what you were doing on the campus?"

"I'll tell you what I told them and see if it makes more sense to you, okay? Because it's the truth." I forced myself to make eye contact with him. I remember hearing somewhere that people will believe you more readily if you make eye contact. (But I think a politician said it, or maybe it was Digger, so who are you going to believe?) "I'm a member of the traveling stage crew for that band they've got playing on the campus. They didn't give me one of those stupid campus passes. This," I held up the laminate, trying to keep my voice down but only partly succeeding, "is good enough for any professional arena in the States, but some buttheaded student bully..." Cool down, kiddo, I told myself, "wouldn't let me back into the hall once I'd left. I was trying to get back in some other door when the campus cop stopped me."

He shrugged. "You've got less than $20 on you, no identification, and you look, well, you look," he shrugged again, "like a vagrant."

"Since when is it a crime to have less than $20? I've got five bucks worth of pizza in my stomach that I bought just down the street." I felt angry, but he didn't seem to be taking it personally. "Do you believe me?"

"I believe you." He stood up. "The CPs are always dumping people off here. You haven't been arrested. You don't appear intoxicated, armed, mentally unstable, or otherwise dangerous. I'm going to let you go."

"Thanks." It was good news, but relieved as I was I couldn't act happy about it. "How the hell do I get back to the campus?"

He called me a cab and held the door open for me as I got in. "Get yourself a state liquor ID if you don't learn to drive by the time you're twenty-one," he said. "And don't take any wooden nickels."

"Yeah, thanks." I decided I didn't like friendly cops all that much, either.

The cab let me out by the front doors of the concert hall. The doors were wide open, students milling all around. I walked straight through the lobby and no one even looked up to challenge me. Mr. Muscle Brain was gone.

So was almost everyone else. The only person I saw was Matthew, standing by the sound board. I ran up to him.

"Daron! Holy shit, where have you been?" He sounded more relieved than angry and I relaxed a little.

"The damn police picked me up and charged me with vagrancy. I've been all over the fuckin' place." As the knot in my stomach loosened, I realized I was hungry. "They wouldn't let me in the goddam door!"

Matthew put his arm around my shoulders. "Pinheads. Well, Remo just carried on the set without you. It was okay."

"Remo. Oh fuck." I could imagine what Waldo must be saying right now.

Matthew steered me toward backstage. The equipment was already packed. Matthew pointed his nose toward the students lugging cases. "This is great. We have like thirty kids helping out. I haven't had to lift a finger."

"Was Remo worried?"

"About you?" Matthew shrugged. "I guess you better talk to him."

"He's pissed, isn't he."

"He's at the hotel. You and me are the only ones left here. You can talk to him when we get back." He dug in his pockets. "I'll go call us a cab. You keep an eye on these kids." Oh yeah, like any one of them would even listen to me.

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(Mirrored from Daron's Guitar Chronicles: http://daron.ceciliatan.com)