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silence meant that he was
considering my plea. I didn’t have to wait long. “Come on down
Whitey, we’ll talk about it.”
    I smiled a relieved smile and headed for the
front door. Maybe the years had softened his naturally nasty
demeanor? That was a revolting thought; I might actually have to be
nice to the big lug one day! Just the same, I don’t want to trust
him too soon, leopard spots may fade but they don’t fall off. I
pulled out the baggies and placed the contents into three different
pockets and then scooped up dust and whatnot to replace the
threads. Oscar wanted me to share what I found, but he didn’t need
to know everything I found. As I walked into the elevator I had one
thought running through my mind …”I wonder if they’re still
serving for supper in the tank, I’m starving.”
    ****
    ( “…Breakin rocks in the hot sun, I fought the law
and the law won…”)…Sonny Curtis & The Crickets…1959

Chapter Six
    LAPD, Hollenbeck Station slammer…Monday, Feb
16, 2009…11pm
    In case you’re wondering, the really prime
real estate at the city lock up, specifically, the holding tank
where the drunk and disorderly sleep it off, is the corner spot
near the cell door or topside if there are bunks available.
Unfortunately, I had neither to choose from due to the late hour of
my arrival courtesy my old pal and former boss, Lt.
Dill-hole . Of course I knew he would renege on our little truce
right after he shook me down for what he thought I’d found at
Sally’s place. Fortunately for me, I managed to keep my cool and
resisted cracking wise when his goon squad arrived to cuff me and
scuff me. That wee bit of respect earned me a downtown sleepover
instead of a long weekend on Terminal Island, high incentive for my
cooperative attitude as most of the Sherriff Deputies assigned to
the City facility were friends of mine from way back in the day.
What that meant to me was that I wouldn’t be subjected to the
standard shakedown from hell before checking into my
semi-private room in the tank for the night. That little perk would
allow my pocket full of stolen evidence to go safely unnoticed, at
least until my release in the morning. I tapped my thigh lightly to
make sure everything was where it belonged and then surveyed the
cell for signs of curious eyes.
    Actually, all things considered it was a
pretty quiet night. I mean, I had seen this room filled to capacity
more times than I cared to remember over the years. Of course that
was from the outside looking in. You gain a far different
perspective from this side of the bars. The sight of the unsightly
was bad enough, but the smell , that was much harsher than I
remembered. In fact, I was pretty sure I’d have to shower with
industrial strength Mr. Clean to rid my body of the stench! As for
my clothes, fuggedaboutit! I would have to burn
them as soon as I got home!
    From my vantage point at the farthest corner
of the oversized communal cell, I surveyed the room killing time.
Clearly there was no way I’d be falling asleep in here, not with
this assortment of semi-coherent and incoherent roomies. The air
was heavy with the powerful aromas of sweat, urine, flatulence, and
vomit, making it difficult to breathe. Whoever was on the top bunk
nearest me was talking in his sleep while two guys sharing the
bottom bunk were busy feeling each other up. Like I said, there
wouldn’t be any shut-eye for old Whitey tonight! And on that
pleasant note I dozed off.
    --
    LAPD, Hollenbeck Station slammer…Tuesday,
Feb 17, 2009…5am
    --
    “Rise and shine porcupines, chow time , get it while it’s hot gentlemen,” bellowed
Deputy Bob Blackburn, a six foot six inch 20 year veteran who
looked more like a gladiator than a cop! It was SOP to feed the
drunks before sunrise so they could cut them loose before the city
streets were filled with commuters, you know, normal folk.
    I stayed put while the great unwashed slowly
meandered toward the front to get their tray of powdered