The Duplex

“All right now. It looks like you two faggots are in luck tonight. I just checked a little while ago and the fruit tank is at maximum capacity.” He shook his head in disgust and exhaled loudly. “Oh, God, this fuckin’ town.” He almost whispered this last part.

“All right, girls,” the officer continued. Please let us off with a warning, I thought. I promise I’ll go back to Independence and try to turn my life around. “Let’s go,” he said. He pushed us in front of him and out the door and down the same ivy-covered walkway that had seemed so gentle and harmless just a short five, ten minutes ago. I wondered if we were going to regular jail, but I didn’t dare ask. It also occurred to me that if the jail was filled up, this guy might mete out his own form of punishment with his billy club. I wanted to make a run for it, but I was terrified at what might happen if I was caught.

None of us said a word. Sometimes I’d feel the officer’s hand against my back. We just walked toward the corner. The one that John had led me around when we first arrived at his place. I noticed the officer’s car parked at the curb, but we walked right past it. I didn’t know what was happening, but I didn’t like it.