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TWO-3

“I believe you have that obligation,” said Oliver.

“What is your name?” asked the officer.

“Oliver Paige,” said Oliver. He shifted his weight nervously.

The officer withdrew handcuffs from his side holster. The cold iron embraced his wrists, and the loud ‘click’ when the officer tensed the shackles confirmed that he had just lost his liberty. The officer assisted Oliver to the rear seat of the patrol vehicle. He placed his hand on the top of Oliver’s head as it neared the door. “Be careful with your head, Mr. Paige.”

“Thank-you.” Oliver seated himself in the backseat. He resigned himself to the results of the search of the vehicle. He watched the officer remove a test kit from the patrol cruiser. The officer removed the baggies of methamphetamine from the cigar box, and tested them with the reagents. The officer nodded his head in affirmation. He strode to the patrol vehicle.

“The items are presumptive positive for methamphetamine, Mr. Paige.” He leaned into the cruiser. “You are under arrest for possession of methamphetamine,” said the police officer. “I am going to remove you from the vehicle to search your person incident to arrest. Do you have anything sharp or dangerous that I should be aware of?”

“No,” Oliver said.

The officer brought Oliver carefully out of the vehicle. He conducted a thorough pat-down of Oliver’s body, and removed coinage, some gum, and a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket. He placed the items on the hood of the patrol vehicle for a photograph.

The rain began to feverishly fall. “You’re getting wet out here, Mr. Paige, so I will read to you your rights, and then put you back in the vehicle.”

“Go ahead,” said Oliver. He shivered from the cold rain striking his shirt.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say to me can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, you may have the court appoint one for you. Do you understand your rights?”

“Yes,” snapped Oliver.

“Do you have anything to say now?” asked the police officer.

“What is your name?” queried Oliver.

The young policeman furrowed a brow. “I am Officer Brent Montgomery of the Portland Police Bureau.”

“Well, Officer Montgomery, I am invoking my right to remain silent.”

“As you wish,” replied the police officer. He escorted Oliver to the police cruiser just as the backup unit arrived. He maneuvered Oliver into position to sit in the back seat. “I am going to search your car incident to arrest. Is there anything I should be aware of?”

Oliver nodded his head in the negative. He watched through the rain streaked windows as an older police officer emerged from his cruiser. The man began a discussion with Officer Montgomery. While Montgomery began to put on a pair of blue latex gloves, the other police officer walked around the back of the cruiser. He poked his head into the open doorway. Suddenly, the man gasped.

“Oliver Paige, is that you?”

Oliver groaned. He recognized Patrol Sergeant Edwin Jakes. “Yes, Sgt. Jakes. It is I who occupies the back seat of Officer Montgomery’s patrol cruiser.”

Sgt. Jakes examined the handcuffed man incredulously. “What happened?”

“A series of events.”

Sgt. Jakes scratched his head. He examined Oliver’s haggard appearance, as if he struggled to disbelieve that which he plainly observed in plain sight. He shook his head in amazement. “Do you want some water while we process the evidence?”

Oliver released a smile from a rigid demeanor. “You were always considerate of me.” He nodded his head toward the officer, whose blue uniform tightly wrapped a solid frame. “I’m sure there will be one at the station.”

Sgt. Jakes tapped Oliver on the shoulder. “I’ll make sure it’s iced.” The sergeant stepped away from the patrol cruiser to view the evidence that Officer Montgomery had placed on the hood of Oliver’s old Ford.

“Tell me what happened?”

Officer Montgomery completed the inventory on the hood of the vehicle. “I saw this old vehicle straddling two marked parking areas. I wondered if the driver was in distress. When I examined the driver, he was asleep. I panned the vehicle with my Maglite, and I observed this evidence in plain view. The lid to the cigar box was open, and the drugs, syringe, and elastic tie were carefully placed inside.”

“Sounds completely unlike Oliver,” said Sgt. Jakes.

“You know him?” asked Officer Montgomery in a tone that resonated with incredulity.

Sgt. Jakes nodded his head affirmatively. “We go way back. I heard that he had gone off the deep end after the Chase Mattingly incident, but I would have never imagined anything like this.”

Suddenly, the sound of dispatch reverberated through the officer radio. Sgt. Jakes turned to his younger counterpart. “The Paafies have apparently decided to march upon the Justice Center tonight.” He shook his head.

“Who are the Paafies?” asked Officer Montgomery.

“The little snowflakes and pajama boys from the Portland Association Against Fascism,” said Sgt. Jakes. “They woke up about an hour ago, and now they need something to do.”

“Aren’t they protesting about social justice and income inequality?”

“I believe they use the term ‘income inequity’ now.” Sgt. Jakes chuckled. “Maybe tonight they will leave the accelerants and explosives at home.” He tapped Officer Montgomery on the shoulder. “I’m afraid it’s going to be a busy night.” He watched Officer Montgomery carefully place the items on the hood of the car into an evidence bag. He pointed to Oliver in the back seat. “Take care of him, Brent. He used to be a stand-up guy.”

Officer Montgomery waved at the sergeant, and then returned to processing the old Ford. He pulled out several empty bottles of alcohol, and several more with traces of alcohol remaining inside. After completing the search and recording the evidence in photographs, Officer Montgomery locked the evidence in the trunk of the patrol cruiser. He fired up the engine. He examined the arrestee in the back seat through the rear view mirror. “Comfortable back there?”

“It will do,” replied Oliver indifferently.

“Sgt. Jakes told me he recognized you. He said he has known you for a long time.”

“We have been known each other for a very long time, but we never ran in the same circles.”

“What happened?”

Oliver grinned. “Nice try, Officer Montgomery, but in case you forgot, I have invoked.”

Brent Montgomery accepted the retort graciously. He piloted the cruiser to the Justice Center on 2nd. Ahead in the distance, the police officer noticed a large group of people dressed in black with masks obscuring their faces. Some carried bats, others carried metal shields, and a small grouping carried umbrellas. “I had better get you inside the sally port before the trouble begins.”

Oliver squinted his vision through the rain streaked window at the large group descending upon the police center. The vehicle entered a ramp that led to the basement.

Officer Montgomery pulled to a stop inside a caged area within the bowel of the building. As the electrical hum surged through the metal cage, Officer Montgomery assisted Oliver out of the cruiser. He quietly escorted Oliver into the booking area. The staff processed his fingerprints and photographs, and instructed him to the shower room. Oliver stood alone on the cold white tile floor.

“What are you waiting for, Paige? Think you’re too good for this place?” commanded a correctional officer. Oliver looked at the name of the officer engraved on a patch situated above the breast pocket of the uniform. ‘Robert Jamison’. The name sounded familiar, but he nevertheless decided to commit the name to memory.

“I’m here, and I await your instruction,” retorted Oliver sarcastically.

The correctional officer delivered an orange jump suit and plastic flip-flops colored in the same orange hue as the outfit. When he gave the items to Oliver, he observed the officer wore blue latex gloves. “You’re going to disrobe, and I am going to conduct a cavity search to make certain that you are not bringing contraband into the facility.”

Oliver gulped. The idea of exposing an intimate area of his body to a person he had met moments before dispossessed him of indifference at his present circumstance.

“I don’t got all day, Paige. Let’s just get this unpleasant task over with.”

Oliver dutifully obeyed. He approached the officer.

“Turn around, and bend over to touch your toes.”

Oliver felt the correctional officer maneuver his backside with fingers virtually indistinct from thick sausages. He instinctively jumped when a finger penetrated his rectum.

“Cough!” shouted Correctional Officer Jamison.

“What?” repeated Oliver.

“I said cough, you asshole!”

Oliver managed a wheezing cough. His lungs and throat ached less from the exercise than his damaged self-image.

“That will do!” said the officer. He then inspected Oliver’s testicles and reproductive organ with perhaps more attention to detail than necessary. “Get in that shower and clean yourself up to meet your new friends!”

Oliver stepped into the shower room. It was bare except for eight silver nozzles jutting from the wall, a pair of silver handles beneath each nozzle, and a silver drain. The cold water striking his body felt like a thousand needles pricking his skin. His slender frame began to crave a hit of methamphetamine to bury the experience into a comfortable numbness. He reached for a block of soap on a tray recessed into the wall. The absence of lather convinced Oliver that the soap was merely stripping away a layer of skin. Oliver drifted into a state of numbed existence until he heard a voice enter the chamber.

“Finish it up, Paige! You have a visitor!” shouted a different correctional officer dismissively.

She found me! While he dressed, Oliver questioned his fantasy that somehow Cyllvia had located him, and she was in the lobby to take him home. He emerged from the shower to view the correctional officer and a uniformed deputy standing in the entrance to the shower.

“You’re an important guy!” said the correctional officer whose uniform identified him as Dwayne Hickam. “Come with me,” said the correctional officer. He turned into a hallway with Oliver in pursuit. He could not help but question why the deputy had not handcuffed him. Correctional Officer Hickam escorted Oliver through several doors until they reached a large metal door at the end of the corridor. “He’s in there.” Hickam opened the heavy metal door.

Oliver entered the chamber. He observed in the darkness the silhouette of a man seated in chair in the back of the room. The stranger flipped a light switch. Instantly, the light revealed the face of William Pennoyer.

Oliver gasped.

“Imagine my astonishment when Sgt. Jakes told me that you were a guest of the State in the Multnomah County Justice Center,” said suave gentleman dressed in a sharp suit.

“I suppose it would be a shock,” affirmed Oliver.

“You might be asking why the District Attorney for Multnomah County would be in the lineup room with Oliver Paige at four o’clock in the morning?”

“Hadn’t given it a thought.”

William grinned like a Cheshire cat about to swat an unsuspecting prey. “I look after my friends, Oliver. You don’t belong in here.”

“Apparently Officer Brent Montgomery believes that I do.”

“He’s young, and he doesn’t know you like I know you.” He leaned toward Oliver. “I’ve arranged for the accusatory instrument against you to be dismissed. Your car is in the front parking lot. You’re free to leave.” He grinned at Oliver. “You’re free to leave, assuming you can make it past Chase Mattingly’s little group of anarchists who think they are making a difference to society,” scoffed William.

Oliver squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. He immediately reacted with suspicion. “What’s the catch?”

“I want you to remember this evening.” William smirked toward Oliver with a nod of his head that produced a shiver in Oliver’s spine. The prosecutor arose effortlessly from the wooden bench inside the processing cell. Oliver watched the broad back of the prosecutor swagger out of view.

“Here’s your personal s**t!” announced Correctional Officer Jamison, who threw a large cellophane bag at Oliver. The bag fell onto the dirty cement floor of the cell.

“Fold your jumpsuit and put those sandals on top,” continued Correctional Officer Hickam. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

Oliver undressed from the ignominious orange correctional facility jumpsuit into his tattered street clothing, struggling to comprehend the forthcoming debt he owed to William Pennoyer. They were committed professionals in another time, and he acknowledged that Pennoyer always collected on obligations others made in a manner that benefitted him.

“Time’s up!” announced Jamison, the more rude of the duo. Correctional Officers Hickam and Jamison led Oliver to the release door. Hickam handed him the keys the car. “Better get out of here before Pennoyer changes his mind.”

Correctional Officer Jamison suddenly ducked to avoid a flaming bottle that crashed onto the wall of the Justice Center just above his head. Other debris quickly flew through the air. Oliver watched the commotion. He felt a shove from Officer Jamison, and then he heard the door thud to close behind him. Suddenly, the debris flying through the air was replaced with a chorus of cheers emerging from the crowd. A few individuals dressed in black stepped out from deployed umbrellas. They cheered and clapped for Oliver. Once he understood that the youths viewed him favorably, he accepted their applause, and made his way for the old Ford that was parked in the lot. Many in the crowd offered handshakes and fist-bumps as he made his way through the celebratory crowd.

Oliver passed through the congregation of youths. He listened as the group pressed ahead with jeers, taunts, and insults. As he looked ahead into the cold night air, he heard the sound of breaking glass behind him. He concluded that the dispatch of flaming bottles had resumed. He saw his white Ford Tempo occupied a parking spot directly across the street from the jail. He rapidly strode to the car, calculating what he owed to William Pennoyer.