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Episode
007
“Bond. James Bond.”
There was a knock at the door.
Malcolm rolled over, his eyes glazed from the little sleep. He
stumbled to his feet, ignoring the assorted junk that littered his
anti-spacious dorm room. Grabbing a shirt off the back of his chair as he
blearily crossed the room, he slid it on.
There was a knock at the door.
“Yeah.” Malcolm yelled, his head hurting for some reason.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.”
He reached the door and grabbed the brass handle. “Victor, if
this is you . . .” He grumbled. “I got three hours ‘til my first
class today, so if this is a . . .” He opened the door.
Three police officers were standing in front of him.
“Hello, officer.” Malcolm said, suddenly wide-awake. “How can
I be of help?”
“Malcolm Guitarte?” Asked the police officer closest to him.
“Guitarte.” Malcolm corrected automatically. “It’s like a
southern hick saying ‘guitar’, then ‘te’.” The officers stared
at him. “How can I help you?” he repeated politely.
“Are you Malcolm Guitarte?” The officer asked, mispronouncing
the name again.
“Yes, sir.” Malcolm said. “What’s this about?”
“Mr. Guitarte.” Said the closest officer, grabbing Malcolm’s
shoulder. “You are under arrest.”
“What?” Marilyn exclaimed, shock running over her. “Malcolm
got arrested?”
“That’s what I heard.” Kim said, whispering as she and
Marilyn walked with rushed steps around the tall, circular building in the
center of the university. “I called his dorm, but I got no answer.”
“Does Victor know?” Marilyn asked. “He didn’t come to
breakfast again today, so I haven’t seen him.”
“I don’t know.” Kim said. “Ruwani was the one who told me
and she’s trying to get some more info now.”
“Is she at the courthouse?” Marilyn asked, stopping. “We
could try calling Judge Morris. He helped us out that one time.”
“I don’t know, Mar.” Kim said, her voice desperate and
frightened. “All he really did was acknowledge that we had the civic
right to make a citizen’s arrest.”
“Still.” Marilyn said. “He could make a character call or
something.”
“Maybe.” Kim nodded with a shrug. “I’m going to go find
Ruwani after class. When you get done with classes, come to the courthouse
and . . .”
“I’m not going to wait.” Marilyn said, as if offended by the
idea. “Malcolm needs me.”
“Mar, you’ve already missed too many days because of the
group.” Kim started, but she could see that Marilyn was determined.
“Alright.” She relented remorsefully. “Let’s get my car.”
Malcolm sat in a steel chair, at a steel table, facing a steel
door. The concrete around him was only disrupted by a single piece of
glass, mirrored towards him. Malcolm sat forward, his hands chaffing
against the sharp handcuffs he still wore. He looked up at the door,
waiting. He didn’t wait long.
The handle turned noisily, then the door opened. Two men in brown
suits with ugly ties walked in. The first one sat down at the table
opposite Malcolm, the second one stayed by the door. “Good morning, Mr.
Guitarte.” The man said, actually pronouncing Malcolm’s name right. He
put his hands on the desk, shortening the distant to Malcolm. “Do you
know why you’re here?”
“Not really.” Malcolm said honestly. He looked down, trying to
think. He looked back up at the officer. “Look, I don’t know what’s
going on. I want to help, because there’s obviously been a
misunderstanding.”
“Can I all you Malcolm?” The officer asked. Malcolm nodded.
“Do you go out to clubs much, Malcolm?”
Malcolm’s blood went cold, but the officer didn’t stop. He
reached down to the side of his chair, pulling up a manila folder. He laid
it on the table and opened it up before Malcolm. He slid out a single
photo. He turned it around, laying it before Malcolm. In grainy color and
low light, the college student saw a picture of himself firing a gun at
the club owner.
“Know anything about this?” The officer asked with a casual
tone. Malcolm looked up, trying to speak, but his throat was dry. He
finally managed to shake his head. “Malcolm, we have you entering the
club about ten minutes before the shooting took place.” The officer went
on. “And we have statements from the doormen that there was an
altercation with them involving you and several of your friends
immediately after the shooting.”
“The gunman.” Malcolm got out, in a horse whisper. “The
shooter. He got shot.”
“There was one body in that club, Malcolm.” The officer said
sincerely.
“It . . . it wasn’t me.” Malcolm said, still fighting to
swallow. “It wasn’t me.”
“The bullet-type matches the gun registered in your name.” The
officer said, looking through the file.
“Gun?” Malcolm said, looking up in fear. “I, I don’t own a
gun.”
“I don’t own a gun.” Malcolm maintained. “I swear, I
don’t.”
“What’s going on?” Ruwani said, as she walked up next to
Victor. “Has anything happened?”
“They haven’t charged him yet.” The solid black student said,
watching the woman behind the desk across the room from them. “That may
be a good sign.”
“A good sign?” Ruwani said. “How can that be a good sign?”
“They may just be sweating him out.” Victor said. “If they
arrested him for killing the club owner, which they probably did, then
they probably know, already, that he didn’t do it.”
“Then why wouldn’t they release him?” Ruwani asked. “Why
would they hold him?”
“To make sure he wasn’t involved.” Victor said. “To make
sure he doesn’t know anyone who might have been.”
“Maybe.”
“Do you think that will get him into trouble?” She asked, worry
running through her.
“Maybe.”
“Do you think he’s going to go to prison?” She asked, looking
over at Victor.
“Maybe.”
“What were you doing in that club?” Asked the officer, his
patient voice beginning to strain just a bit.
“I heard that the owner was running a white slavery ring.”
Malcolm said, his voice exhausted. He looked down at his lap, trying to
think clearly, trying to think through his fear. “Two of my friends and
I went to investigate. That’s all. I swear.”
“When most people learn about illegal activity, Malcolm, they
usually call the cops or look the other way.” Said the other police
officer, with an annoyed voice as he stared at Malcolm. “That makes you
either an idiot or a hero.”
“Well, sir.” Malcolm said, his own reserves draining thin. He
looked up at the police officer, his eyes showing every ounce he fear he
felt. “I guess I’m an idiot.”
Marilyn and Victor waited in the judge’s room. Sitting in the
chairs opposite the desk, they were left alone in the tiny chambers just
outside the courtroom. Marilyn tried to breath slowly as she looked
nervously around the room. Victor simply sat still, his eyes focused on
the desk.
“It’s going to be okay.” Victor said, after a moment. Marilyn
turned to him, looking surprised that it had been him to speak. He turned
to her, smiling. “It’s going to be fine.”
“I’m just worried about Malcolm.” She said, unconsciously
thumping her hand on the arm of the chair. “What if he really gets
arrested for this?”
“I know.” Marilyn said bitingly. “I know that. But still.
What if he goes to prison?”
“He won’t.” Victor said, sitting up. He reached across the
desk, taking a hold of Marilyn’s hand. “We’ll get him out. I
promise.”
“I know.” Marilyn said, nodding.
“It’ll be okay. You and I, we’ll take care of it.” He
continued. “The Alliance isn’t going to fall and Malcolm isn’t going
to go to jail.”
“But what if he does?” She said, looking back at Victor.
“What if he does?”
“He won’t.” Victor said, smiling. “I won’t let him.”
“That’s a relief.” Marilyn said, her voice twisted.
“Victor, if they send him away, there’s nothing we can do.”
“We’re the World Alliance.” Victor laughed, trying to joke.
“There’s always something we can do.”
Marilyn looked away from Victor, her eyes down. “I just hope
so.” She sighed. “I’m afraid of what might happen if . . .” She
didn’t finish.
“You can trust me, Mar.” Victor said, reaching over to rub
Marilyn’s back. “It’ll be alright.” He smiled reassuringly at her.
“I’ll take care of everything.”
The holding cell was half full when the two officers deposited
Malcolm in it. He sat down exhaustedly in the corner, keeping a good
distance from the other guys in the cell. In the reflective walls of the
metal cell, Malcolm could see across to the others that lined the opposite
wall.
“What happened to you?” Asked a voice from over Malcolm. He
looked up at the two men standing over him.
“I got into a fight.” Malcolm answered slowly, going back to
minding his own business.
“Oh I can see that.” Said the first guy with slow sarcasm, as
he bent down a little bit. “Bet that makes you think you’re some tough
guy.”
“What do you want?” Malcolm asked with a waver in his voice,
looking up at the man. “You want me to move, I’ll move. You want me to
get out of your way, I’ll go where ever won’t bother. But just,
please, leave me alone.”
“It’s your face he doesn’t like.” Said the second guy. He
rolled his sleeve up, showing a tattoo of a swastika. “We don’t like
spicks.” Malcolm stared at the tattoo, then turned away from
the two men. “He don’t hear too go.” Said the first.
“I hear just fine.” Malcolm retorted, looking back up at the
two. “I’ve had a bad morning. Please, I’m asking you nicely. Just
please leave me alone.” The second man reached out for Malcolm’s collar.
“Don’t turn away from me, you . . .”
Malcolm jumped up from his seat, bringing his right arm up in a
wide arc, catching the second man right between the legs with the bulk of
his solid forearm. The man was thrown back, giving Malcolm the room to
grab the first man’s arm and swing him around, sending him careening
into the wall.
Blood splattered across the metal wall as the man’s nose cracked
under the impact. Malcolm stepped back away, looking down at the second
man, the one he had hit in the groin. The man was on the floor, holding
his crotch.
Malcolm sat down again, his head turned away. His eyes were water
as he stared at nothing, refusing to think about what was happening around
him. |