The Case of the Drunken Beach Ho
                  
                                        A Semi-Fiction Novel
                                             By....  Peter Hill
                                              
                                              Chapter 4
                                            The prisoner

 I sat in the police car watching the bartender; We’ll call her “Ms. D”; and the
Officer exchange words. I wondered what they could be talking about. I know she
works for a law firm. So maybe they were talking about the legality of the situation.
It seemed as though he was trying to persuade her to let him in the building.
To no avail it would seem. He just kept standing by the door way, like he was standing
guard or something. Eventually Ms. “D” went into the bar and I kind of just mentally drifted off.       
  Being in that patrol car starts bringing back memories for me. The memory’s of
cops that can tell you haven’t eaten in days, and ask if you would like them to stop
by McDonalds and get a few cheese burgers. Then there are the ones that just want
to talk about the crime you’re being charged with the whole freakin ride, which can
be fifty miles or more in some of my cases. But that didn’t happen on this ride.
This ride was different, this ride was short, ‘bout half a mile. Maybe, because this guy
didn’t even tell me I was under arrest or what the charge was. He didn’t have anything
to say to me at all. Odd, but non the less I sat back in the hard plastic seat (they weren't always that way)
of that patrol car and thought, “what hell is that drunk beach ho doing to me?”
 It didn’t take long to reach the little beach police station. Quaint little place, four stories or so.
Its really more of a town hall and cop shop all in one. Nice for a beach place though. It’s when he
drove through into the sally port I knew I was going to be booked in. I would have been preparing
a story but, at that point II really had no idea what was going on. I figured if it goes anything like it
has in the past, when I get to the booking room, they will tell me what’s going on. At that point I
can tell them it’s all a bunch of crap. But it didn’t happen that way. None of it happened the way I
was used to. I started to wonder if it was because I had got older, 53 now, and hadn’t been in
jail for twenty years or more. I thought to myself,  “Maybe things are different now”, Like the plastic
seats in the patrol car. Maybe they just don’t tell you “you’re under arrest” or “you’re being charged
with this or that”. Maybe in this new age, the government just swoops in and takes you away.
Then the legal people sort it all out. Ya. Maybe that’s how it is.
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Chapter 3
The Custody
Chapter 5
The Strip Down
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