Framed in Monte Carlo by Ted Maher

Author:Ted Maher
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781510755871
Publisher: Skyhorse
Published: 2021-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 30

THE BREAKING POINT

2001 limps like a wounded animal into mid-2002

218,013 minutes . . .

218,014 . . .

I was going on three years entombed behind these prison walls.

The vacuum of downed-hope I was living in was never a complete void. The eventual end was still a mystery, but the daily attempts to break me were certain and mounting.

Strip searches never stopped: Bend over, spread my cheeks, lift up my penis, move my balls. Stick out my tongue.

It was all psychological.

They were trying to break me.

Well, fuck them.

They weren’t looking for anything. They knew I couldn’t have anything. There was no way anything obvious and quick could get into that place. It wasn’t that kind of place. This wasn’t Men’s Central in downtown Los Angeles, or Angola in Louisiana, where so much can get lost in the contraband shuffle.

Nothing can go unseen in a forest that has at most eighty-one trees.

Even when the lawyers or anyone came in from the outside, they had to go through two locked doors, and then another locked door, and then two more, and then be escorted by guards. By the time they got to me, they had passed through eight locked doors, eight levels of security, and metal detection.

One of that “anyone” from the outside was the vice consulate in Marseille, France, representing the United States of America: Ellen Thorburn. She—the State Department in human form—would visit me about once a month, to see how Monaco was treating me; if there were any abuses.

Great.

Thanks.

Wonderful.

I’m still here, Ellen.

And Blot-Manasse would swing by, dragging along their own decaying carcasses. Their message was always cheery: “Well, this or that has come up and now we may be looking at five years . . . oh, and hey, something else has surfaced and it may be seven years, but that’s better than life in here, no?”

Their little visits were nothing more than mental strip searches.

I wrote a letter to Michael because I had begun to see: he had been so right in his frustration and disgust with this “program.”

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