Cluck by Lenore Rowntree

Author:Lenore Rowntree [Rowntree, Lenore]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781771871082
Publisher: Thistledown Press
Published: 2016-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

NINE

Show of Feathers

THERE IS A DULL PRESSURE in the front of Henry’s head. He sits up and the room tilts. Then he hears himself retch and a voice say, That’s what the garbage can is beside you for.

He remembers being told the night before, If you don’t cooperate sir, we’ll throw you in the shower. He can’t remember much else, but he must have cooperated because he doesn’t feel like he’s had a shower in weeks.

From the bed, he asks, Where am I?

The Shoshone County Jail, the voice says.

Oh. He starts to puke again. When the last of all that is in his gut has been brought up, he looks through the bars to see a young deputy sheriff with his feet up on the desk. Inside the cell, there’s the bed he’s on, a stainless steel toilet, a can full of puke, and that’s it. He looks down at his shoes beside the bed. There are no laces.

If I can take ten bucks from your wallet, I’ll get you a greasy breakfast, the sheriff says. It’ll help with the hangover.

It will?

Should do, sop up the alcohol. Quite the bender you were on.

Yeah, I’ve never been drunk before.

Really? Be sure to tell the judge that.

Judge? What judge?

You gotta go see a judge before you can get out of here.

I do. Why?

Drunk in a public place. Damage to property. Driving under the influence. You name it. No judges this weekend, but first thing Monday morning we’ll get you out of here.

Not ’til Monday?

Like I said.

Do you know where my car is?

Out back. Safe and sound, such as it is.

What does that mean?

Well you hit a transmission tower that was a whole lot bigger than your car, so yeah, the front end is a bit mashed.

Oh jeez. And my other stuff?

Your beer cozies, broken sunglasses, camera, and wallet are right here in my desk.

Any chance I can get the camera back? It’d give me something to do while I’m in here.

Well it’s against protocol, but don’t see why not, nothing to take any pictures of in here anyway.

I’d be grateful.

The sheriff pulls open his desk drawer and walks to the cell to pass the camera through the bars.

Don’t tell anyone I gave this to you, and if you gotta do any serious business in there — he jerks his finger at the toilet — just tell me and I’ll turn my head. I’m used to it.

Henry spends the afternoon and part of the next day, until he runs out of film, working on low light exposures. He photographs his shoes without laces, his jail bed, the toilet in the corner and the deputy with his feet up on the desk taking a snooze. Might be an interesting collection, he thinks.

On the Monday morning, a different sheriff rounds up Henry and a couple of inmates from another division and they follow a paddy wagon, sirens going, around the corner to the courthouse. Two guys in shackles shuffle down the hall to a courtroom

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