The Devil's in the Details 4 by Mary Jane Maffini

Author:Mary Jane Maffini
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Dundurn
Published: 2004-04-07T23:00:00+00:00

Twenty

A few words of advice: try not to pass out cold, sprawled half on the street, half on the sidewalk, in the Byward Market on a Saturday around midnight. Especially if you have been sitting on a curb immediately prior to this. In addition, do not yell at passing cars. Such behaviour brings out the police officers, but not the big friendly ones you learned about in elementary school.

“Constantinople,” I said confidently as I raised my head to greet the constables who were approaching. “I need to go to Constantinople immediately.”

The female officer snorted. “Constantinople? Ma’am, you must mean detox.”

“Detox?” I batted away her helping hand. “I’m not drunk.”

“Do you want to try standing up, ma’am?”

“Hey, where’s my box of photos, they’re important. And my backpack. What happened to that?”

“No idea, ma’am.”

I squinted at a lump halfway down the block. “That looks like it. What’s it doing way down there?”

The officers exchanged glances, but one of them trotted the half-block and picked up my backpack.

“Now just try and stand up, ma’am.”

“I don’t feel like standing up. Somebody rolled me into the traffic. That’s not legal.”

I twisted around to see who that somebody might have been. The sidewalk swam, the cops divided into doubles, then triples. No problem. I was used to that. But quadruples were new. I didn’t like them at all. I closed my eyes. “My head is out of control.”

“We can see that, ma’am.”

“Did I mention I hate being called ma’am?”

“No, ma’am.”

A wave of nausea washed over me. I opened my eyes and tried not to upchuck Maisie’s Chocolate Triple Threat onto the eight pairs of regulation style police footwear in front of me.

“Come along into the car, ma’am,” the not-so-nice officer said. “We’ll make sure you’re all right at the station.”

“Hold on. I may have a concussion, but I haven’t lost my law degree, and last I heard, there was nothing in the criminal code or in the civic ordinances about sitting on the goddam curb.” Fine words, although even I could tell they were coming out a bit slurred. I sank back to the same curb while speaking.

“True enough,” the officer said, with a too-wide grin. “But we have complaints about you disturbing the peace.”

“What?”

“Dis–tur–bing the peace,” she said with entirely unnecessary emphasis.

“What are you talking about, disturbing the peace? Look around. You have me mixed up with hundreds of drunken louts.”

I had drawn quite a crowd. There’s nothing more entertaining than someone else getting arrested.

“Attempted break-in, too. That has some teeth,” she continued merrily.

“What?”

“And don’t forget uttering threats. That was still illegal when I signed on tonight.”

This would have been a good time to demonstrate grace and dignity. But I felt a surge of panic at the thought of being arrested and probably strip-searched and tossed into a cold damp cell. I never understood how anyone could get through that. I used to imagine jail cells and holding tanks when I had legal aid clients. The images helped me to work up a good head of steam for court.

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