The System

The clang of the cell door made him jump. Tashima had been rough in placing Quinton in the holding cell. He rubbed his arms where he had been hit after she pushed him in.

They always said, 'beware a woman scorned' and he now knew that to be true. He wished he had never met her that day. He eyed his surroundings and sighed in relief. It was filthy and smelly but at least he was alone. An empty cell on Friday was a blessing. His relief did not last long.

"Quinton Lockheed you are under arrest for the murder of Jonathan Brown. In addition to the illegal possession of a firearm and ammunition, breaking and entering. Conspiracy to commit murder as well as perverting the course of justice." Tashima said gleefully.

"Tashima, stop the nonsense, we had sex and I'm sorry I never called, but this is ridiculous now. Tell me it's a joke and that Dread put you up to it?" Quinton stuttered as he asked watching her face for a sign that she was just saying all these false charges to make him angry.

"No Quinton, I am not making it up to torture you. Though I must admit I am enjoying watching you suffer. We found evidence of your murderous act at your residence. It seems your pal Jubba cut a deal with the prosecution and now he is a free man tonight. Quinton Lockheed, I've waited years to see the look on your smug face. Tisk, tisk, how the mighty have fallen!" Tashima smiled and then spat on his shoes.

The glob of paste fell then slid off the previously pristine patent black leather shoe that glistened like a mirror. Quinton's knees went weak. Being on the other side of the system had hit him like a truck. Arrested and charged by the woman who had an axe to grind. Quinton held up his beltless pants and he heard the prisoner's truck.

It was surreal. A prisoner. He was in the same situation as hi clients. The only difference was that he didn't belong here they way most of them did. Quinton's life had changed in an instant. For the first time in his life, he didn't have an angle or a play. He was lonely and terrified. The smell of fresh faeces permeated the air but he had gotten used to the stench and all he could smell was his own sweat as it trickled down his chest under his expensive Farmani suit.

The sergeant laughed when he saw who he was about to transport.

"Pretty boy Lockheed, what did you do this time? Pick Judge Dread's daughter's cherry again?" The tall, burly man clad in the blue denim chuckled.

Sergeant, Tashima said, "The prisoner is charged with murder of a state witness under the anti-gang legislation. Take him directly to Remand Centre. He is not to be allowed to communicate with anybody."

"Murder! DSP, I watched this boy grow up around the system. Him, murder? No, if you said showing off and galivanting well then yes. Or troubling someone else's woman…sure. But killing somebody, nah. Not him Bent, are you serious?" Sergeant asked as surprise widened his eyes.

Tashima scowled. "Believe it or not Sargent, the facts are the fact. His antecedents are Mango Road, same place as the Don that you transported here last week. We have had Lockheed under surveillance a long time. Sometimes Sarge, we can't swear for anybody these days. He was desperate to break the case. It would put him on the map as a defence attorney. Imagine how many Dons would want to hire this murderer? Hundreds, Sergeant."

"I will make sure they put him in the hole at Remand, Bent," the Sarge replied quietly.

"Tashima, I am being framed. Somebody has set me up because…" Quinton began in earnest.

"Quinton that is the cry of every murderer. I never believed a word you have said since you said you would call and didn't even bother. I certainly won't start believing you now. The gun and the blood splattered clothes are the only evidence I need. You are as good as dead Quinton. You killed the father-in-law of the Gotcha Gang and I heard you raped his young bride too. I always thought you were cocky but imagine being brazen enough to kill the man and then take your time to... you are sick and for what Quinton? Fame and fortune? I hope it was worth it. Take him away Sergeant," Tashima could not hide her disdain.

Quinton took a deep breath and held out his hands to be shackled.

"Lockheed, do I really have to cuff you? For goodness, you are the godfather to my children," Sergeant said empathetically as he sighed.

"Follow the procedure, I thought I always followed the rules and look where it has gotten me? I feel like a common criminal," Quinton replied.

"That is what you are Quinton, you were supposed to uphold the law and look what you did, you became entwined with the scum of the society, sucking the life out of the country. For what? Was it for money Lockheed?" Tashima asked with raised eyebrows.

"Tashima, I'm innocent, why would I throw away my life? Why?" Quinton replied forcefully.

"Shut up Quinton. We could have made a powerful team, but you made your bed. Dogs are going hold you tonight at Remand and that baby soft skin will have sweat all over it by mid night," Tashima replied.

Quinton tightened his lips as he tried to hold back the tears.

"Take him away and put him in the back Sergeant, No favours."

Quinton swallowed hard. Shit, he thought.

"No Tashima, I put some of those animals behind bars, please, don't," Quintom begged as he threw aside any pride he had.

"You should have thought about that before you pulled the trigger. Tonight, you will know what it feels like to lose Quinton. I hope you bawl like a baby when they come for you," Tashima said with venom.

"DSP Bent, there is no need to say those things," Sarge replied.

Quinton felt a tear begin to roll down his cheek. Reality was finally setting in as the shackles hobbled his feet.

"Sarge take him through the public entrance, I need him to be an example of how the mighty has fallen."

Snot bubbled in Quinton's left nostril. He tried his best to stop the tears, but it was too late. He saw the court staff, jurors and other attorneys pointing and laughing. Ashamed and with his shoulders hunched, Quinton Lockheed hung his head as he was paraded on the walk of shame. just then, he saw Jubba toot and blow the horn of the red X6. Lifting his right hand as if he was imperial.

Moments, later the caged truck had other occupants who were either bring transported to Remand or back to the Lock up. At twenty-eight years old Quinton Lockheed was the grandfather of the lot, but that never stopped the repeat offenders from laughing at the man with the runny nose with blood red eyes.

"Dog, di man a bawl because him a guh down for a stretch."

The dark-skinned man that was shackled beside Quinton asked him loudly, "A wat yuh do dog? Tief money don't?"

Quinton frowned and ignored the question.

"Wah, di pretty bwoy feel him better than wi. Long time mi want a Munroeing," prisoner number one shouted.

Quinton watched as he gyrated his waist and the other occupants burst out into laughter. Quinton used his body weight and drove his elbow up under the man's chin, who was laughing at the time.

Blood and teeth littered the metal floor.

"Murder, you pussy. I killed ten and they say it was five," Quinton said it loud enough for them all to hear.

"Murder, murder. Help!"

The other four men shouted as they watched their friend slump to the floor of the truck.

"Munroe man kill di yute and him nuh do nutten."

Quinton's tears dried up as if they were on cue. He wanted to control the narrative from early and not be seen as a wimp. He would go down fighting if he had to but would not allow Tashima's negative words to become his reality.

As Quinton looked around the truck, he noted that he had at least fifty pounds more than the other men. They all had tattoos and scars on their faces.

"Shit, this is going to be a long night," Quinton muttered.

His soiled white shirt had blood stains on the sleeve. The wail of the siren gave Quinton a headache. His elbow throbbed with pain. A journey from Justice Square to Remand would normally have taken ten minutes but the Friday afternoon traffic only lengthened the time to almost twice. The questions started to circulate in Quinton's head. Who killed the don's relative? How and when did they plant the gun. Who else was involved? There were more questions than answers but he could not think clearly because his mind felt as if a fog had surrounded it.

The horn beeped as he recognised the huge Munroe gates of the Remand Centre.

As an attorney, he had visited the facilities several times, but today he was not a visitor. A cheer went up from the other inmates in the truck when the warden took Quinton out.

Somehow, Quinton knew that word would spread about what he had done in the truck as well as his crime by the time processing was finished.

Minutes later he stood in a cold, grey room.

"Strip bwoy and place your items in the bin," The man in the grey suit shouted.

Quinton's fingers fumbled and trembled as he undid his shirt. His biceps and triceps bulged and tensed as he removed his shirt. The muscles in his stomach were pronounced and defined. The reddish, Munroe hair on his chest had lined down to join the stubble around his groin. Even though the room was cold, his sausage hung proudly.

"Put your hand on your head, squat and cough."

The soldier clad in fatigues and a green shirt shouted inaudible commands through a plexi glass window. A huge index finger found its way between his ass cheeks and into his intimate space. Quinton flinched and grimaced.

"Open your mouth and stick out your tongue."

"Stand up, lift your sac!" the man shouted.

Quinton cupped his jewels and lifted them as eyes peered at the mirror lodged between his legs. Minutes later he was handed a jumpsuit, then taken to another office to get his vitals taken followed by a cold shower.

Very few words were spoken by the men and it was as if he was supposed to know exactly what to do next. Intake was over in fifteen minutes and Quinton Lockheed was deposited in an eight times eight room without natural ventilation. A metal toilet and three pieces of board that he assumed was his bed. Tears, streamed down his face as he thought about the comfort of his apartment and how it had been ripped from him in the twinkling of an eye and without notice.

"God, I'm prisoner 2921- 8-8, what have I done to deserve this? What will they tell my parents?" Quinton mumbled.

In the darkness of his cell, the weight of all that had happened hit him all at once. He dropped to his knees. A storm of emotions tore through him. His body, overwhelmed with all he had been through, shook uncontrollably. A howl ripped from his throat and he cried as he had never cried before in his life. Even though he was battered and bruised, faced with sheer exhaustion, he soon drifted off to sleep.