The betrayal

The police knocked on my front door at 10am. They asked my name. I answered and asked what it was regarding. They didn’t say. They asked me what happened. I asked regarding what? They were aloof and indirect kept trying to get me to say something, but I had no idea what. Jerric stepped out of the police car holding my daughter, my stomach sank. I was not sure what he accused me of, but I realized it was serious. I asked if I needed an attorney. The police didn’t answer. They asked if there were any witnesses to what occurred 2 nights ago. I said my sister and my oldest son were here, but my son was in his room. They asked me if I had any weapons. I said no. Then one officer escorted me to his police car and asked me to wait. I asked what was going on. He didn’t answer. He told me he needed to record my statement and asked if I have anything to say. He started recording. I told him I would like an attorney. He told me to turn around and put my hands behind my back. I asked what I am being charged with, he didn’t say. I told him I would really like an attorney, and I had no idea what was going on. He said he was just following orders. I tried my best to maintain composure, but I was scared, tears started streaming down my face. The officer tried to comfort me, he said this can still all go away, but I didn’t even know what this was. I was afraid to say anything because I knew they could use every word against you, so I remained silent.

We arrived at a police station. I was escorted to a small cell. They took my shoes, my jewelry and then released the cuffs. It was a freezing cold cement cell with a camera in the corner. I noticed scratches along the cement and then noticed chunks of red fake fingernails in different areas of the cell, remains of those who came before me, indicating the cells were never cleaned…gross. I waited for about an hour, all the time having no idea what to expect. No one said a word. A different officer entered my cell and placed the cuffs back on. Still nothing about what my charges were, if I would get to speak to an attorney or where we were going.

We arrived at another facility, at this time it was getting dark. My accuser was standing just on the other side of the glass. We passed through the door and I was forced to stand right next to him. Several prisoners were ahead of us. A guy started yelling about needing to eat and his blood sugar. He said, “Sack lunch, I was told I would get a sack lunch. My blood sugar is low, I can feel it.” The officers just laughed and decided to nickname him sack lunch. They made me put my hands against the wall as a female officer patted me down and shook my bra. Then I was put in front of a camera so they could get a front view and a profile shot and told to follow the yellow line to where the females were.

In general holding men and women were segregated only by metal fencing. Guards shouted back and forth about lunch breaks or a game. Everything was completely normal for them, just another day on the job. For me, it was different. I was there because I trusted someone to keep his word. He swore to never cause me harm, he promised. He said, “You are safest with me, you and the kids are safe with me.” The following day he called the police and had me taken from my kids, sent to jail and in fear of what was to come or what I may never get to have again.

I sat in my corner and scanned all the blank faces starring at nothing, trying to avoid eye contact. I passed the time by trying guess who was in for what. A few addicts with possession charges, a few eluding police and then of course, there were those of us who were innocent. Suddenly, I heard his voice cut through the crowd. He was trying to talk to me in this room full of strangers, trying to make excuses for his wrongdoing. I avoided him, turned the other way and pretended not to hear his “heartfelt” apology. I tried my best to ignore the pain he caused, but the tears were relentless, streaming down my face for all to see; so many strangers to share my agony. Luckily, a distraction came stomping into the room. She called herself “Rainbow”, but that was not her legal name. She shouted to the males on the other side, desperate for attention. She never stopped talking. She told everyone she had dissociative identity disorder, better known as multiple personality, but she was not a monster, she explained. It only happened when she heard certain words, her trigger words. The guards intervened a few times to try and quiet her. She started talking to herself, “Better quiet down, they are watching, better be quiet. Can’t talk to the boys, don’t want trouble.” Then she grabbed the nearest phone and pretended to talk, she rambled about what was on T.V. and how she was not allowed to talk because they were always watching, telling her to be quiet.

There was a girl in the corner covering her face with her hoodie, trying to pretend she didn’t exist and a pregnant woman laying on a row of seats trying to get comfortable enough to sleep. The guards tossed sack lunches around, saying this is dinner. In the bag there were two slices of bologna, two packets of mustard, two slices of white bread and milk. I choked down the greasy bologna, but couldn’t stomach anything else. A woman near me asked for my leftovers, as I handed them to her she cracked a smile and whispered a short “Thanks”. A man in one of the solitary booths began to bang loudly on the window and scream. Everyone ignored him. He banged and screamed louder and louder until two guards entered his cell and sat him down, there were words exchanged, but I couldn’t decipher them. Finally, after five hours I was called up for processing. I was finger printed, asked about past crimes and if there was anyone I needed to be separated from. I whispered the name of my accuser and the guard put me in solitary, evidently we were supposed to have been separated the whole time. As I walked passed the male side I was stared at like a piece of meat. I sat in the cell by myself. The cell had steel benches and plexi-glass walls, so every one could stare at me locked in a cage. Most just stared, one fellow decided it was in his best interest to make obscene gestures with his fingers and tongue. He was very large, probably central or south American decent, lots of tattoos and no shame.

A female guard came to finish my processing and I was escorted to the back where another female officer tossed a bag of clothes at my feet and told me to strip. I tried to be modest and cover up as I put on the new clothes that have probably been worn by countless inmates with varied crimes, but she informed me that she had to see. She had to gawk at my naked body in its entirety before I could put on their clothes. I do as she asks and stand completely exposed in front of her until she gives me permission to dress. This woman, this guard is not my superior, but in my current situation, she did seem to have all the power. I didn’t know what would happen if I resisted, and really didn’t have the energy to find out. I was patted down one more time before being escorted to general lock up.

The bag provided, that we each carried to our cell held: one yellow and white striped uniform, 2 pairs of white under wear, one pair white socks, one white sports bra, a dark grey wool blanket, 2 dark blue sheets, a dark blue towel, an orange rubber cup and a black plastic spoon. There were 2 layers of cell blocks, each with a shower area, an open day room with 2 televisions and a basketball court. There were stairs on either side of the day room leading to the second level of cells. I was ushered into my cell at approx. 7pm. My roommate was a younger girl with short red hair and was actively withdrawing from heroin, she had the bottom bunk. Underneath her bed was a rather large pile of vomit mixed with old cracker wrappers and white socks. Some of her splatter graced the edges of a tattered copy of the New Testament that was sprawled out on the floor, seemed strangely fitting.

My first night was rough I had no idea what to expect and I missed my children fiercely. I was locked in a tiny metal 6’x12’ cell with a strange girl who never spoke, only screamed, moaned and thrashed about trying to get comfortable. I was sitting in the small steel chair attached to the small steel desk reading over some county regulation paperwork. This girl and I had only been cell mates for about an hour when she asked me if it would be strange if I scratched her head for her. I tried not to make eye contact and said, “Yea, that would be pretty strange.” She then pulled the covers back over her head. I decided it was a good time to get into my bunk and pretend to sleep. There were no books, no paper or pencils, nothing but the cold steel walls and the itchy wool blanket. The bunks were made of steel and cemented into the wall. There was a small steel desk with a small steel chair and above the small steel toilet was a small steel sink. It was strange being in close proximity and trying to use the restroom. I timed my toileting for when she was called out of the room to take medications, she wasn’t quite so shy.

I couldn’t sleep at all that first night my mind was racing, wondering what I was doing in this place and fearing what might be. I missed my beautiful daughter snuggling close to me. I missed her sweet cooing and the soothing heat from her tiny body. I had no idea what was going on. I knew nothing of the judicial system or what I had been accused of. I didn’t know if it was going to affect my job and my ability to care for my children. I started going through random scenarios, other possible jobs, things I could do. Strangely, I didn’t give much thought at all to my accuser. I was simply trying to plan for the worst possible outcome. Try to find a way to soothe myself and make everything still work out ok for my children regardless of the charges. I had watched several shows on what befalls those caught up in the system and had little hope.

The guards were very regimented, I guess you have to be to keep so many ladies in line. Evidently, the only way to get their attention was to pound on the door and scream. It worked for my roommate anyway. She screamed for meds, for food, for anything really. She just wanted out, we all did. Every hour the guards did their rounds, shining their flashlights in our faces and making sure things were secure. People were released and brought in throughout the night. When the cell doors were unlocked, loud echoed clicking could be heard in surround sound. Startling, much like gunfire in rapid succession.

I think it was around 11:30pm and in walks Rainbow with a couple other girls. She was quiet, for the moment. Her head hung low as she walked to her cell. It is a little mean, but she reminded me so much of the Junior Gorg from Fraggle Rock, even the mopey way she walked. She seemed a little disoriented and couldn’t quite understand which cell she was meant to go to, so the guard had to escort her. Once again the startling gunfire of the locks and we were tucked in for the night.

Breakfast was at 4:30am, if you could call it breakfast. We were given two rolls, 1 jelly, 1 milk, a section of coco puffs and an apple. No protein to speak of, I was feeling weak and nauseous just looking at it. Thank goodness for the apple. The girls quickly asked for scraps or remains of what had not been eaten and scarfed down what they could. The guard yelled reminders to eat quickly, no phones, showers, or socializing, only food. Lunch and dinner were very much the same, some blob of unrecognizable meat product, a blob of gravy, bread and sometimes a cookie. I longed for the sweet taste of the apple from breakfast.

We were allowed a 2 hour break per cell block. During this time we could shower, clean our cells, socialize, ask the guard if we were on the docket for the day, work out and make a phone call. Only collect calls were allowed unless you had a calling card. I was told that I would have my court hearing that day at 12:30, when I approached the guard to ask, she simply said I was not on the list for today. No questions, no explanations, just move over for the next girl.

I had been observing everyone intently. It was a strange little community. We would get an influx of girls periodically and some of the inmates were familiars, even friends. They would high five or hug and ask how they each ended up back in jail, most often related to being picked up on a warrant. The women exchanged hugs and tears. They counselled each other and provided an ear. And some of them even took to grooming each other. I observed, but didn’t directly interact much.

Day 2 after no news, I decided to attempt a shower. The inmate that first interacted with me was very nice. She looked a bit like Hillary Swank from Million Dollar Baby. She answered a few questions I had regarding the limited hygiene products and directed me to the most private functioning shower, the only one with a partially tied up shower curtain. Of course, everyone could still see everyone else in all their glory, but at least I had the illusion of privacy. Each shower stall had a push button water dispenser with no means for adjusting temperature, and a single soap dispenser that was meant to be a kind of all in one body wash, shampoo and conditioner. My stall had reasonably warm water, but the soap was nearly out. I was able to wash only the top of my hair and my smelly parts before the water shut off and I ran out of soap.

The girls tried to laugh and have fun when they could. The one who showed me to the shower and supplies was fun to observe. When it was her time to shower, she simply stripped of her clothes and exclaimed, “I have nothing to be ashamed of, my body rocks!” When I had finished dressing, we still had an hour of free time. I decided to check out the basketball court. It was the only place to get any kind of fresh air. There was a metal grate stretched across the very top of the wall, it had to be at least ten feet up, but you could still feel a warm breeze from outside. I felt almost normal, for a moment, almost free. It felt good to move around and stretch out. It had been a few years since I had picked up a basketball, but it felt like getting reacquainted with an old friend. The ball was fairly new and had fantastic grip, which made for smooth shots with picture perfect backspin. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed playing. The rhythmic dribbling was soothing. I loved the predictability of the ball returning to my hand, no resistance, just smooth and natural.

I had the court to myself for about 30 min before a couple other girls wandered in. I was not in the mood for socializing so I decided to run the stairs. I did about ten sets and decided to take a peek at the television. One T.V. played the Lethal Weapon series, with Mel Gibson…before he went crazy. The other played some show about online dating and eventual marriage called 90 day fiancé. I was doing laps around the common area. The inmate who resembled Hillary Swank educated me about the dating program and compared it to something called Jersey Shore. I have never been interested in reality T.V., but it was kind of fun watching the other girls get in to it. I had no desire to sit down at all during our brief period of freedom. I searched for books or something to occupy my mind while locked in my cage, but found nothing. It turned out that one inmate controlled all of the books, kept them in her cell and you had to ask to read them. I was surprised how these girls could spend hours stuck in their cells sitting or lying down and then when they finally had an opportunity to stretch and move, they chose to sit. I asked the guard how to put in a dietary request related to a medical condition. She gave me a form to fill out and put in a steel mailbox, but warned me that substitutions were limited. I said, “All I need is an apple with every meal.” She said, “Good luck.”

There were no toothbrushes, only toothettes with mint flavoring. There were a couple girls who would take handfuls of toothettes and stash them in their rooms, leaving only a few for the rest of us to scramble over. We were shut back in our cells so that the next group could enjoy their free time. You could tell who the frequent fliers were because they would sneak cups of water and left overs from their meals back to their cells, to enjoy at their convenience, almost like preserving a bit of their freedom by breaking the rules.

It was around 4pm when the guard unlocked my door and called me to the front. I had no idea what was going on. She said I had a visitor. I knew no one who could be visiting. I hadn’t contacted anyone. Quite frankly, I was pretty disheveled and really didn’t want anyone I knew seeing me like that. I was taken to a small room by a guard. A tall frantic white man in a wrinkled suit stood in front of me. I asked who he was. He told me to have a seat in the far chair. We sat and he informed me that he was the detective handling my case. He asked if I had anything to add to my statement. I said, “I have not made a statement, I only ever asked for a lawyer.” He just stared at me awkwardly while still recording. I wasn’t sure what he expected, so I said, “I guess I would like a lawyer.” He clicked off the recorder, stood up and said, “That is all I needed.” He then briskly left the room. I followed and before he disappeared down the hall I asked, “That was the best thing to say right?” He said, “It depends on what the other guy says.” I was escorted back to my cell. I didn’t know what to think. It was almost as if the system set the inmates up to fail. I was starving, sleep deprived, locked in a small cage with a stranger, no privacy, no freedom, no distraction and then asked to give a statement that would affect the rest of my life…pretty crazy.

My roommate started to normalize a bit. We discussed our charges. Apparently she had a few warrants out and was awaiting transfer to Arapahoe County, she said their jail was much nicer. She was 22 had a daughter that her cousin had custody of. I could hear the sadness in her voice when she told me that her baby girl called her cousin mommy. The father was her high school sweetheart, who got her hooked on heroin and was in jail with her. Even though she was through the worst of her detoxing, her behavior was still erratic. She would sleep most of the day or hide in her bunk with her head covered, she would toss and turn slamming various body parts into the bed or wall. Luckily I found a decent book, called Vanish by Tess Gerritsen, which kept me reasonably distracted for a few hours.

It was Rainbow’s time to be out. This poor woman, even in lock up she was odd man out. Everyone tried to avoid her. She attempted to initiate conversation the same way each time. “Hi, my name is Rainbow, but that’s not my legal name. It is what I like to be called. I have dissociative identity disorder, better known as multiple personality, but I am not a monster.” Her room mate was an older woman who was in on trumped up charges, she said the police planted evidence. She was reluctant to go back to her cell. When addressed by one of the other inmates she grabbed both of her own ears and exclaimed, “Man! That girl never shuts up. I can’t take much more!”

There were two inmates who were responsible for handing out trays during meal times and cleaning up after. These girls had special privileges and pretty much unlimited free time. One of them looked like a strung out Jada Pinkett Smith with a limp, she was tiny, a little crazy, and extremely full of life. Between her and Hillary Swank the second night was considerably more entertaining. The evening guard was much more liberal, she played music while the inmates did chores. Jada was mopping and singing along, she was actually quite good. Ms. Swank was vacuuming and wiping tables. Chores didn’t take them long and after, they were allotted their free time. Ms. Swank worked out right in front of my window. I would look up periodically from my reading and exchange a brief awkward glace. It was a strange feeling. I could sense something different about her. She was exciting and full of life even while being held captive.

It was 11pm when the guard called out a bunch of names and the loud echoed clicking could be heard in surround sound. My name was called, cell was unlocked, myself and five other girls were herded out into the hallway. I had no idea why, or what was going on. Turns out, our medical requests were being addressed. All I wanted was an apple. We had to sit on a cold steel bench while each of our vitals were taken and await our time with the nurse. My name was called, asked about my issue and she said the doctor has to approve dietary requests. I asked how long that takes, she said it depends, usually a couple days. We were herded back down the hallway and again locked our cages.

Day 3

Breakfast was at 5:30am this time. I had actually slept a couple hours and felt a little better. When I walked out of my cell I was met with, “Good morning beautiful.” It was Ms. Swank. It was nice and also a bit strange to have a female address me the way men usually do. We had our free time much earlier, around 9am. Finally, I was on the list to see the judge and figure out what exactly was going on. The guard said I was scheduled for 1:30pm. I was pretty nervous and anxious to see my babies again.

I was a little more relaxed among the girls now, having observed them and dubbed them fairly safe to be around. I headed for the basketball court. I had only gotten a few shots in when a strung out young girl approached me. She looked me in the eye and told me, “Umm, I am going to do the kindergarten thing and ask you to be my friend.” She held out her hand and I shook it. We exchanged names. I could tell she wanted to talk. I really just wanted to play ball, but I decided to humor her. She told me about her bad luck and run-ins with the police. She was afraid her boyfriend wouldn’t understand that this time it really wasn’t her fault. She swore she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She didn’t know that the car was stolen and she swore she had no drugs in her. She complained about how cold hearted and distant all the guards were, how no one cared. She asked me a little about myself and I told her that I am a nurse, that I actually interviewed, was offered a job at this very facility and how strange it was being on the other side. She then lifted her left sleeve and asked me to look at her arm. I knew right away it was a shooter’s abscess. I told her she really needs to have the nurse look at it, there is very real danger of a blood infection. She told me she was taking an old prescription of antibiotics before she came in. My nurse must have risen to the surface because I began to educate her about the problem with halfway using antibiotics and how it causes bacteria to become more resistant. I could see right when she started to just smile and nod. I knew she didn’t need to be lectured. Although, I thought I was giving her solid information. She thanked me for the conversation and said she would return in a little while, she never did. I didn’t mind, I really needed some time to play.

I was able to throw the ball around a few more times before a younger girl came in. She grabbed another ball and began to take a few shots. It was nice to just shoot in silence. She started to lag a bit and slightly invade my personal space, so I decided to break the ice. I asked her if she played ball in school. She said, “No, just on the streets.” I asked her age. She said, “I will be 19 tomorrow. This is my first time in adult lock up. I usually go to Juvie. I am supposed to be transferred there. I hope I go before my birthday. My grandfather is supposed to come see me. “I asked why she was here. She said, “Grand theft auto. My friends and I stole a cop car.” I had been moving around the court looking for my next shot and then I just stopped. I didn’t try to sugar coat my reaction at all. I felt the urge to talk to her more because she was so young. I looked her in the eyes and said, “What in the world were you thinking?” She said she loved the rush, and then she talked about how disappointed her grandfather was going to be and how much she missed her little brother. I took the opportunity to ask her about her support systems and how her life went in this direction at such a young age. She said her parents were into drugs and never around, but that her grandfather was amazing. She said he took her to church frequently and she can’t wait to go back again. She explained that her little brother is 16 and she is afraid he is heading down the same path. He is getting into Meth, just like she did at that age. I asked her to think about something for a minute, she looked at me intently. I asked, “What means more to you? The temporary rush you get with your friends stealing cars and doing drugs, risking your freedom or the time you spend with your grandfather, going to church and making sure your little brother is safe and well?” She had been leaning against the wall and she slumped into a sitting position. I could see the tears welling in her eyes. I said, “Hey, your life is just getting started, you have plenty of time to make good choices and help your little brother. What kind of work do you do on the outside? Is there something you enjoy?” She explained that her favorite job was landscaping. I perked up right away. I said, “That is awesome, that is a great job. It doesn’t take much to start a landscaping business. I have seen people starting out with only a lawn mower and soon they have a booming business. I bet that is something you and your brother could do together.” She was very excited about the idea. Then the guard called time was up. We thanked each other for the conversation and parted ways.

Locked in the tiny cell once again, it didn’t seem so bad this time. I was finally going to see the judge, an end was in site or a least some answers. My roommate hardly ever came out of her cell. She would emerge for showers and meals, but spent most of her time with her head covered in blankets. It seemed she was more awake and almost free of the drug she had injected herself with. I was on my bunk reading and she told me she was lonely. She asked to share my bunk. She didn’t even wait for a response, she just climbed up. It was incredibly awkward. We sat together for a while she wanted to know what I was reading. I went over a brief summary. I guess I bored her because she said she needed to sleep and went back to her own bunk.

I was watching the clock intently, 1:30pm came and went. My heart sank a little. Then at 2pm my name was called. I combed through my hair with my fingers, an attempt to make myself a little more presentable and stood in line. The guards escorted us down the hall, made us stand with our hands against the wall as they shackled our feet and escorted us into the courtroom. The room was filled with convicts accused of various other crimes. It seemed most were drug charges. One young fellow was escorted in by 4 officers. This seemed to excite the other inmates. The men from the back row would comment about how bad this kid must be. The officers themselves seemed a bit uncomfortable with this guy in such close proximity to everyone else, but when addressed by the judge the young man was respectful and polite. He was then escorted out with no problem. I watched a few cases before mine to try and gauge what to expect. One man was accused of domestic violence, but the wife was begging for him to be allowed to come home because the children needed him.

Finally it was my turn. It was difficult and painful to walk with my ankles shackled, the hard metal kept banging against my bony prominences. I stood quietly with my hands folded in front and waited to be addressed. The judge acknowledged the prosecutor first and had him present his case. I didn’t quite understand all of the terminology, but he basically said that there was a no contact order in place. This meant that I would not be allowed to contact my accuser or any of my children. There was also a restraining order in place which would prevent me from returning to my own house. The judge looked at me and looked back at the prosecutor. I remained silent, just watching. She addressed him again, “Whose children are they?” The prosecutor fumbled through his papers for a few seconds and said, “I don’t seem to have that information.” The judge looked at him with disgust, her face visibly flushed. She said, “Excuse me?” He responded, “I don’t know.” She then addressed me. She read off each of my children’s names and asked if they were my biological children and which ones were Jerric’s. I informed her they were all mine and that the house belonged to me as well. She asked if I was the only one on the mortgage. I said, “Yes.” She asked if Jerric and I were married. I informed her we were not. She then addressed the prosecutor again. She placed both of her hands on her desk, pulled her self forward slightly and looked directly at the prosecutor, unblinking. Everyone could tell he was a bit intimidated. She said, “You being so unprepared is an insult to this courtroom and to myself. I know my tone is a little harsh right now, but I am extremely frustrated by how you are presenting yourself and in turn making a mockery of our system.” She then turned to me and apologized. She said we would have to revisit my case. I was escorted back and returned to my seat to watch a few more people be judged. I was then called to the front and handed a sheet of paper by the guard. He said I was cleared and my case was dismissed.

I had been anticipating the worst, thinking I would lose my job and have to cash out my retirement for an attorney and suddenly I was free. It was over. The guard was unshackling me and I was so grateful. I took a deep breath and said thank you. He said, “Don’t thank me, thank the judge, it was all her.” I was escorted back to holding. The female guard asked me how it went. I told her the charges were dropped and asked what happens next. She said, “Unfortunately, the system is slow. So, it will still take a couple hours to process, but you should be free by 9pm.”

Back in the cell my roommate was awake and complaining about how hungry she was. She was getting increasingly anxious. She asked me how things went. I told her I was cleared of all charges. She looked at me wide eyed and said, “Really?” I confirmed and she congratulated me. She talked about how much she wanted to get off drugs and try to lead a normal life. Maybe see her daughter again. She said she really loved her boyfriend, he was the father of her child. I suggested she simply tell him exactly how she feels, that is it much more likely for her to stay sober if they work together. She appreciated my advice and told me she loved how positive I was. Then she covered her head with the blanket.

The last dinner was interesting. Meal breaks are 15 minutes or less and during that time someone on the upper level began screaming hysterically. Jada decided to go up and investigate, but maneuvering the stairs proved difficult with her limp. She powered through it and searched every cell, but by the time she reached the far side. The screaming stopped. She made it all the way back down and the screaming started up again. She was visibly flustered. “Oh my god!” She yelled toward the upper level. “If you make me come up there again, so help me!” And then the girls discussed the batch of newbies. Apparently one of them had night terrors and she screamed every time she slept, the whole time she slept. I was thankful not to have to spend another night.

There was one more incident right before my release. One of the new girls was very aggressive with the female guard. My cell mate and I could hear screaming and banging, but couldn’t see anything. Suddenly the place was swarming with male officers, they swooped in from all directions. Those who were out were forced back in there cells, instant lock down. The officers checked and secured every cell and escorted the woman out. The place seemed to get more crazy with each passing day. Approximately 7pm I was released. When I returned all of their things and gathered all of mine. I simply walked through the front lobby and was free. I still didn’t know what to think about the whole situation. I turned my phone on and called my sister for a ride. I took a few deep breaths and scanned the area. A rather large man approached me and asked to use my phone. He said, “Hey didn’t I just see you a couple days ago.” I said, “I don’t think so.” Then it all came rushing back. He was the large tattooed fellow making obscene gestures at the very beginning of my booking process. Of course it would be him that asked to borrow my phone when I was finally free of this place.