I was still smiling when I got home and walked into Lemour’s arms. It was a long time before I smiled that freely again.

Chapter 34: Fourth of July Picnic

34 Fourth of July Picnic

I spent Friday night at the Rogers Park police station. When we got there I was fingerprinted and searched. Strip–searched while Lemour looked on. His eyes were glistening, his lips white with spittle. All I could do was hold myself aloof. The dissociation that all prisoners practice. I would become expert at it in the weeks ahead.

The police have rules governing interrogation, but if they breach them it’s hard to do anything about it—especially on a Friday night before a holiday with your lawyer who–knows–where. I tried to insist on my right to phone counsel, but Lemour and the charge officer ignored me.

I was put in an interrogation room where I sat for hours, without water, while Lemour screamed meaningless questions at me. When would I confess to cocaine possession? How had I gotten hold of Robbie Baladine? Alternating questions and punches. Every now and then he would leave and a uniformed man would come in and say, Tell him what he wants to know, honey; it will only get worse.

At first I kept repeating that I would answer questions only in the presence of my attorney. I kept praying for Freeman’s appearance. Had Mr. Contreras understood my plea to call him?

After a time I stopped speaking altogether. Lemour’s fury mounted, until a final blow knocked me to the floor. I’m not sure what happened next—the charge sergeant pulled Lemour out of the room and came back for me.

“You sleep it off,” he advised. “It’ll look better in the morning.”

“What will?” I muttered through bruised lips. “The charge of police brutality against Lemour?”

The sergeant took me to the station lockup, where half a dozen other women were waiting. One of them looked at me with shock that was half admiration. “What’d you do to Lemour, girl, refuse to pay him his shakedown? I seen him go insane more than once but never nothing like he did to you tonight.”

I tried to say something, but my mouth was too swollen for me to speak. She banged on the cage demanding water. By and by a matron brought a paper cup of tepid tap water. I swallowed as best I could and sat down, gingerly rubbing my sore head and shoulders. I tried to thank my benefactor, but only parodies of words came from my bruised mouth.

I spent a sleepless night. One woman was chain–smoking, the one next to me on the floor spewed curses as the ashes floated on her, while a third roommate moaned over the fate of her baby. Roaches paraded across us all night. We were transients; they owned this room.