The brute is only missing an “or else” at the end of the sentence. “Or what? What are you going to do?”

“Ma’am, step out of the car or you’ll force me to call reinforcements.” The officer taps the walkie-talkie strapped to his vest, close to his shoulder. “As of right now, you’re resisting arrest.”

“You’re seriously arresting me? For what?” I open the door adding, “You’re a big, uniformed bully.” I get out of the car. “You can’t do this. I’m an honest, tax-paying American citizen.”

“Then you’ve nothing to fear.”

“This is still a free country. You can’t arrest me for no reason, it’s an abuse of power.”

“No, it’s not. Please turn around, ma’am.”

“Why?”

“Turn around.”

I do as he says.

“Now place your hands on the back of your head.”

“Are you handcuffing me? Is it really necessary?”

“Yes, ma’am. And I suggest you fully cooperate.”

“Are you going to tell me I have the right to remain silent next?”

“You most definitely have that right, ma’am.”

***

After a short journey spent handcuffed in the backseat of a police car with Mr. Mutt by my side, the cops bring me to a police station. Another officer asks me questions to fill out a personal information sheet and confiscates my watch and bag. A third policeman makes me sign a property log for my personal effects. No one takes my fingerprints or a mug shot, leaving me to wonder if I’ve really been arrested or if I’m only being held in custody.

Will I have a criminal record after today? For what? Renting a car? For saving a dog’s life?

No one answers my questions. A female officer escorts me down a depressing cellblock and shows me into a cell. Mr. Mutt follows me around and nobody seems to mind so we’re locked up together. Luckily, we’re alone. No crazy cellmates.

I sit on a small cot bed—the only piece of furniture in this dump. Mr. Mutt lies next to me, resting his head on my thighs. Without my watch, it’s hard to tell how much time is passing. How long will they keep us here? Will I get to make the famous phone call? Who should I call? I really don’t wish for anyone to see me behind bars, especially not when I’m so dirty and smelly. I can’t call my parents, they’d get a heart attack. Nikki. I’ll call Nikki and ask her to find me a lawyer. It’s my civil right to see a lawyer! The police can’t keep me here indefinitely.

The rental company is so screwed. I’m so going to sue them. This mess is their fault! They mix up license plates and I end up in jail. Jail, more a tiny concrete hellhole with bars and no air. I’m getting cabin fever. I get up and pace around. Not that it helps. I can only take three steps wall-to-wall. How do people spend years caged like this? I’ve only been here a few hours and I’m already panicking. I need to know how long they’ll keep me here.