5. Ajay
ajay
. . .
B eing in a band on tour means our sleep pattern is all messed up. It’s not odd for us to sit down at four or five in the morning to eat dinner or go to sleep around noon. Once we’re off tour, we crash hard for days at a time, hoping to ease back into the normality of everyday life. There was a time when I would stay awake for days, practicing on my kit, trying to hone my craft. However, those days went by the wayside when my big break came, and I started to value sleep. Say what you will but going to bed at nine or ten o’clock at night is good for you . . . trying to stay awake in a jail cell is not .
I’m exhausted, having been kept awake by the blaring television, the constant chatter of the guard talking on the phone, and the noise from the video game that he’s playing. And just when I’m about to doze off, Eddie starts talking to me. Talking about shit that is of no consequence to me, my life or this trumped charge that has me sitting in a cell. But he yammers on like he knows I’m trying to get some shut eye, going on and on about Bailey, how the town has changed since I left, how he’s married but doesn’t have any kids yet, and how the town historian is trying to pin an unsolved murder on some serial killer from the west coast. “Big happenings in Bailey since you left. You’re not the only famous one to come out of here ya know,” he says, as if the jab he’s taking is supposed to hurt. It doesn’t. I did what I did to survive… there isn’t a single doubt in my mind that if I’d stayed here, I’d be behind bars permanently. I was going nowhere fast. I am thankful, though, that he doesn’t bring up Whiskey. As far as I’m concerned, she’s off limits to everyone. I may give the Sheriff shit about his daughter, but that’s between the two of us and no one else.
“That pretty little thing that visited, she your wife?”
I say nothing.
“She sure seemed to fancy you. Maybe she’s a groupie you’re trying to con into paying your bail.”
“I can pay for my own bail,” I say quietly, hoping he can’t really hear me over his obnoxious game and the television.
“I bet you can,” he replies, making me wish I would’ve kept my mouth shut. “You and your big, fancy money. My wife follows your group. She doesn’t say much about you, though. Not too many people talk about you between Prineville and Bailey.”
Thank God.
“Although sometimes the boys like to get a bit rowdy when the wives go gaga over one of your music videos and we have to remind them that you’re a nobody, that you still piss standing up.”
Thankfully he stops talking, giving me a chance to close my eyes. I have no idea what time it is, except that it’s morning so the sun’s coming up, and I’ll finally see the judge today. My internal clock is all messed up. I know I arrived early Sunday morning and have been served three meals but haven’t had a guard change. Good old Eddie here has been on since he slid the door shut on me, which sucks for him.
“You still piss standing up, right pretty boy? Or are you all ‘sissified’ from living in California?”
Do I answer or ignore?
I ignore because nothing good comes from answering men who are determined to be pricks. He’s macho and thinks because he wears a uniform, he can act like this, and I’m going to let him. The sound of something hitting the bars of my cell causes me to lift my head. Eddie’s pacing back and forth in front, dragging his baton along the metal.
“It seems that you’ve lost your manners since you left Bailey.”
“Nope, just gained a bunch of sense.” I cross my arms and lay my head on them.
“Sense about what, pretty boy?”
“About answering dumb ass questions.”
“I’m the law, you have to answer me.”
“Not without my lawyer present.”
“All right then, wise ass, I’m a fan. If you don’t answer, I’ll have my wife post it all over her Facespace .”
Facebook, you idiot. “When my manager shows up, you can ask her your questions and if she says so, I’ll answer them.”
“She? What do women know about music?”
A lot more than you think. I sigh. “Eddie, it’s like you’ve never left the area. Women are more than capable to manage bands, write and produce music, direct movies, run Fortune 500 companies.”
“Never heard of that company.”
“No, I can’t imagine you have.” How can someone be so dense as to the world outside of their small town?
The door opens and the Sheriff’s voice bellows out my name. “Ballard, your attorney is here. Let’s go.”
I have never been so thankful in my entire life as I am now to see Sheriff Foster. As much as the man despises me, I’d rather be in his presence than Eddie’s. I’m not sure how much more of his stupid I can take.
Foster doesn’t handcuff me, and for that I’m also thankful. My wrists are still pretty raw and sore. He leads me by my elbow back into the precinct and into the small interview room. There, Elle and some guy I’ve never met are sitting at the table, both staring at me. Foster shoves me in and slams the door.
“Did you sleep?” Elle asks.
“I tried, but the guard kept the television blaring. And when he wasn’t watching TV, he was playing some game on his phone with the volume turned as high as it could go and talking to himself all night.”
The lawyer scribbles something down on his yellow notepad before looking up at me and extending his hand. “Saul Russo, Jr. My father has represented 4225 West for many years and I’m happy to do the same for Sinful Distraction.”
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“Can you tell me about the night in question, as much as you can remember?” I nod and dive head first into my past and that night in particular. If this were another time in my life, I’d probably take the blame for Whiskey, but right now I have too much to lose. Saul continues to ask questions about growing up in Bailey, my relationship with Sheriff Foster, more questions about Whiskey, and about the night I just spent in jail. When he’s finished, Elle hands me a garment bag and tells me that my suit is in there — one that I didn’t know I owned — along with the toiletries I need to clean up.
When Foster returns, he leads me to the bathroom and tells me not to even think about trying to escape through the window or he’ll make sure my pretty little girlfriend pays. I don’t correct him. It’s better that he thinks Elle’s my girlfriend because then at least he won’t think about Whiskey and me together. It’s best that he thinks I’ve moved on.
The suit Elle brought for me fits like a glove. Elle is like the Jack of all trades. There isn’t anything she can’t do and if she happens upon an issue out of her control, she has a back pocket full of resources. She was meant to be in show business. After Sinful Distraction first came on the scene, she and Quinn were accused of using their fathers’ connections to garner some attention for us when in fact, Elle had done all the legwork. 4225 West did help but not in the sense the media portrayed. Our music is good, great even. I may be biased but I know how hard we work, how much time Dana and Quinn put into the songs, and their efforts shouldn’t be discounted as favors from Harrison James.
Foster pounds on the door, yelling that my time is up. I tug my white dress shirt down a bit, closer to my wrist, to hide the tattoos I have. I need to make the best first impression, even though the cards are already stacked against me. If Judge Harvey can see that I’m not the same person I was when I was seventeen, maybe he’ll throw this whole thing out. As much as I want to remain positive, I have a feeling that whatever the judge can throw at me, he will. Saul Jr. is about to earn his money.
As soon as I open the door, Foster is at attention. He motions for me to step in front of him. “I’m not going to cuff you.”
“I appreciate that.”
Instead, he grabs a hold of my bicep and squeezes it as hard as he can. After Harrison took me under his wing, one of the pieces of advice he gave me was to stay strong and healthy. He introduced me to his brother-in-law Xander, who put together a workout regimen for me and the band. With being on tour, it’s hard to get a good workout in, but we always try. Elle has made sure the bus has a few weights, mostly five and ten pound dumbbells, ankle weights, and yoga mats to help us out.
The sun is bright, and the air is warm. I tilt my face toward the sky, close my eyes and breathe in deeply. “After today, this will be your last time seeing the sun for a while.”
Shaking my head, I turn and look over my shoulder at Foster. “At best, I’ll get a night, maybe a couple in jail, even though I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Foster laughs. “We have a hungry new State attorney who’s trying to send a message to all you punks. You’re looking at a year minimum,” he says without a hint of laughter. I know him well enough to know he’s serious. He believes I’m going to get a year in the clink. I wasn’t scared after meeting with my lawyer, but I am now.
The ride over to the courthouse takes a whole three minutes. It took longer to park than it did to get here… we probably would’ve saved on emissions had we just walked. That’s not Foster’s style though. He loves the fanfare, the pomp and circumstance of people stopping and staring. I’m willing to bet the guy would love to bellow out, “dead man walking” if given half the chance. Not in Prineville or Bailey though. These are the two dullest towns in America.
Inside the courtroom, Saul is at the table waiting for me. He smiles and holds the swinging door open so I can pass through. Foster stands off to the side, hands clasped in front of him, and the court reporter is setting up her odd little machine. The door opens behind me, but I turn around to take a look at this legal eagle that is hell bent on ruining my life. Instead, I wait until he or she comes into view. Once he does, I study him hard as he puts his briefcase down and memories flood my mind. The last time I saw this kid, he was a pimply, lanky, clinger who followed Whiskey and I everywhere because of her best friend, Dhara. We weren’t friends then. In fact, I couldn’t stand him.
What does regret feel like? That’s what I’m asking myself right now because I’m sure as shit scared of what’s about to happen. The breakfast I didn’t eat is threatening to come up as Judge Harvey enters the courtroom. The bailiff tells us what to do: Stand, sit, turn your head and cough as I squeeze the life out of your nuts. Okay, maybe not that dramatic, but that’s how I feel right now.
“Mr. Oakes, the floor is yours.”
He stands, scooting the chair back with his legs as he does, buttoning his jacket and stepping out from behind the table. “Your Honor, Mr. Ballard was picked up early Sunday morning for an outstanding warrant for trespassing and vandalism, issued by yourself on November the thirtieth, two-thousand-ten. Sheriff Foster apprehended the suspect as the vehicle he was traveling in crossed the county border. Mr. Ballard resisted arrest, although only temporarily.”
“Mr. Ballard, how do you plead?”
I stand and face the man of the house Whiskey teepeed. “Not guilty.”
He scoffs. “Mr. Ballard, are you sure that’s the plea you want to enter?”
This time Saul stands and clears his throat. “Your Honor, with all due respect, my client’s plea is what it is and should not be questioned.”
Judge Harvey points his gavel at Saul; his eyes are menacing, and I feel my life starting to slip away. “Mr. Oakes, what’s the State’s request?”
“Remand, Your Honor. Mr. Ballard has proven that he’s a flight risk.”
“I agree,” Harvey says, sighing as if he’s sad for me when this is nothing but a joke.
“Your Honor, my client was not aware of the outstanding warrant. He has been a pillar of the community where he lives, volunteering his time at the local high school, teaching music. Keeping him locked up over a misdemeanor is unethical, and there isn’t a previous case tried in the United States that will support a decision of this nature.”
“I will decide how things go in my county, Mr. Russo.”
“Judge, can you please tell me when the incident occurred?” Russo asks. He looks pissed.
Harvey looks at Fletcher, who is flipping pages back and forth in his book. “Mr. Oakes?”
“Um… the incident occurred in July of the same year.”
“Your Honor, according to my records, Mr. Ballard was in Nashville, Tennessee when this warrant was issued, and therefore had no knowledge of its existence. I’d also like to add that if the incident he’s being charged with took place in July, charges should’ve been brought forth immediately. This is a small town and from what I understand, your house was and continues to be an easy target, and to this date, you have not brought charges against any of the other unruly teenagers.” Saul pauses and stares down the judge. “I request my client be released, without bond, and that the charges be dropped.”
“Mr. Oakes?”
“The States position has not changed.”
“And neither has mine. We’ll move this to trial. However, Mr. Ballard you are free, but you cannot leave the county. You will surrender your passport with the clerk on your way out.” He slams down his gavel while Saul’s yelling at him, citing different laws. His words are falling on deaf ears as Harvey disappears behind the door.
“Small town bullshit,” Saul says to Fletcher who is doing his best to ignore him.
I turn to Elle, who has been sitting behind me. She doesn’t look happy. In fact, she’s downright pissed.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, but she doesn’t respond.