Chapter 9
I was detained in a private room while the prison warden reviewed the fracas on video, which had been recorded by three cameras.
He was in hot water and he knew it—a civilian had been attacked and his guard slow to prevent it.
I was banged up, Remi was coughing blood, an inmate suffered two broken fingers, another had a concussion, and another a broken nose.
He summoned two physician associates to the prison, two young guys on weekly prison rotation.
I refused stitches for the cut above my eye, so one of them cleaned it and sealed it with strips.
Nothing to be done about my ear except wait it out—my ear drum was temperamental since it ruptured last year.
My knuckles and my scalp were bruised, but he couldn’t help with that either.
I told the warden my story. I was here for information, and Remi was attacked because of Gastro.
On video, it was obvious I was not the aggressor and had responded to the crisis within the realm of reason.
He asked where I learned to fight. He wanted me to sign papers releasing the prison of responsibility, but I told him I wouldn’t be pressing charges and I was scared of my lawyer and what she might say if I signed anything without her approval.
It was seven before I got out of there, into the dusk and cold wind, and I drove home with a throbbing headache, listening to silence and the whir of my thoughts, and I drank two coffees and arrived home before midnight.
Only Ronnie remained awake and she greeted me with a wince and an, “ooooh,” at my forehead and swollen eye.
She took me to bed and I could’ve capitalized on her sympathy but I was tired. Tomorrow was another day.