The Archangel Drones (6 page)

None of it made any sense to Gabe; his first conclusion was that Amanda was near a breakdown and not rational. He knew Chip, and the man wasn’t a hothead by any measure. He couldn’t envision a scenario that would escalate as described with such a calm guy. And why would the cops arrest Jacob? Why would they hurt his son?

He tried a few more times to get a clearer picture from the distraught wife and mother, but she just repeated the same basic information over and over again.

“Is Manny there?”

“Yes. She’s on the internet, trying to figure out where the officers would take Jacob and Chip.”

“May I speak to her?”

There was a slight hesitation, and then, “Sure… she’s very upset, but I’ll get her.”

It was a few moments before Manny’s shaken voice came on the line. “Hello, Mr. Chase… I’m so… so sorry.”

“What happened, Manny? Tell it to me from the beginning.”

“We were almost home, and this cop came up behind us. He followed Jacob for a while, and then when we turned on my street, he switched on the lights. I told Jay to pull over, but because we were almost to my house, he drove another block before stopping.”

“And then what happened?”

“The cop started walking toward the driver’s side window with his gun drawn. He shouted for Jacob to get out of the car… yelling like those guys do on TV. He shoved Jay up against the Honda… and then I don’t know what happened… but all of a sudden there were police everywhere. They threw Jay down on the ground, and he started crying out as if they were hurting him. I tried to run and get my dad, but a policeman pulled me back. And then everyone was fighting. I couldn’t see very well, but I think Jacob is hurt. He was moaning and screaming and… I’ve never heard anyone make noises like that, Mr. Chase.”

All of the rage, fear, puzzlement, and apprehension in Gabriel Chase vanished after absorbing the girl’s last statement, replaced by a solitary, compelling need – he had to find his son.

“They didn’t say where they were taking him?”

“No. They put my dad in one car, Jacob in another. The cops stood around laughing and smiling for a few minutes, and then left.”

Gabe tried to put it all together, but didn’t waste much mental firepower on the brainteaser. There was simply no scenario that made sense out of the account he was being given. Jacob was not one to be disrespectful to the authorities. Chip was a sensible man. In the end, it didn’t matter. What he needed was to get to his son.

“Is your mom still there?”

“Yeah. Hold on, let me get her for you.”

Gabe could hear the muffled sound of someone blowing her nose, explaining the brief delay before the distraught woman took the receiver. More settled this time, Amanda’s voice came back on the line. “Hello?”

“Amanda, I’m going down to the local police station and see what I can find out about both Chip and Jacob. Let’s keep each other informed. I’ll call you the minute I know anything. Please do the same.”

“Okay, Gabe… and thank you. I’m sorry I was such a mess before.”

He chuckled politely, “Don’t worry about it. I’m not far from joining you. I’ll be in touch.”

He disconnected the call. Glancing up into the pale countenance of his wife, he realized she had obviously been hanging on every word. “Tell me,” she insisted, her motherly instincts bristling from hearing one side of the conversation and arriving at the worst place as her mind filled in the gaps. “Is he alive?”

“Yes, Mother, he’s alive. There was an incident with the police, but neither Manny nor Amanda could tell me why. Chip got involved, and apparently, he was arrested, too. Other than that, I just got a bunch of gibberish that didn’t make much sense.”

“Thank, God,” she said, having to sit back on the edge of the bed. “As long as he’s alive, everything will be okay.”

With his wife following closely behind, he perched at his desk in his home office and was soon combing through an old telephone book for the local constable’s office number. The call was answered on the third ring. “Precinct Four, is this an emergency?”

“No, no emergency.”

“How may I assist you?”

“I just received a call from a friend that my son had been arrested. How do I find him?”

The less than interested voice on the other end replied, “He will be allowed a phone call after the booking process is completed, sir. At that time, he’ll be able to inform you of his location. Is there anything else?”

“How long does that take?”

The woman on the other end exhaled loudly, annoyance evident in her response. “That depends on quite a few factors, sir. It could take several hours, depending on the number of suspects being processed.”

“Can you tell me where he is being booked?”

“No, sir. Depending on where he was apprehended, the charges and circumstances, he could be at any one of three facilities. Is there anything else?”

A thought occurred to Gabe. “He’s a minor; he’s only 17. Does that make any difference?”

Again, the impatient voice exhaled before launching her retort. “In Texas, sir, suspects 17 years of age and older are treated as adults. Most likely, he’s being processed at the main Harris County Jail, downtown at 701 San Jacinto Avenue. But he might also be taken here, or to the hospital. I advise you to wait until your son calls with specific information, sir.”

The woman’s uncaring attitude, curt responses, and partial information had the desired effect – Gabe wanted to end the call despite not knowing much more than he had before dialing. “Thank you,” he responded, shaking his head.

Turning to Sandy, he explained, “I have a really bad feeling about this. If that phone call was any indication of what Jacob is facing, we’re in for a rough ride.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I’m going to try and find out where he is. They said we should wait for a phone call with further information, but I’m not going to be able to do that. I want to be wherever Jacob is or as close as they’ll let me get to him. I’m going to start looking up phone numbers and making calls.”

Sandy nodded, bending to kiss the top of her husband’s head. “We’ll get through this; we always do. Jacob is smart and strong,” she reassured him. “He’ll be fine.”

Gabe nodded blankly, a victim of cognitive overload, the chaotic barrage of thoughts tangling as each message competed for the forefront of his attention. “You’re probably right, but I won’t be able to just sit here and wait. Our son has been gobbled up by a very large, very uncaring machine that is designed to deal with the absolute worst society can produce. I just pray they don’t chew him up and spit out a damaged young man.”

“Do we need to call a lawyer?”

“I thought about that, but I don’t know one. We’ve used attorneys at the office before, but they do contracts and business things. I don’t even know a criminal lawyer. Besides, it’s nearly 3 AM in the morning. I’m sure they don’t list their home phone numbers in the yellow pages.”

Sandy took a bit to digest her husband’s words, her own nervous energy suppressing the need to do something… anything. “How about I make some coffee? It sounds like we’re going to have a long night.”

Gabe stood, pulling his wife close, the parents drawing comfort from the embrace. “The java sounds like a great idea. We’ll be fine. I bet we have this all cleared up by tomorrow evening.”

The now-motivated father hit the internet with a vengeance, dialing a long list of often contradicting phone numbers displayed on overlapping law enforcement websites. A few lines were disconnected, some rang on for eternity without answer by human or machine, and the remainder led him into a bottomless abyss of automated attendant menus boasting vague descriptions and dead ends. Within an hour, the frustration was driving him to thoughts of committing his own criminal activity.

“I can’t believe this,” he spouted to Sandy in frustration. “Our son, a minor, has basically been kidnapped by the police. There is no way to locate his whereabouts or know his status. It’s maddening.”

The mother’s face was drawn, her eyes becoming as desperate as her husband’s voice. “Do we need to go down there? Find someone to talk to in person? Make them locate our son?”

At one point in his fruitless barrage of telephoning, Gabe had come to the same conclusion, but then reconsidered. His web travels had made him realize the Harris County law enforcement infrastructure was gargantuan, with stations, sub-stations, incarceration facilities, and offices all over the vast area known as metropolitan Houston. In addition, if the detained individual required medical care, there was no specific hospital where he/she might be sent.

Manny had said Jacob was hurt. Had they driven the boy to an emergency room instead of a jail? There was no way to know.

“I hate to say this… the thought of doing this is about to drive me nuts, but I think we have to wait until our son calls, or the day-shift people start arriving at their desks and answer the phone. I think our driving around downtown is a waste of energy and time. Waiting seems to be our only option.”

Sandy didn’t like it either but realized she had to trust her mate’s judgment. Sipping their coffee, the distraught couple sat, their eyes shifting between the wall clock and Gabe’s cell phone charging beside the computer.

Jacob’s 6’5” frame was beyond the design of the squad car’s tiny back seat. When the tried and true Ford Crown Victoria police model had been retired a few years before, law enforcement agencies hadn’t had any choice but to go with the newer, smaller sedans offered from Detroit. Being handcuffed didn’t help the young man’s ergonomics.

He had no choice but to sit nearly doubled over, his head resting on the wire cage that separated potentially dangerous prisoners from the driver’s compartment. The officer transporting Jacob could only see the top of the boy’s head.

After several blows to the head and torso, loss of blood, and overwhelming waves of pain from his knee, the teenager was going into shock. While the arresting officers had attempted to clean his wounds at the site, they had completely misjudged the severity of his injuries, both internal and external.

The transporting constable arrived at the main jail’s unloading area, met there by the guards charged with assisting officers with their often-unruly passengers. They found Jacob unresponsive and unmoving.    

“Look at that fucking mess in my backseat,” complained the officer. “This son of a bitch has bled and puked all over the place. Now I’ll be stuck here waiting on maintenance to hose this shit out.”

“He’s playing possum,” remarked one of the burly guards, trying to get Jacob to respond. “There’s not enough blood on the floor for him to be out. He’s faking it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, we see them do it all the time. They think if they act as if they’re out cold, they’ll get a ride to the ER instead of our 5-star facility. Let’s yank his ass out of there. If he keeps it up, we’ll just carry him into the holding area. I’ll bet a cup of coffee he snaps out of it as soon as he realizes we’re onto him.”

The guard reached into the backseat and grabbed Jacob by the ear, pulling and twisting the boy’s head with the painful technique. But Jacob didn’t react, his body slumping sideways in the seat.

“Did this dude take a blow to the head or something?” the now second-guessing guard asked. “Twisting a handful of cartilage normally brings them right out of their little act.”

“I don’t know,” replied the deputy. “I arrived late to the scene, and since I was the junior man, I was given transport duty. He looks damn pale though.”

They lifted Jacob out of the car, a muscular jailer on each arm.

With feet dragging and head flopping, they carried him into the building via his handcuffed upper arms.

The Harris County Jail’s staging room looked more like the waiting area at an airport gate than a lockup. Rows of plastic chairs filled the space, televisions hanging from ceiling mounts.

As soon as Jacob was arranged in one of the plastic seats, the officer removed the handcuffs. They tried three times to prop the unresponsive kid in a chair, each attempt resulting with the prisoner’s lanky body sliding to the floor. Finally, they pulled him to a corner and left him prone.

“I’ll call the medical people to come down here and check him out,” said the jailer. “I don’t think he’s faking it.”

“Should I load him up and take him to the ER?” the young deputy asked, now worried he might be held responsible somehow.