© 2022 Phylicia Joannis
Simon scribbled his name on the register and placed his ID at the window. The security door buzzed and the guard waved him through. He ignored the guard’s signal to put his phone down and continued his conversation with his secretary as he walked down the halls of the county jail.
“Make sure you push back my 3 o’clock, and set up a meeting with Perry sometime this week. Email me the records for Charles Jameson. I’m about to meet with him now.”
Simon walked into the waiting room and looked around for Chuck. He didn’t see him anywhere and went to one of the guards standing watch.
“Where’s Charles Jameson? I called you guys hours ago to have him ready. Why isn’t he here?” The guard shrugged and turned his gaze towards the other inmates. “Did you not hear me?” Simon bristled. “Where is Charles Jameson?”
The guard sneered at Simon before slowly lifting his radio to talk. “What’s his number?” the guard asked.
Simon sifted through the emails on his phone. “Inmate number 7158621, Charles Jameson.”
The guard repeated the information into the radio. “Number 7158621 got a lawyer visit.”
Simon heard a guard reply on the radio. “Just sent him to medical. Might be a while.”
“Medical?” Simon frowned. “What for? If he’s been injured, I should have been notified immediately.” The guard gave him a blank stare. “Call your buddy up and tell him if Charles Jameson isn’t in this waiting room in five minutes, I’ll be filing a formal complaint. The man hasn’t been convicted of a crime yet, and it’s his constitutional right to have access to his attorney.”
The guard rolled his eyes, unconcerned.
“Alright, let me put it in terms you’ll understand.” Simon pulled out his cell phone and made a call. “Hey Pete, it’s Simon. I’ve got,” Simon looked at the guard’s badge, “H. Carlisle, badge #1587 here refusing to bring me my client. Oh, you wanna talk to him?” Simon handed the guard the phone.
The guard stared warily at Simon as he took the phone. “Hello?” His eyes widened as he recognized the voice of the warden. “No, sir, I was just–” The guard listened a moment longer before nodding. “Yes sir, I understand.” He hung up the phone and handed it back to Simon, red-faced. He spoke into the radio. “We’ve got a code 37 for inmate 7158621, Charles Jameson.”
“Already headed that way,” the same voice replied. “I should be able to catch him.” H. Carlisle looked at Simon. “Double time, man.”
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