The Archangel Drones (7 page)

“Naw. He might be drunk, passed out from drugs… any number of things. Scalp wounds always bleed like crazy, but no way has he lost enough red corpuscles to be in danger. The nurse will be down to check him out in a bit. Give me his packet, and you can go have your car cleaned out.”

Shrugging, the officer handed over the envelope and then returned the handcuffs to his duty belt.

It would be difficult to find a position in the medical field more troubling than that of the admission review staff at a big city jail.

Exposed daily to the most troubled examples of the human race, the tainted, mind-numb registered nurse and aides were witness to a constant parade of drug users, prostitutes, alcoholics, lice-infested homeless, and hardened criminals.

Often, the incoming detainees were belligerent, fighting, spitting, and kicking balls of filthy humanity, either unwilling, or unable to respond to the medical questionnaires or attempts at examination. Exposure to blood, vomit, urine, and feces were as common as the foul language, combative attitudes, and hostile profile displayed toward anyone who worked for “the man.”

It was a thankless, low-paying, exceedingly dangerous job that created calloused individuals who basically operated with one cardinal rule - nobody was to die while in custody. Beyond that, the examination process was haphazard at best, often at the benevolence of the individual healthcare worker’s mood at the time.

In this regard, Jacob was lucky. The nurse aide who was called to the staging area was in a reasonable frame of mind, having just spent 20 minutes with a business executive hauled in for a DUI. The man had made her laugh and had been cooperative, a rarity for the graveyard shift.

Escorted by two massive jailers, the aide had recognized immediately Jacob was in trouble. Rushing to the prone teen’s side, her first check was the lividity of his arm. After watching the flaccid limb flop uncontrollably to the floor, she then pulled back his eyelid. She found him cold and clammy, his diaphoretic state coinciding with all of the other symptoms.

“Get him out of here – stat,” she turned and instructed the idling hulks. “He’s in trouble, and I don’t want him dying on my shift. Get an ambulance here… now.”

“Are you sure?” asked the guard who had helped drag Jacob in.

“Don’t fuck with me, Bluto…. Get him to Central right now.”

Rising from Jacob’s side, she heaved the radio from her belt, lifting to speak into the black box’s grill. “I need the RN and a cart to the staging area, stat,” she said.

She then returned to Jacob and started patting down his body, searching for other injuries. With her patient’s shirt soaked in blood, her first inclination was that he was suffering from a gunshot wound that had somehow been overlooked, but that was rare.

As she worked down his right leg, she suddenly stopped, pulling a pair of sheers from her breast pocket. After a few snips on Jacob’s pants leg, she pulled apart the denim material and inhaled sharply. “Holy shit… look at this kid’s knee.”

Stretching to gawk over her shoulder, the two jailers were impressed as well. Purple and red, the tortured joint was the size of a mature grapefruit. “That’s why he’s out,” one of them commented. “That has to hurt like hell.”

About then the registered nurse arrived with another aide and a toolbox-sized container of basic medical supplies. The team quickly set about its business, cleaning and bandaging the head wound and elevating Jacob’s upper body.

It took longer than usual for the EMTs to arrive, a major accident on I-10 involving two semis and a car full of vacationers had pulled several ambulances to the scene.

And then there was the delay waiting for a deputy to accompany the prisoner.

Over 90 minutes after being delivered to the jail, Jacob Chase was on his way to the emergency room, IV in his arm, ice pack on his knee, and bandages wrapping his head.

The ambulance was less than three blocks away when the jailer strolled back to the booking area and noticed Jacob’s packet sitting on the counter. “Shit,” he hissed, picking up the thin folder, “This should have gone with that kid.”

Central Hospital ER was one of the few left open in the entire area. One by one, the major facilities in the nation’s fourth largest city had closed their emergency rooms, the deluge of uninsured patients making such accommodations unprofitable.

Much like the jail, the massive facility was always functioning at near capacity… in a state of barely controlled chaos.

The Houston Fire and Rescue ambulance that had responded to the jail’s call had to wait in line, the six unloading bays all occupied by other emergency vehicles. Despite the fact that this was a weekday and not even the chickens were yet awake, the facility was running with a shortage of emergency beds. The weekend shifts were marked by total ER gridlock.

Finally able to pull forward and unload their patient, the two fireman wheeled Jacob’s stretcher into one of the few empty waiting rooms. Leaving the bored cop to sit in a lonely looking, plastic chair, the two EMTs returned to the main nurse’s station, both dreading the upcoming paperwork.

“Where’s the patient’s packet?”

“I thought you had it?”

“Shit! I guess we’ll just have to register him as a John Doe until his file catches up with him,” shrugged the team’s senior member.

Peelian Principle

Police headquarters should be centrally located and easily accessible by the public.

“We have no one at this facility by the name of Jacob Chase,” came the annoyed response. “I suggest you try the local precinct’s lockup.”

“I’ve already contacted them, the Northside facility, and everyone else I can dial, ma’am. No one can find my son. Did the arresting officers just take him out to an empty field and dump his body?” resonated the frustrated voice of a desperate father.

“Sir, are you making a criminal accusation against a law enforcement officer? If so, I can transfer you to the public affairs office.”

“I just want to know where my son is, ma’am. Pardon me for being a little over the top, but wouldn’t you be acting the same way if your child were missing?”

“My computer screen says he’s not here, sir. That’s the only information I can access.”

“Thank you,” Gabe replied, even though he didn’t mean it.

After the call was disconnected, the jail operator glared at her co-worker. “Why do white people always think their children are innocent and being abused by the big, bad county jail? I get so tired of it. It’s as if they think their pale, little asses never commit any crime or do anything wrong. Like they should be treated special or something just because of their color.”

The co-worker laughed. “Guess what,” she said mimicking a game show host delivering the big prize, “Your suburban, middle-class teenager is a criminal! You are about to enter a whole new world called the criminal justice system. Soon you’ll discover what half of the black and Latino parents already understand. Jail sucks, and the system doesn’t care about anybody’s race or income level or how many half-baths are in your fucking home.”

They exchanged looks before moving to answer the next incoming call. “Oh shit,” the operator announced, covering the mouthpiece. “I’ve got a Latino grandmother trying to find her daughter. These are the worst.”

It was the blowtorch someone was holding against his leg that made Jacob stir. Forcing himself to climb through the grey, swirling void of fog, he blinked his eyes and tried to move his screaming limb away from the fire.

The effort induced more agony, streaks of electric fire climbing up his thigh, boiling into his head. He howled, and then started to vomit.

The cop-sentry had fallen asleep, rousted from his upright nap by the animal-like clamor. Rubbing the fog from his eyes, he noted his prisoner’s reaction and understood something serious was going on. He pressed the call button and immediately rushed into the hall to secure assistance.

Again, some luck was on Jacob’s side. The nighttime avalanche of patients and emergencies had subsided somewhat, and soon a team of medical professionals surrounded Jacob’s bed.

If anyone had cared, it quickly became obvious to the gathered staff that somebody had made a horrible mistake. The John Doe now experiencing dry heaves into a plastic pan had somehow gotten lost in the shuffle. He should have received medical care long ago.

The attending ER physician took one look at Jacob’s knee and asked the policeman what sort of automobile accident had caused the injuries sustained by the patient.

“I don’t know anything about this detainee,” replied the cop. “I was just sent down here to make sure he doesn’t escape or cause any problems.”

Grunting, the doctor pointed at the ugly joint and said, “He’s not going anywhere, and I doubt he’s going to beat us all up. Please do your best to find out who this child belongs to, I have a feeling we are going to have to make some difficult decisions in the next few hours.”

The cop nodded and started to pivot away to seek a telephone. The doctor stopped him. “And remove these handcuffs, please.”

Almost embarrassed at having forgotten the patient was still chained to the bed’s metal rail, the policeman did as ordered. “I’ll find out who he is,” he promised the doc.

After watching the policeman leave, the physician returned to Jacob’s side and asked, “What is your name? Can you tell me your name?”

“Jacob,” came the dry response. “Jacob Chase.”

“And where do you live, Jacob Chase?”

The teen managed to give the fuzzy, distant voice his address.

“How old are you, Jacob?”

“Seventeen.”

“Is there someone I can call? I need to know your medical history and allergies before I can give you anything for the pain.”

“Call my dad, please, sir. Gabriel Chase. His phone number is in my cell contacts.”

The doctor turned to a nearby nurse and said, “See if you can find me a phone number. Given our illustrious police department, I’m sure this child’s parents have no idea where he is or his condition. It wouldn’t surprise me if Mr. and Mrs. Chase will probably end up with coronaries themselves.”

“Yes, Doctor. I’m on it.”

“I want every inch of this young man’s body x-rayed, high priority,” commanded the physician. “I’ll order something for his pain as soon as we get some information. That knee has got to be tearing this kid apart.”

Gabe called Amanda, letting her know the bad news. They had yet to locate Jacob.

“Chip finally called just ten minutes ago. We’re on our way down to post my husband’s bail…. I never thought I’d be saying that.”

“Where is he?” Gabe asked, his voice growing hopeful.

“He’s at the local precinct, but I asked him about Jacob, and he said he hasn’t seen him since they were being loaded into the squad cars. He’s pretty sure Jay isn’t at the same jail.”

The two parents agreed to keep in touch and disconnected the call.

After contacting his supervisor and being granted a last minute request for a vacation day, Gabe began getting dressed.

“Where are you going?” asked Sandy.

“I’ve got to do something. I’m going down to the local precinct and find some sort of supervisor.”

“Be nice,” came the quick reply. “We’ve already got enough family members in trouble with the law. I don’t know what I’d do if they locked you up, too.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be as warm as a pair of fuzzy, bunny slippers.”

It wasn’t a long drive to the combination police station and courthouse. Finding a parking spot, however, was a completely different matter.

Gabe entered the surprisingly small complex, realizing he’d never been inside the building and had no idea what to expect. After following several signs, he wound his way to the police section of the facility.

Half expecting some burly, no-nonsense sergeant behind thick, bulletproof glass, Gabe was surprised to find a middle-aged woman in civilian clothing sitting at a reception desk.

“How can I help you?” she asked in a neutral tone.

“My son was arrested about 2 AM this morning by officers from this station, and now no one seems to know where he is. I’ve called every jail and phone number listed on the web, and there’s no record of him anywhere.”

“Hold on one moment, Mister…”

“Chase, Gabriel Chase. My son’s name is Jacob Chase.”

She reached for the phone, punching in three numbers from memory. After a brief pause, she said, “Do you have an arrest record from this morning for one Jacob Chase?”

She listened for a few moments, scratching a series of numbers on a pad of paper. “Thank you,” she said, ending the call.

“Your son was taken to the Harris County Jail downtown, Mr. Chase. I have his file ID number, and you should be able to track his progress through the system via the online interface.”

Gabe reached to take the scrap of paper from the helpful woman, but wasn’t satisfied. “I’ve called and talked to them, and they say he isn’t in their facility. Could there be some mistake?”

The woman smiled, trying to reassure the obviously stressed parent. “Sometimes it can take several hours for them to process incoming prisoners. I’ve seen six to ten hours go by before they have his information uploaded into the computer system. Relax, Mr. Chase; we’re in the business of catching people, not losing them.”

“But he’s only 17,” Gabe pleaded. “He’s never been in any trouble before, and this is all quite a shock.”

“Take that number and go home, sir. I wrote down the web address for the jail’s public information system. As soon as they have your son processed, he’ll be allowed to call you.”

“Thank you,” he said, pivoting to exit the area.

His next stop was to see Chip, and find out what the hell had happened the night before.

Manny answered the front door, her bleary-eyed, disheveled appearance making it obvious no one had gotten any sleep in the Denton household. After a brief hug, she invited Gabe in. “Dad’s in the shower, mumbling something about never being able to wash all the pig shit off his body,” she said, trying to maintain a smile.

Amanda appeared, the two sharing a quick embrace, the question on her face requiring no words.

“We still don’t know where Jacob is,” he announced. “I do have his file number and was just told it might take a few hours before he is processed into the system. Not knowing what else to do, I decided to come over here and see if I could figure out what the hell happened last night.”

“I’ll tell you what happened,” an angry voice boomed from the doorway, “Jacob smarted off or said something wrong to one of those cops, and they beat the shit out of him. That’s what happened.”

Everybody looked up to see Chip standing with a towel around his waist. Purple splotches were already appearing on his arms and wrists.

“Jacob would never do that,” Gabe instantly replied. “I’ve always told him to respect the police and be polite to them.”

“He didn’t say a word, Daddy,” Manny defended. “He never got a chance. They were pointing their guns at him and screaming before he could even roll down the window.”

“Something set them off,” Chip said, “I’ve never seen anything like it. How’s Jacob doing, by the way?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t found him yet.”

“He’s got to be in the hospital,” came the dreaded response. “He was badly injured, bleeding all over the place. He couldn’t even walk….” Chip paused, realizing the effect his words were having on the boy’s father. “I’m sorry… but you need to know. He’s got to be at a hospital.”

“I’ve called all the major facilities,” Gabe replied. “No one has his name on any list.”

Gabe’s cell phone rang, stopping his report mid-sentence. Glancing hopefully at the caller ID, he was only slightly disappointed to see it was his own home number.

“He’s at Central Hospital,” came his wife’s excited voice. “I just spoke to a nurse, and she was asking all kinds of questions about his medical history and stuff. They need us down there right away.”

“Did they say how he is?”

“No. She wouldn’t tell me anything until we showed up and proved we were his guardians. She said we should hurry.”

“I’ll be right there to pick you up,” Gabe replied. “Please be ready.”

“I’ll be waiting by the curb,” Sandy came back. “You won’t even have to come to a complete stop.”

The anxious father managed to tell Manny and her parents what he had just heard before he reached their front door. “I’ll call you when I know more,” he yelled, hurrying for his car.