Down Solo by Earl Javorsky Read Free Book Online Page B

have the geologist’s reports, too. Tanya’s got to be flipping out. I take off my socks and shoes and wait, looking around at the others. The same odor that permeated the bus has followed them into this cell.
    “YOU,” barks the officer. “Remove your clothes. All of them.”
    I take off my jeans and undershorts, roll my other things into the jeans, and lay the resulting bundle at my feet like everyone else. They’re all finished except for the guy to my right, who’s still fooling with the button of his pants. His clothes are filthy, and his face is entirely covered with hair, except for the sunburned nose and cheeks. His wild black eyes stare defiantly at the deputy. The officer glares back, smacking his nightstick into his palm.
    A new deputy enters the enclosure, a wiry little guy with big ears and an Adams apple the size of a walnut. He puts on a pair of surgical gloves.
    “Listen up!” The big deputy yells. “I want you girls to turn around and face the walls, spread your feet apart, bend over and grab your ankles.”
    I do as I’m told. It’s an interesting view, looking around the room upside down. The skinny cop starts making the rounds.He gets to me and our eyes meet. “What are you lookin’ at?” he asks. He pulls on one of the gloves and releases it with a big snapping sound.
    I tell him, “Nothing, sir.”
    “That’s good,” the skinny cop says, and he goes on to the next guy.
    “Hey, Ed, come here and check this out.”
    The big cop comes over to see what’s going on. He looks down at the guy with the hairy face.
    “Oh my God, that’s shit,” he says.
    The bearded guy cackles, “What’d you expect, man, ice cream?” and everyone in the room cracks up.
    Except for the deputies.
    The black cop yells, “SHUT THE FUCK UP. Now, stand up, turn around, and pick up your bundles.”
    We march single-file out of the cell and into a hallway. About thirty yards down the hall they tell us to stop and line up against the wall. One at a time, we approach a window. I get to it and hand over my bundle to yet another deputy. In exchange he gives me a rolled-up jumpsuit and a white towel.
    Now they escort us to a row of showers, columns placed every five feet along a tiled depression. Each column has four showerheads on it and a tray with bits of soap.
    The big deputy picks up a black hose that snakes to a metal tank. The hose has a fine spray attachment that blasts a mist of delousing solution at us. Then he barks, “You’ve got one minute.” He turns to the bearded guy and says, “Clean it good, Ice-Cream Ass,” and flicks a switch. All the showers turn on at once and there’s a mad scrambling for position. I put my new bundle on the floor and head for the only available shower.
    I step under the spray and close my eyes and something knocks me up against the wall. I look back at my spot, which is now occupied by the guy with the X’s and O’s on his knuckles. I move in on the guy and shoulder him out of the position.
    “Motherfocker, you want to fock with me?” The guy’s face is pocked and he has tattoos all over his arms and chest.
    I check him out, naked with his tattoos and his muscles and his little silver earring, and point to his groin. “Hey, check it out, size counts. Bummer for your girlfriend. Give me a fuckin’ break.” People around us start laughing. I see the big cop coming over, so I turn my back and soap up my armpits. The hissing of the shower stops abruptly, leaving the room in silence except for the dripping of the nozzles and the sound of bare feet padding across the tiles.
    I turn around to see the gangbanger up against the wall with the big cop’s baton between his shoulder blades. Another deputy comes and takes the guy away. I dry off and put on the jumpsuit. It’s too small—the pant legs end at my shins—but it’s good to be covered up. We march down the hall to a stairway and deposit our towels in a bin on the way.
    We line up at the entrance to a room as