Chapter 32

It wasn’t the first time that Roxie had the suspicious eye of law enforcement cast her way. It didn’t bother her those other times. Then, it had been because she’d been raising hell. As far as she knew, no one really got into a lot of trouble for raising hell. In fact, she liked it when people thought of her as a hell-raiser.

Besides, it was always Junior who was being hauled in. She was just the side-kick. It hadn’t been too long ago when she’d thought that she’d turned over a new leaf about all that. When she shoehorned Junior out of the Red Rooster one night as that motorcycle gang was getting ready to take out his front row of teeth she thought that she had put hell-raising in her past.

The back seat of a police cruiser, wearing handcuffs behind one’s back, is one of the loneliest places on earth. Roxie had always thought that she was used to being alone. Aunt Flora never had it in her to guide Roxie in any way, and there had always been an unspoken dividing line between boyfriends, like Junior, and her inner self.

She was finding out that there are many ways to be lonely and she was getting to see one of the worst ways to do it. She cast her eyes down and away from the windows, not wanting to know if anyone was outside the car—trying to get a peek at the desperate felon in custody—or not.

“I’ve really hit rock bottom,” she mumbled half out loud.

“What was that?” the officer called from the driver’s seat. “Don’t forget what I told you. Anything you say can be used against you.”

“Nothing,” Roxie answered, and realized that she was holding back a sob.

“I won’t cry,” she told herself, “no matter what. No one will know that I’m scared.”

She was tempted to cry. Fighting it off was the only way she could think of to fight back—little as it was.

“Maybe it’s all for the best,” she thought to herself.

She was pretty sure that she would squeeze herself out of the trouble in which she found herself. After all, she hadn’t engaged in prostitution, or tried to or even considered it. But the accusation—phony though it was—served to place her much closer to the reality of an even lower class of people than she ever wanted to be a part.

“Who would pay for it when I’ve given it out for free so many times?”

A tear did run down her cheek and, handcuffed as she was, she was powerless to wipe it away.

She asked herself if she hadn’t given it to Bubba in return for a free ride through New England in his truck, or even to Junior for free drinks and the privilege of saying that she had someone to be with. What about those times with Stan at the diner in exchange for a measure of job security? No cash had changed hands, but—value given for value gained

“I guess I am guilty, after all,” she confessed to herself”

As she rode along in the back of the car she sat up straight and put her private thoughts away. No one else would know them.

“If they’re all I’ve got, I better take good care of them.”

The police cruiser pulled into what appeared to Roxie to be a ranch house at the end of the main road, away from other houses. It had a small parking lot on the side. But a sign in the front yard said it all: ‘Maine State Police’. The officer parked and got out and then opened the back door and Roxie swung her legs out and stood up.

“This way,” he said and placed his hand around her upper arm.

He didn’t squeeze her arm hard like a lot of men might have. Roxie appreciated that, and this man was pretty big and Roxie sensed that he was very strong, too. In a half minute they were standing in front of a desk. Roxie was hoping that he would take off the handcuffs, but he didn’t.

“Have a chair,” he told her, which Roxie did in a folding chair along side a desk, and he sat in an office chair on the other side.

“Can I have my say now?” Roxie demanded.

“No,” he replied and went into a desk drawer and pulled out a form.

He started writing something on the form. Roxie read the name tag over the pocket on his uniform blouse: M. Thibodeau. He had sergeant’s stripes on his khaki sleeves.

“Name?” he grunted at last.

“Roxanne Pringle,” Roxie sighed.

“Age?”

She told him. He went through the whole list: address, occupation, everything. When Roxie told him that she was from Appleton, New York he looked up for a second.

“Never heard of it,” he grunted.

“Not many have,” Roxie said, “just those who are from there, I guess. But, you know, if you drive through it, there isn’t a lot of difference from this town right here.”

The officer grunted just a bit once more as he took in that piece of information.

“We’ve even got a State Police barracks on the outside of town, just like here,” she added.

The handcuffs were starting to chafe at Roxie’s wrists. She began squirming in her chair to let him know that she was uncomfortable.

“I’m not supposed to take off the cuffs until you’ve been searched by a female officer,” he informed her. “She won’t be here for another hour and a half.”

Roxie slumped down in her chair, as well as she could with her hands fastened behind her. Sergeant Thibodeau wrote some more, filling in boxes on the form which Roxie was unable to see well enough to read.

He glanced up at her.

“Look,” he said, “if you promise me that you’ll behave and you don’t have anything that you’re hiding that you’re not supposed to have, I’ll break the rules and take off the cuffs.”

Roxie stood up and the sergeant moved behind her. She felt him tug at the offending cuffs for a moment and then she was free. It was a small thing, but it was the first thing that had gone right for her the entire day. She stretched her arms and hands to get some blood flowing back into them.

“I’m not hiding anything,’ she said. “I don’t have anything.”

“Fair enough,” Thibodeau answered.

She decided to push her luck.

“When do I get to tell my side?” she demanded one again as she rubbed her wrists that had been made raw by the cuffs.

“When I say so,” Thibodeau growled. “Have you had anything to eat yet today?”

Roxie shook her head.

“I didn’t think so,” he said.

Thibodeau walked to a little room adjacent to the office area. He came back out a few seconds later carrying a box of corn flakes, a cereal bowl and spoon, along with a half pint of milk.

“It’s all we have right now, so it’ll have to do.”

Roxie didn’t have to be told twice. She poured out as much cereal as the bowl would hold and splashed on some milk.

“Can I drink the rest of the milk that I didn’t use on my cereal?”

The sergeant nodded.

“Wait, I’ll get you something else,” he said as Roxie began shoveling in the cereal.

He disappeared again into that little room, which Roxie had guessed was some kind of pantry and placed two sugar packets in front of her. Roxie opened them both and poured it into the cereal bowl. She mixed the contents of the bowl with the spoon to mix in the sugar and went back to gobbling up the breakfast.

“I didn’t know I was so hungry,” she panted as she finished up the cereal and poured down what was left of the milk.

Thibodeau picked up the used bowl and spoon, along with the empty milk carton.

“Would you like me to wash those up?” she asked.

The Sergeant shook his head and disappeared into the pantry room one last time and took his seat again behind his desk. He leaned back in his chair.

“Now you can tell me your side of the story,” he said.

Roxie hesitated for a second.