County Jail

Old County Jail

County Jail is no joke. Charlie is an idiot. So it didn’t go well for him. He is accused of attempting to steal a car. You can’t legally say, “he tried to steal the boss’ son’s car and failed.” It has to be “allegedly tried . . .” But that’s what happened. Legal formalities.

I’ve been to jail more than once. That’s supposed to be shameful. Maybe it is. For some of us it’s just part of our lives. Jail itself isn’t anything news worthy. It’s what you do with your life now that you have been judged and mayhaps shunned. Where Charlie and I are different is the story since we were released.

My release date was a long time ago. Charlie as of this post, is still inside. Why? Finish reading this post. This is only Act One of this piece. I was lucky. My longest sentence was six days of weekend jail. I only did three for two reasons. The jail needed the space I occupied and the sentencing laws allowed misdemeanor convictions to be released early.

Just . . . the smart ones (like me) knew the move was to just do the time and shut up. Charlie, though, tried to play the “do you know who I am?” card. The answer, “yeah, we know.” The knowing changed nothing. A trustee nearby, “bro! Shut the fuck up!”

Time Tells the Tale County Jail

Time Tells the Tale

The crucial years are the first three to five years after release. The odds of recidivism decline to nearly zero if we can behave ourselves for that long. Sadly, about half of offenders reoffend within five years of release. One reason is that jail eats away our reputation and consequent ability to get work and/or housing. The longer we are inside the harder it becomes to regain our prior lives.

Behaving was the easy part for me. My particular major malfunction is low impulse control. I’m “FIRE! wait, was I supposed to make ready and aim?” This manifests most frequently in, “I’ll buy that,” followed by, “Hey, can you cover the rent for me?” In a hot enough woman this can work. In a guy? Not so much.

I’m retirement age as of this post. I made a career of not deciding. Somehow, in spite of it all, my lights are on, my rent is paid, I don’t owe on a car, my phone isn’t cut off, and Internet is on at the house. Well . . . ladeeda you aren’t here to read about the writer. You want to know what happens to Charlie.

Carrion Beetle County Jail

Beetle Food

What happens is that Charlie’s wished for quick release won’t be easy. There is a complication. Charlie dumped a body in the desert outside Paradise Valley for Ojiisan. He released carrion beetles so the body would become a meal for them. Wore gloves? Yes. And yet, Forensics found the body and a bit of dried blood that matched Charlie. Ruh Roh.

Whose body? Not yet. All I’ll say is that the Sheriff’s deputies found the bones and evidence that Charlie was where the body was found. Enough probably cause to move him from Paradise Valley to Winnemucca.

4am, County Jail, “Webb!, rise and shine. Breakfast is in the commons in an hour. Give your bedding to the trustee.” Charlie rose, went through his morning routine, and ate breakfast. Charlie is lined up with other inmates who are on the docket today. The courthouse and the jail are about a mile and half away from each other. You and I could walk it. We are not in shackles and carried by the inmate movement team of the Sheriff’s Office. Court starts at 9am. Inmates are delivered to the court by 8am.

Some Kin, Though

I went through my old posts about Charlie. I don’t remember naming his family. He is a Webb. Not my bloodline. I’m Webb/Janes/Rolfe. A different Webb genealogy, one that has African-American kin in its history.

Charlie, though, is German, Scotts and Irish. His family is from the coal hills of south-western Virginia. He’s a pink, freckled ginger. Cute looking in his younger years. He would have been a pretty corpse. Now? Not so much. He’s thirty-something and has the belly-over-the belt body of a slovenly gamer.

One small blessing for Charlie. He’s classified as a low threat for the sheriff’s deputies. So he’s transported without shackles or cuffs. The classification is accurate. Jail is shameful enough. Its deprivations punishment enough. He should be smart enough to know when to shut up—like now.

W=Late

The docket is sorted alphabetically. This puts Charlie toward the end of the day. He was feet away from the judge in an overcrowded holding cell just outside the courtroom. Nothing to do but wait. Lunch was a bologna sandwich and bottled water.

Charlie met with his attorney a few days before this court appearance. Instead of contrition Charlie chose the petulant, self-entitled mode and annoyed his lawyer. This was a first offense and Ojiisan’s son was open to dropping the charges. There is more power in holding that card on Charlie than spending tax dollars to try, convict and execute a sentence on him. If only Charlie hadn’t thrown a tantrum.

The holding cell door opened, “Webb!” Charlie stood up, “here!” He was escorted to an enclosed seat in the courtroom. “Charles Xavier Webb, raise your right hand and repeat after me.” That done, the first case against him was announced, “Mr. Webb, you are charged with NRS 205.228, Grand Larceny on a vehicle worth more than $3,500.00. The charge carries a possible sentence of ten years in prison, a fine of up to $10,000.00 and restitution to the victim. How do you plead, sir?”

Could Be Not Guilty

I don’t think the Webb’s are the only family like this. We don’t know how to calm down. Get us started and it’s gonna be a while before we can return to even keeled. Bourbon is a favorite sedative. Charlie whispered to his attorney, “you better fucking say what I told you to say.” Hearings like this can be over in under a minute. Judges have to get through dozens of cases a day. They don’t have time for TV worthy drama, “Mr. Webb, how do you plead?” Charlie’s attorney, “not guilty, your honor.”

What Charlie told his lawyer to say was a manic rant about the injustice and oppression of the court system that he was a victim of, “Judge, can I talk?” No, Charlie, you cannot, “Mr. Webb, please sit down.” The second charge against Charlie is NRS 199.220, Destroying Evidence. Possible penalties include up to a year in jail and fines of up to $2,000.00.

Charlie was offered a plea deal on the Destroying Evidence charge. The Assistant District Attorney would drop the (NRS:195.030) Accessory charge and the Grand Larceny charge. Charlie’s mouth, though. So instead the deputies escorted Charlie back to the holding cell. You and I can take another sip of our Pumpkin Spice lattes. For Charlie, instead of nearing the end of his troubles, things were just getting started.

Hooked and Netted

The way the game goes is this: criminal charges can go away if you play along. Ojiisan uses this with former customer’s like Charlie. Hakujin are useful so their status fits their function. It’s good for Ojiisan and bad for Charlie that he has criminal charges hanging over him.

Webb’s don’t bow. So say we, we are right and you are wrong. The sooner you accept that, the better things will be. It’s not a helpful attitude to have while sitting in a holding cell outside a courtroom charged with crimes worth up to a decade in prison. Ojiisan’s son can make all this go away at the price of a bottle of bourbon and a simple, “申し訳ありません”.

Charlie’s wounded pride won’t allow it. So Charlie was back inside by 8pm facing a worsened set of legal setbacks. The deputies changed his pod to one assigned to convicted trustees serving longer sentences. Maybe some time with older inmates might put the fear of consequences into him. His pod-mates were kitchen crew.

Another Psycho-Dish

All that bougie and it turns out that Charlie’s spiritual gift is a dish station. His major malfunction is hubris. It’s a hard habit to break. Walking from Henrico, VA County Jail to my job ten miles away gave me time to question whether my family’s pride was misguided. Charlie, instead, fumes as he churns through another shift washing dirty food trays.

Nursing grievance is a skill I had to give up. Keeping that fire burning cost me my marriage and healthy relationships to people I cherished. But . . . this space isn’t about the majority who aren’t a source of drama. I write about Charlie and others who we are entertained and annoyed by.

Did Charlie commit murder and leave an amputated finger in the back of an abandoned Cadillac Escalade? Well . . . maybe. The District Attorney’s office believes he destroyed evidence. Did he do more than that? Follow this space find out. Better yet, pay for an annual subscription.